The Claimed: A Clash of Copper and Gold

Chapter 29: Silver

The moment I rose to my feet, Ruck appeared with a bundled coat of woven leaves tucked under one arm. He met my eyes briefly before his gaze flitted to Mitzy. In one jerky movement, he thrust the coat out in front of her.

Mitzy shook her head no, but as Ruck dipped back to leave, she flipped a hand toward the empty space on the bench. With a shrug, Ruck slid his arms through the sleeves of the coat and shambled over to plop down beside her.

For a moment, I watched rain sluice over the two burly statues and speckle the world beyond. Then I started toward Niako's cabin.

Niako answered the door after three knocks, eyes bleary and curls tousled.

I shuffled back a step, gripping the fingers of one hand in the other. "Sorry, were you sleeping? I can —"

"No, I wasn't sleeping." He propped the door open wider, but his tone was hesitant, and he dipped his head to examine me from under his long lashes, appearing strangely shy — maybe even nervous. "You can come in. I mean, if you want."

I shouldered into the room and drew the door shut behind me. Niako dropped onto the bed and examined his hands in his lap, and I leaned back and fluttered my fingers against the door. Rain tap-danced on the roof, a percussive backdrop as uneven as my thoughts. After bracing myself for another fight, I wasn't sure how to handle the way Niako was acting.

Without lifting his gaze, Niako said, "You are very wet."

I glanced down at the tunic plastered to my skin and the puddle forming below my sopping trousers. "It's raining."

The little crooked smile chased his lips for a moment, and I heard a laugh in his voice. "So it is."

He would gladly give up all his gold in exchange for a smile.

My fingers stopped fluttering, and I pressed my palms against the door. "Niako, about earlier —"

"I'm sorry." He pushed the words out quickly, as if afraid they might stick in his throat. "For.... everything. When they... whipped you, I was... it was..." He swallowed, squinting at his hands as though hoping to find answers written there.

"I know," I said. And I did know, yet hearing him say it aloud lifted a weight in my chest I never realized I was carrying.

Another silence settled over the room, resting more easily than the last. My earlier tension gave way to a relaxed giddiness that strummed through my veins like prak. When thunder rumbled in the distance and rain battered the roof like nails, an unexpected offer slipped from my mouth.

"Do you want to see the Thunderstorm Dance?"

His eyes flitted up to meet mine. "What is the Thunderstorm Dance?"

I stepped forward. "If you stand up and face me, I'll show you."

He raised his eyebrows. I cocked my head, waiting. With another small smile, he planted his palms on the mattress at either side and pushed up to standing. When he swaggered over to face me — posture proud, shoulders squared, and hips loose — a delicious warmth lit me up inside. So even as my mind prepared to perform the usual rendition, my body made other plans.

My body decided the Thunderstorm Dance should be sexy.

"Lightning come get me, I won't frown" — shimmying my shoulders suggestively

"Light me up and strike me down" — sweeping up an arm and then folding at the waist

"Thunder roll through me, I won't fuss" — gyrating my hips with a thrust on each beat