The Fire King Read Online Free Page B

suffered to live.
    Do not,
whispered the cold part of his mind.
Do not care. Do not involve yourself.
But the shape-shifter’s hand flexed, and he remembered screams—screams in the darkness where he had hidden the cubs, and the blood glistening on claws, on the mouths of the soldiers standing over him—and he tugged hard on his restraints. So hard the iron bit into his flesh.
    The human woman gave him a sharp look, anger still bright in her eyes. No fear. Not even in her scent. He could not tear his gaze from her, not until he felt the shape-shifter throw him a cold, careless glance. It was a fleeting look that lingered and then sharpened. She gazed between him and the human woman, and her smile grew even deadlier.
    It was too much. Karr threw himself against his bonds, fighting them in silence. The iron did not yield. Golden light spilled over his skin. Soft scales rippled, edged with fur, and the tender flesh of his wounds, incurred while breaking the leather restraints in the wagon, split open.
    It hurt, but he did not stop. Not when the shape-shifter growled, baring her sharp teeth, dropping into a half crouch. Her musky scent grew stronger, bitter. Golden light trickled from her single eye.
    The human woman stepped between them. She moved fast, with determination, and stood with her back to Karr, facing the shape-shifter. She did not say a word, but instead placed one hand against the shifter-woman’s shoulder, pushing her back. Firm, unflinching. Karr stopped straining against his bonds. Caught in the moment. Staring.
    No one spoke. The human did not back down. Not even when the shifter-woman dragged one claw down her slender arm, looking past her, directly into Karr’s eyes. Karr kept himself very still, though the tension that rode through him could not be hidden; scales continued rippling over his skin and his muscles bunched against the iron. It felt good. So good he did not want to stop, even if it killed him.
    The human glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gaze, and something wild fluttered through her expression: a fracture, small and pained. Without a word, she began shoving the shape-shifter toward the door. With urgency, determination. Anger.
    He expected the shifter-woman to strike back, but instead she yielded gracefully, casting Karr a cold look that made his hackles burn. Whatever this was—this human, this shifter, this power struggle between them—he was still a prisoner. He was still
her
prisoner. And she wanted him to know it.
    The shape-shifter stepped backward, followed by the human. Karr watched as much as he could, but the hood limited his peripheral vision. He heard the door open and close. Silence followed, though he could still smell warm sunlight. He strained for that scent. He listened painfully as feet scuffed the floor.
    The human woman moved back into sight. Her cheeks were red, her dark eyes narrowed, her breathing just slightly rushed. But when she looked into his eyes again, there was still no fear.
    Bold, striking. Few had ever fascinated Karr, but this woman did. He wanted to know what made her strong enough to compel a shape-shifter’s deference—and how she could look him in the eye without hesitation. When no one else ever had.
    “Hello,” she said.
    Karr blinked, staring.
    “Hello,” said the woman again. It was not his imagination. Since his resurrection, he had not heard one word he understood. Not one. His brief attempts to communicate had brought him nothing but confused looks. Captivity was bad enough, but to be isolated in language was a burden he had wondered seriously whether he would be able to bear. Pain could be controlled. So could fear. But words, even the hostile words of an enemy, were still an anchor, a connection—the only thing, at times, that separated an animal from a man.
    “Hello,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. His throat hurt. So did his heart.
    The woman drew in a slow, deep breath and nodded to herself, her gaze solemn and