Frankly, it was damn beautiful, all of it, and he’d grown up taking the sky for granted. When he got out of here, he never would again. He’d spend five minutes a day, minimum, staring up at the sun, the clouds, and then later, admiring the stars.
Wait …change? She fucking flew?
All his assumptions disintegrated. He’d presumed she was an Eldritch prisoner, but if she could shift, she must be biracial. Maybe one of her parents had been a rare bird shifter from the Aerie who had been captured. He was willing to bet that she was half Eldritch; no other race had their fey features. Indulging his curiosity and digging into her background constituted an invasion of her privacy, however. If she wanted him to know more, she’d tell him.
But then, he heard what Wendell was saying. “It sounds like paradise. You’re so special, Ro. In all my years, I’ve never heard of a changed Gol who could fly.”
She was half Gol then. Half Eldritch. It shouldn’t change anything, but part of him recoiled over realizing she encompassed in her small body both peoples who’d taken him prisoner, blown up his home, and killed his mother.
Fuck. Settle down. They did that. Not her. As quickly as it came, the antipathy settled. He might be an asshole, but he could be absolved of blaming her for shit she didn’t do.
It wasn’t like the Gols or Eldritch had done jack shit for Rowena, either. Well, apart from Prince Alastor. And to Slay, it seemed like the exiled prince had dropped the ball or she wouldn’t be locked up in here. He’d accepted her oath of service; that meant he had an obligation to protect her, right?
“I’m a fluke,” she said wryly.
“None of that, child. Your mother asked me to look after you before she died. I made a poor job of it, I’m afraid, but there was nothing I could do when the guards came for you.”
To take her to the bastard trying to conquer the world, Slay guessed.
“We don’t need to talk about that. Did anyone else survive the purge?” Her eyes blazed with intensity as she took the old man’s hand between both of hers.
“Not many. Let me think. You’re wondering about Lucan, I expect. He’s looking for you. He is…not as you remember. Be careful there. Hettie is still working at the comfort house. She’ll be glad to see you.”
While Slay wasn’t sure what a ‘comfort house’ was, he figured Hettie sold physical services in some fashion, maybe from sex to hugs. In a place like this, all kindness would come at a premium.
“What’s wrong with Lucan?” she asked, her big eyes shimmering with concern.
Slay tensed, despite knowing it was absurd. He told himself it was ego. They’d just given anyone who was paying attention the idea that they were together, and now, she was asking about someone else. Fuck that. He’d lost one love by not treating her right and—
Back up. It’s not the same. What the hell is wrong with you, seriously?
Only thing he could figure, maybe something got damaged the last time the interrogators worked him over and it still hadn’t healed right in his scrambled egg of a brain. Frankly, he’d never been a brain trust in the first place. Pru once joked that she’d do the thinking for both of them, and he’d acted like that was funny, but really, it stung. It sucked feeling like she only wanted him because hormones said they were a match. But for the rest, talking about important business and sharing serious emotions, well, she’d always had Dalena and Dom for that.
Maybe it even made sense in some fucked up way that she’d ended up with Dom. Their brains went better together, even if Slay had the edge in fucking. That was still physical, though.
With a faint sigh, he wished he could erase all of it. Their ten years, his failings, and the sting of a love that wouldn’t let him go.
Rowena touched his arm, so light it barely qualified as contact. “You okay?”
“Fucking great,” he muttered.
“Then I’m done here.”
He realized he’d missed a significant chunk of the conversation as she waved to Old Wendell and charted a course to elsewhere, away from barbecued rat-or-bat on a stick. Away from eyes that darted and dropped. Hell, nobody here could meet his gaze. Slay towered over most prisoners, and he drew stares wherever he went.
“That’s the Animari.”
Heard that before.
“What kind?”
“Cat, I think.”
“Have you seen him change?”
Slay was used to ignoring that stuff, but Rowena marched up to the pair of women who had been talking loud enough to make sure he heard. “You’re being rude. Apologize.”
The larger of the two stood up. “And why should I? He’s a prisoner, same as us. There’s no rule against talking.”
“My rule is, you make it right or I make you sorry,” Rowena snapped, ready to square off. Her small hands balled into fists.
Nobody had ever offered to kick ass for him before.
Ro has a temper. Damn it. She went from adorable to hot as fucking hell.
5.
The taller woman stepped up into Ro’s face. “What are you going to do about it, stain? You’re not the tyrant’s pet anymore and you can’t even change.”
Ro could’ve proven her wrong, but the guards punished prisoners who shifted. If they didn’t keep them in check, violence would get out of control among those who had the energy to cause trouble. Anyway, she’d trained with Dedrick and Graff for years; she didn’t need her flying form to teach this woman a lesson. Swiftly, she struck, kicking the belligerent woman’s knees out from under her. The smartass hit the stone floor hard, landing on her back.
Ro was on her in a heartbeat, knees on her chest. “That’s what I’ll do about it. And there’s worse waiting if you refuse to apologize. Shall we keep going?”
A short pause, as the prone woman tried to persuade her companion to pile on through a series of urgent looks. Shaking her head, the friend made it clear she wouldn’t be backing up this fight, then the first lady finally muttered, “Sorry for any offense. We’ve never seen an Animari and our mouths ran when they shouldn’t have.”
It wasn’t the most gracious apology, but Rowena leapt away lightly and returned to Slay’s side. “Good enough?”
He grinned. “I wasn’t planning to pursue the issue. You’re crankier than I am.”
It struck her hard—that he could still smile in a place like this. By rights, he should be despondent. Instead, he was plotting with her to overthrow a despot. The Animari truly were a remarkable people. Or maybe she admired Slay in particular.
Though he was joking, she said seriously, “It’s not a matter of mood or temperament. Down here if someone pushes, you push back twice as hard. It’s the only way to survive. Otherwise people think they might be able to get somewhere by walking across your back.”
“I get that. Thank you for fighting for me. Nobody has before. You don’t need to feel sorry for me,” he added quickly. “In Ash Valley there was no need and I was the second scrappiest bastard around.”
“Who was the first? Your leader?”
He shook his head. “Mags, actually. She was always ready to fight. It took more to get Dom riled. I was the hothead in our group, always getting pissed about some petty crap.”