I want to retort that Tate was his guest, too, but I’m too distracted. His hand is hot against my skin, and the spicy smell is thicker now that he’s standing closer, and I realize where I’ve smelled that before.
On a dragon. On Dakh.
Is Azar a dragon? But how? He’s talking in English, and even though his accent is strange, he sounds human. And sane.
Or a little insane, but nothing like Kael or Dakh. I don’t understand.
He taps my cheek. “Interesting that you are his mate. I would not have guessed it by looking at you. But Tate says he did not lie.”
“What if he did?” I reply, voice hoarse.
The air shifts, and I can tell Azar is leaning in. The heat of his body is close to my face, and the intense spice smell of him grows thicker. “We both know he did not,” Azar murmurs to me. He straightens and steps away. There is a pause, then footsteps. “Someone get him out of there and wipe her face. She is our guest. Now, I am going to go and take a nap. Wake me up when the dragon figures out where she is.”
Time passes. I feel like I’m stuck in limbo. I’m uncomfortable because of the cuffs and my blindfold, but I’m not really sure what else to do other than sit here. I’m thirsty. I’m tired. My head is swimming.
But at least I’m not dead.
It’s been hours, I think, since Azar left. Hours since someone came in and wiped my face with a wet towel, getting rid of the spatters of Tate’s blood. Hours since someone showed up and mopped the floors of whatever mess Tate left. I don’t like to think about it.
I focus instead on Azar.
The hand that touched my face was hot. The scent of him was familiar. If I could have seen him, maybe I would have noticed claws or golden skin and golden eyes. The question is, why is he so different? How does he speak English so well? How is he not completely insane unless he has a mate, too?
He must…but who?
And if he has a mate, what does he want with me and Dakh?
There has to be an answer I’m overlooking. Something obvious. Something that will pull this all together and make sense. I just haven’t found it yet.
The door opens, and I lift my head, body going on alert once more. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Emma,” comes a whispered voice. Footsteps pad across the floor. “Keep your voice down so the guards don’t hear us.”
Emma?
I’m shocked. Of all the people I expected to hear from in this place, Emma isn’t it. But as she nears, I smell the rose perfume that she’s been wearing since that day in the store when we swapped her deer spray for a more pleasant scent. “You…you’re working with these guys?”
A second later, gentle hands lift the blindfold from my eyes. She gazes at me with a haunted expression. It’s Emma, all right, but there’s a giant bruise across one cheek, and her chin is scratched up. She’s dirty, and there are circles under her eyes. She looks miserable as she sets down a tray of soup on a nearby table. “Bathroom?” she calls loudly. “Okay, come on then.” She puts a finger to her lips and takes me by the arm, helping me to my feet.
I have no choice but to go. Even as I do, I glance around, making note of my surroundings. What I can see doesn’t tell me much—it’s a hotel room of some kind, but the carpets have been torn up and there’s nothing but bare floor showing. The sofa I was sitting on is filthy and worn, and there’s a stained mattress in the corner of the room. The one window in the room is covered with cardboard so I can’t see outside. There’s a bathroom off to one side, and Emma steers me in that direction, her expression tense.
I head inside, and she immediately locks the door, and then it’s the two of us in the tiny bathroom with not much room to stand. “Not to get too fresh,” she whispers, “But I’m going to pull up your skirt and it’ll probably look more legit if you actually use the bathroom. Take your time, though, so we can talk.”
“Uh, okay.” I try not to get weirded out as she hikes my skirts up and pulls my panties down for me. I sit on the toilet, and she sits down on the lip of the old, chipped bathtub next to me. “What’s going on? Why are you here? Are you all right?”
Emma crosses her arms over her chest and hunches over. “Define ‘all right’? I’m alive and haven’t been raped yet. That’s about all I’ve got going for me right now.” The smile she gives me is wintry.
“Are they holding you captive?” I shift on the toilet seat, because I didn’t think it was possible to be more uncomfortable in a pair of cuffs, but I guess I’m wrong. The toilet is hard and uncomfortable, and I can’t seem to sit in a way that doesn’t pinch my arms against the tank.
“Yes and no? I don’t want to be here, but I don’t have a choice.” She rubs her hands over her forehead. “These nomads, they’re kind of a gang. Most nomads split up after robbing each other and go their own way. This bunch sticks together and looks out for each other. I guess they’re able to get more shit done that way. Anyhow, they passed by my gas station about a week ago. Lucky me. And guess who was there with them? My brother, who got my butt kicked out of Fort Tulsa with him two years ago.”
“Your brother?”
“Long story short, he’s an asshole. He’s…not a good guy.” She wrings her hands. “When we got booted from Fort Tulsa, I tried to stay behind. I didn’t want to go with him. But because I’m an Arroyo, too, they made me leave the fort with Boyd. I ran away from him a couple weeks later when it became obvious that when we ran out of money, I was going to have to hustle for him.” She shakes her head and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I never wanted to see him again. Finding him here was bad luck. Finding out that he’s one of Azar’s right-hand men? Worse luck.”
“This Azar guy,” I say softly. “You—”
“I know,” Emma replies, glancing at the door. “I think he’s a dragon.”
44
SASHA
Emma twists her hands as she says the words. “No one else has figured it out yet—that he’s not one of us. I knew it the moment I saw him. He’s got that weird monochrome look that Dakh does, but he’s a lot paler. No horns. Long hair. Heard someone joke that they thought he was an albino, but I think he’s a dragon. He’s got weird fingernails, and he just seems…strange.”