The Carnelian Way

20.1

Olav maintained his hold on Rina as they left the medic building and made their way to the guardhouse, his boots thumping and crunching on the gravel. They excited the grounds and entered the shade of a small wood, the path wending between olive, palm, and cypress trees. Ahead of them, Sara and her guards disappeared at a bend in the road.

Olav slowed his steps and pulled her an inch closer. "Why do you have to always get yourself in trouble, Rina?"

She gritted her teeth, training her eyes on the approaching building that peeked above the treeline. "I didn't do anything wrong."

He made a hmpf. "You never do, do you?"

Her head jerked to face him. Something glimmered in his obsidian eyes. Regret? A nail raked across her heart, and her eyes moistened. Then the image of Olav's knee connecting with Pietro as he knelt on the floor flashed before her.

Bastard! "And you're all honour, aren't you, Ol?" He smiled at the endearment. Damn it. She'd promised herself not to call him that. She lifted her chin and corrected herself. "Captain, Olav."

His face fell, and his hands tightened on her arms. He shook her once. "Damn you, Ri. Why do you have to be like this?"

"I said, don't call me that."

He stopped and turned her to face him. "I think I deserve to, after everything."

"No, you fucking don't."

She could smell him—that familiar scent of leather and lye mixed with the tang of his sweat. The day warmed, and despite the light red cotton the guards wore here in place of the thick wool used in Amadore, the shelled leather brigandine, greaves and vambraces he wore brought to mind a lobster boiling in a pot. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He leaned into her. A trickle slid down his face. "You have to be so stubborn, don't you. But it's not fair that you push me away."

"There's nothing between us." She struggled to get away from him, but his fingers gripped her. "We should keep up, or they'll come back and look for us."

He tugged her to him. "Of course, there is." Olav glanced at the disappearing track, before saying, "And they wouldn't dare."

Rina twisted uselessly in his arms. "Why are you doing this? Why are you even here?"

"Because I bloody care about you!" he hissed.

She lowered her voice to match his. "No, you don't. You wouldn't have lied to me if you did. And you sure as hell wouldn't have—"

His lips crashed against hers—soft, warm, and tasting of ale. For a moment, she let herself sink into him, letting the anger recede like a draining tide. The tip of his tongue flickered across her lips, and she opened to him. He deepened the kiss. She sensed the pound of his heart through his armour, his chest pressed to hers, and inspite of the heat of the day, they were back in that alley in Amadore again, her back against the icy bricks, his hands everywhere. His knee nudging her legs apart. That same knee that had ploughed into her uncle's face. Rage slammed back into her like a storm surge, and she bit him. Hard.

"Fuck!"

Olav lurched back, but not before his blood filled her mouth. Lights streaked about her, and that hollow hunger bloomed. Her fingers itched to grab him to her and pull him to her and drink—his blood; his energy—he'd let her. The knowledge sent a thrill through her body.

His thumb came to his mouth and wiped the blood away. He looked at it, then her, his face ashen.

"I shouldn't have done that, Ri. I'm so sorry. It was wrong. Please, I..." his words faded, but his eyes were intent, asking for permission to hold her again.