I don’t want to sit by his side. Not now.
Not ever.
“Look at me,” he growls, gripping my jaw and turning my head.
I stare into ebony eyes, the scorch of pain making it hard to focus, my gaze sharpening.
Smudging.
Sharpening again.
He’ll have to stop soon. I’m about to pass out.
His brows bunch together while he studies me, his hand smelling like smoke and burnt skin. “Why don’t you ever speak? I know that little bitch I shoved in your cell is teaching you. Perhaps I should burn her, too? Give you something to scream about?”
“Touch her and I’ll tear you down the middle, then flip you inside out,” I rasp, my words cold and stony.
Raw.
His eyes widen before a low chuckle rattles his chest, growing in strength until his head tips back.
Deep, roaring laughter echoes off the walls.
“There she is,” he says, snapping his stare to me as I realize my mistake, my heart stilling when I catch the cruel glint in his eye.
He summons another ball of flame he spreads down my thigh. A slow, sizzling smear that burns through layers of muscle the Fleshthread will struggle to heal before I’m due back in the pit.
But that’s not the reason another scream threatens to bludgeon up my throat—not even close.
“My Fire Lark does have a voice,” he purrs, summoning another flame into his hand. Another promise of pain that pales in comparison to the fear now flaying me. “I just needed the right motivation.”
R a e v e . . .
R a e v e . . .
R a e v e . . .
“RAEVE.”
My eyes pop open, my chest packed full of a scream I refuse to release.
I hiss air through bared teeth, filling my lungs with breaths that do nothing to unstick me from the scalding slumber-terror still slicked across my skin, the smell of smoke and fried flesh thick in the back of my throat.
My vision sharpens on a pair of hard cinder eyes shadowed by thick black lashes, a dent of concern etched between Kaan’s brows that jolts something inside me.
Makes me want to squirm.
I shove at his naked chest, trying to get him to unstraddle me. When he doesn’t so much as budge, I shove again—this time releasing all my pent-up energy into one volcanic word. “Move!”
Finally easing sideways, he gives me room to roll off the pallet and stand, face tipped to the skyhole, fingers threading through my sweat-slicked hair and shoving it off my face.
Just a dream …
It was just a dream.
“What’s a Fire Lark, Raeve?”
Fuck.
I charge for the doorway, halfway down the stairs when his thickly accented voice attacks me from behind.
“What’s a fucking Fire Lark?”
“None of your damn business,” I snip, powering toward the exit, needing to submerse myself and scrub this feeling from my skin.
Kaan’s heavy steps chase me through the jungle as I stalk toward the Loff, wind whipping my hair into lashing tendrils of black. I explode free of the jungle and leap onto the shore, the sky blotted with dark clouds, thick blades of sun striking through.
In another few strides, I’m waist-deep in the water and kicking my feet out from under me, dropping below the surface. I scrub my face, my arms, my legs, and for the first time ever … I let loose the firestorm scream that chars a path up my throat in a spill of bubbles racing for the surface—
Firm hands grip my arms and lug me skyward.
I’m spun, jerked into Kaan’s roiling atmosphere, his face a sculpted clash of ruin and rage, mouth thin. Waves slosh against my back while he holds me captive. “Who were you talking to, Raeve?”
“We’re not having this conversation,” I grit out past the ribbons of sodden hair plastered to my face, trying to rip free of his firm grip.
He pulls me so close I can scarcely breathe without crushing my breasts against his firm, heaving chest as he looks down upon me, his molten stare burning into me. “You seem to be under the illusion that I’m going to drop every bone you accidentally toss my way simply because you command it, but that was before I watched your entire body knot like you were being fucking tortured in your dream,” he growls with enough fortitude to dissolve my next breath. “Now, my beautiful, spectacular, indignant Moonbeam, let’s try this again. Who. Were. You. Talking—”
A pained, ear-splitting screech rattles the atmosphere.
Both our heads whip to the south. Toward fluttered movement emerging from the belly of a low cloud clinging to the mountain’s rounded head.
Horns blow—ten short, sharp bursts that pinch the air.