Chapter Twenty

When the thin mattress dips, I turn, letting Roshan gather me into his arms, taking shameless comfort in the fact that his strong body is curled around mine.

“Are you all right?”

I mumble blearily.

He kisses my forehead. “Yes. Sorry I woke you.”

“Where’s Aran?”

“Getting us some jādū. Try to go back to sleep.”

But as the warmth pools in my veins with our bodies lying flush, I don’t want to sleep. I want to forget about the mess we’re in. I want to calm the voices in my head. I want to feel something other than fear. I drift one hand down his back and under his shirt to the warm skin beneath. Dark eyes glint in the gloom. “Sura,”

he whispers, “you need to rest.”

“I need you more.”

My hands skim up to his pectorals, brushing over his broad chest and then down his abdomen to the trail of hair leading to the waistband of his trousers. I trace the edge of his pants around his backside and curl my nails into the firm rise of his buttocks. Sands, everything about him is sleek and strong.

Breathless, I burrow closer, feeling his length harden against my stomach, and I lift my face to his in silent plea. He doesn’t disappoint as warm lips cover mine. The taste of him is intoxicating, the velvet slide of his tongue a feeling I can’t get enough of. Roshan’s kiss is soft and tender as if he wants to reassure me that everything will be fine. But I don’t want tender, I want hungry and hard. I want to be breathless . . . mindless with passion.

I want to forget that I’m marching toward death and there’s nothing I can do.

Digging my fingernails in, I grind against him as I tease his lower lip and then bite it gently, drawing a husky groan from him. His mouth drags to my throat, a palm sliding up to cup my breast, and I can’t help the needy whimper that escapes me.

“Now, Roshan,” I beg.

His hands curve around me, unfastening and loosening, as we hurriedly rid each other of our bottom layers, aware of the fact that Aran could return at any minute. I’m already so wet that it doesn’t take much for Roshan to slip inside me. We both moan at the snug fit, when he angles my knee up over his hip for purchase and inches deeper, seating himself entirely. The position is shallow, but every time he rocks, he hits a spot that makes me quake.

“Fuck, you’re tight like this,”

he growls.

Needing more, I roll to the side and take him with me so he’s on top. I wrap my legs around him. “Faster, Ro.”

He claims my lips again as he thrusts into me, making the small cot shake with the force of his movements. It’s nothing like the aqueduct when we took our time with each other. This is frenzied, as if we both need the physical reminder that we’re alive . . . that we have something to live for even if time isn’t on our side.

“Sura, I’m close,”

he mutters against my mouth, his motions growing jerkier.

I feel my own climax coalescing as his pubic bone hits me just where I need it on each downstroke, and my legs start to tremble as white edges my vision. Jerking my hips upward, I chase the pleasure until it envelops me with the intensity of a shooting star rocketing across the heavens. Roshan comes, too, slamming as deep as he can go with a muffled curse, his body shaking. His weight collapses on me, but I don’t mind. Panting as we lie there, our racing heartbeats form a discordant melody. Not a single word is needed.

I wrap myself in his arms and his scent, imagining us in a parallel universe where he’s just a man and I’m just a woman, and happiness is a joyful possibility. But our moment of comfort is much too short as a slamming thud echoes down the hall.

“Roshan!”

Aran calls out. “We need to go. The officer from the supply warehouse is looking for you. He claims he saw Suraya and what she can do. It’s anarchy up there. I have the jādū we need to summon a portal, but it’s just a matter of time before they find us.”

We lurch upright in unison, my head nearly crashing into Roshan’s as we both reach for our discarded clothing and yank it on. For a second, I can’t control my panic, and his harsh expression has my heart thumping into a frantic pace. “Why can’t we portal from here?”

I ask Aran, opening the door.

“These crystals are too weak for the distance, and if the magic fails, we could end up somewhere we don’t want to be. Or worse.”

Roshan shudders beside me. “I’ve seen a man split in half from failed portal magic. For our best chance, we need to be out, under moonlight and starlight. They’ll boost the crystal’s power.”

Jādū is a finite resource, but given the source of my own magic, it makes sense that the stars and the moon might provide some enhancement. Finger-combing my hair, I walk to where Aran is cramming his belongings into a rucksack. He, too, looks exhausted and unkempt. “We can go that way.”

He points to a dark opening at the end of the room that I didn’t realize was another tunnel. “That one leads outside. To the Dustlands.”

I lurch back. “The Dustlands?”

“It’s our only chance.”

He glances toward the trapdoor. “It won’t be long before the men find their way here. They’re tearing the warehouse apart.”

I let out a hiss of frustration. “What’s the bounty? Gold?”

“Jādū,”

Aran says, and my heart sinks.

No wonder men loyal to the Dahaka are turning on the commander. “But in the Dustlands, we’ll be hunted by Scavs,”

I say, glancing at Roshan, whose face is tight with rage.

Aran shakes his head and hands both Roshan and me a pile of clothing each. “They don’t come this close to the fortress. We will be well. Put those on.”

I don’t believe him, but I stand and swipe a hand over my gritty face, before going into the adjacent room to pull on the blessed change of clothes that he brought, grateful I don’t have to try to brave the desert in filmy silk. A tunic and trousers instead of a dress, thank the heavens, and sturdy boots.

When I’m dressed, with my dagger secured and my nerves calmed somewhat, I give them a brave nod, and we leave as quietly as we can.

We follow the tunnel for a few minutes, until we reach a series of rungs embedded in the rock wall, rising up to a distant hatch. I swallow down my fear of the Scavs and climb, and all too soon, fresh air hits my face. The Dustlands are cool, the light of the half-moon and the twinkle of stars the only pinpricks in the darkness. The soft howl of some animal makes me jump. I peek over my shoulder to the rising walls of the battlements. We’re not that far from the perimeter of the Indraloka, which means we have to get out of sight.

