Kingdom of Claw (The Ashen, #2)

by Demi Winters

The corners of his

lips twitched as he thought of her surprise when he passed her a ha...

Rey couldn’t help it—the evidence of her tears made him want to sink an axe into someone’s skull.

Pride swelled in his chest, and Rey hoped he’d at last found the right words. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

And with that, he hooked an arm around her waist, threw her over his shoulder, and strode toward the shield-home.

“You can say anything to me,” Rey found himself saying, “if it makes you feel better.” Immediately, he felt a pang of regret—he’d laid himself too bare, and he longed to snatch the words back. But after a searching look, words rushed out of her.

In this moment, she could have asked him for anything, and he’d have done it. Anything to make her smile, to make the light come back to her eyes.

Rey sank onto the bench. Pried the crate lid open. Pulled a little yellow fluff ball into his hand and stroked the tiny creature’s head. The corners of his lips hitched up as he looked at the thing. The chick looked back. “I suppose,” said Rey, “you’ll have to settle for me tonight.” The chick peeped.

She needed a sign. Something—anything—that would tell her to keep trying.

Rey had brought her chicks. It had been the sign she’d needed. Hold strong for one night.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let me be strong for you.”

Rey’s fingers brushed across her cheeks, swiping her tears away. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed a kiss to her hair with aching tenderness.

The corners of her lips twitched, but at that moment, something soft and warm nuzzled her cheek. Silla gasped, blinking. Surely she’d imagined it, but…there! A gentle tug on her hair, hot breath on her neck.

Slowly, Silla turned. Brown Horse stared back, several curly locks of hair held between her lips. Silla fought back tears of disbelief.

Brown Horse released Silla’s hair and dipped her head. Her nose slid along Silla’s palm, then the treat was plucked from her hand.

Brown Horse had willingly come to her. Had allowed Silla to feed her. If this was not a sign from the gods, Silla didn’t know what was. Hope ignited in her chest, warming her through.

Remember, Moonflower, it is always darkest just before dawn.

A reminder that it is always darkest before first light.” Rey watched her silently. “I will call you Dawn.”

Silla smothered a smile as he scraped the bottom of the cauldron with a wooden spoon and licked it clean. When he caught her watching him, he quirked a brow. “I missed your cooking,” he said with a shrug. The words landed like a hug, wrapping around her middle with delicious warmth.

The day before, he’d seen the ugliest parts of her. But he hadn’t balked—hadn’t run away.

As she exited the stables, Silla paused. Squeezed her eyes shut. And wriggled with utter delight. When she opened her eyes, they landed on a tall,

dark figure leaning casually against the shield-home’s door. Rey’s lips quirked into an Almost Smile. And Silla smiled right back.

she’d taken to calling him by his last name in the past few days.

And Rey had decided he liked it.

And Rey had celebrated it as though it had been his own victory. She’d fought so hard for this moment.

She dedicated herself all day long to his grandmother’s Galdra training, then poured herself into sparring with him. Unfortunately, Rey’s body seemed to take her nearness to mean something altogether different, and he had taken to bathing in the glacial waters of the stream behind the stables afterward.

Another cold bath for him. Rey was the cleanest he’d ever been.

“Be safe,” she whispered. He drew back. Looked down at her. It was strange to see the concern in her eyes—to have someone worry after him. It felt like warmth. Like a reason to come home.

As the door slid shut, Silla curled up on the bench, pulling a fur over her bare legs. It smelled like him, and she couldn’t help but worry for his safety.

“Won’t go back,” she said through gritted teeth, waiting. Watching.

Light sparked from her forearms, hissing in the shield-home’s warm air. It tasted like winter. Felt like destiny.

It was Rey as she’d never seen him—a lethal combination of Axe Eyes’ brutal intensity, with the Slátrari’s burning wrath. And in that moment, she knew this man was unmatched. The most deadly of warriors and Galdra alike.

“Six days,” said Rey, his voice low and lethal. “It was only six days. You’ve all just made a grave mistake.”

“How brave you were, five against one,” mused Rey, stepping deeper into the shield-home. Wisps of smoke split in the air, churning like wrathful thunderclouds. “Now look at you, begging. Have you no honor?”

Her heart pounded, muscles trembling, and as he crouched, she threw herself at him.

Rey’s cloak was off, wrapped around her shoulders. Gripping her chin, he tilted her head left to right, examining her face. Rey closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. And when he reopened his eyes, they burned with anger.

“Shh, my warrior,” he said with remarkable softness. “Do not think of it now. Rest. I’ve got you.” He had her. Thank the gods he had her.

Her eyes met his. “What are you doing?” The man’s lips twitched. “Thinking hearthfire thoughts.”

Taking a calming breath, Silla tucked her hand under her cheek. “Am I to understand all your hearthfire thoughts involve blades?” He blinked slowly, his gaze meandering down to her lips. “Horse was included.” Rey leaned forward and whispered loudly, “The chicks as well.”

owe you my life, yet again.” She hesitated, then shifted, making space for him on the bed. “You look exhausted, Galtung. Come here.”

“Rest,” said Silla. “I have you.”

“I said that.” A soft, raspy chuckle, and Silla caught the corner of a smile. Her heart flipped over. “You’re smiling.”

Carefully, Silla took one of his hands and laid it on his chest. “These are good hands,” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his. “The best hands.”

The last thought Silla had before falling into slumber was that even after eighteen winters, she still very much wanted to hold this man’s hand.

I am staying until I am satisfied with unfinished matters, he’d said, generating only more questions. What did the Urkans have that Rurik and his people needed? A weapon? A book? She couldn’t fathom what it might be.

After washing himself, Rey had run straight through his stores of brennsa, stumbling into Silla’s room at Vig’s steading and watching her sleep. Safe, he’d reassured himself. Safe.

When she’d lured him onto the bed; had massaged the knots from his spine, Rey’s long-frozen heart had dripped with meltwater.

Gyda’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “And with each passing week, she heals just a little more. As I said, a survivor, that one. Perhaps more resilient than you think.”

Silla smiled, those eyes daring to brighten as they landed on Rey. His knees felt weak, his heart pounding too hard.

And, to her great relief, he’d relented to sharing the bed. “For safety,” he’d grunted, sliding a dagger under his pillow. “Keep your cold toes on your side,” he’d warned, making her bite down on a smile.