Huddling together, we run hard and fast toward the west.

Behind us, I hear another howl, followed by a series of hoots much too close for comfort. The odd pitch makes me stumble. Are they wolves or coyotes? Or something worse?

“Rosh—”

A hand darts out and pulls me behind a tall rock, and another hand wraps around my mouth—Roshan’s. He gently presses me to my knees, and I tremble between him and Aran, peering anxiously into the surrounding darkness. My heart is going to pound its way out of my chest, the fear overwhelming. Out of instinct, I reach for my dagger. I feel better holding it, but I’m careful not to incite any magic that might make it glow.

Calm, calm, calm.

“We’re being tracked,”

Roshan whispers.

Oh, fuck. By what kind of animal?

The realization is like a brittle slap. Not animals. Scavs.

“They’re sentries, so we have a chance. Just don’t move for now and stay quiet.”

I try to think back to what I know about Scavs. They work in packs like hyenas, sending out trackers and hunters in smaller groups that function as part of a larger group. Sentries sound deceptively benign, but all Scavs are deadly, hooked on Jade and not something you want to come up against.

“What do we do?”

I whisper.

Roshan swallows. “We have two choices: keep going and hope they move on, or take our chances facing them.”

“Neither of those sounds good.”

We freeze as a few more of those unholy howls and short, owl-like hoots echo on the wind. “Fuck,”

Roshan whispers. “Guess we stay put, hide behind this rock, and hope that they go right past us.”

“I could incinerate them,”

I offer quietly.

Roshan hesitates but shakes his head. “Even if you could get rid of these scouts, more of them won’t be far behind.”

Despite it being my suggestion, I’m glad he’s nixed it. The thought of killing anyone—even Scavs—leaves me cold. And if my soul bound in akasha does indeed end up being for grabs to one of the twin gods, I want to do everything I can to control the outcome.

It seems like hours pass as we crouch there waiting. And then . . . movement, a stone’s throw away. They’re here!

The smell is the first thing to assault us, and I fight the bile rising in my throat at the foul odor of decay on the wind. I hold my breath, my body starting to quiver. Roshan notices and slips his hand into mine to squeeze reassuringly. “Breathe through your mouth,”

he says softly into my ear, his fingers tightening. I focus on breathing, willing my heart to slow its stampeding pace. I’m white-knuckling the hilt of my dagger.

Heavy footsteps halt.

“False alarm,”

a deep male voice says, and I nearly jump out of my skin at how close the Scav is to our position.

“Are you sure?”

The other voice is raspy as though something has strangled its throat. I clamp Roshan’s palm in a numb grip, hairs rising in terror.

“Coyotes?”

a nasal female voice chimes in as I silently triangulate the three of them to us.

“Too big,”

the second replies. “Keep looking. Decker says he saw movement.”

A grunt of agreement.

I breathe an inaudible sigh of relief as the footsteps eventually recede. A few more of those eerie howls and hoots echo in the night much farther away. We’re still alive, for now. Roshan puts a finger to his lips and stands, reaching into his pack for a weapon. He hands a knife to Aran.

What are you doing? I mouth to him.

He presses his lips to my ear. “They know we’re here. We have no choice. We need to take this Scav and his companions out first, then we go from there. Stay put.”

I shake my head and grab hold of his shirt. “No. I can fight, Roshan. I’m not some sandsdamned damsel.”

We engage in a silent battle of wills for a few intense moments before he capitulates with a muffled curse. “Fine, but stay close.”

We inch in single file through the gap in the rocks, our movements careful and quiet, sneaking behind the closest Scav. Roshan snaps his neck with a flick of his wrist before he can make a sound.

Aran stoops to remove the blade from the dead creature’s hands, along with the crossbow strapped to his vest. “Don’t look,”

he whispers to me.

Call it morbid curiosity, but I can’t help myself. As I step over the body, I see matted hair framing a face ravaged with oozing channels and sores. His nearly toothless mouth is agape, his two remaining canines long and sharpened to predatory points. More weeping lesions pepper his arms and torso, and my eyes are riveted to his—their unseeing and overly dilated irises colored and vined with the telltale chartreuse shimmer of distilled jādū.

Roshan holds a fist up and then two fingers, and my shock dies on my lips. His look to me is ferocious, indicating that I should remain where I am. This time, I don’t argue.

He disappears, and I duck into a crouch—but freeze as movement to my left catches my eye. I swallow a scream and brandish my dagger. This Scav looks even worse than the last. He’s hunched over, and his head is shaved bald but covered in the same festering blisters. His eyes are ringed in acid green, his shark-toothed smile gluttonous.

“Hello, pretty one,”

he growls, his breath fetid.

“Stay back!”

I hiss. “I don’t want to hurt—”

He’s quicker than I expect and I react much too late when he lunges. My magic brightens in an instinctive rush to my hands, right before I feel the pierce of something tiny and sharp at my nape. A cool, slithery rush follows, and everything stills. The last thing I think before my limbs turn to rubber is that I’ve never felt such intense euphoria in my entire life.

I slump to the dusty ground, and as I lie sprawled there with utterly languid limbs, the Scav topples beside me, his tongue snaking out to lick my cheek. I giggle at the wet scrape, my fingers mesmerized by the texture of the ground beneath me as it turns into the consistency of a fat, puffy cloud. It feels as though I’m flying, a feather being carried away on salt-filled breezes.

Intoxicated with pleasure, I laugh and laugh. Everything fades away, and I am sucked into a shimmering, opalescent space that welcomes me with beautiful, delirious arms.