Roar (Stormheart, #1)

*

Rora’s head throbbed as she woke, and her neck and back joined the chorus. She had woken midroll when her face slid off a pillow onto a thick, rough carpet. Next to her was a mountain of a man stretched out on his stomach. He had both hands shoved beneath a pillow, and his shoulder-length hair was in wild disarray around his face, but the name came back to her quickly.

Locke.

She sat up sharply, her head spinning. Locke jerked awake next to her. He pushed up onto his side, eyes wild and body tense. Then his eyes fell on her, and he softened.

“How do you feel?” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

She heard shuffling from somewhere beyond him and noticed a group seated at the back of the tent, quietly playing cards. Jinx stood and made her way over.

“Princess?” Locke asked, yanking all her attention back to him. Her hand flew to the scarf around her head, and she sighed when she found it still in place.

Jinx knelt beside her. “Need some help with that? You’ll probably feel better without it.”

Rora scrambled back. In an instant, Locke was up with a hand in front of Jinx to stop her approach.

“Easy,” he said to Rora. “Calm down. You were bleeding and you fainted. Do you remember?”

Rora nodded. She hadn’t known that was what fainting felt like—that awful, nauseating disorientation, like someone had stuck his hand in her head and stirred around.

“When was the last time you ate something?” Locke said.

She said, “This morning? Maybe. Or yesterday. I’m not sure.”

Locke cursed and called out, “Ransom?” A beast of a man put down his cards and stood. His head was bare, but he wore a sizable beard and had shoulders wider than two normal people put together. Locke continued: “Can you get her something to eat?”

The man nodded and strode out of the tent.

Rora began crawling to her feet. “I have to go. I have to go right now.” How long could she stay here without them realizing who she was? It seemed they were nomads of a sort, so they might not recognize her, but she was tired and risked giving herself away if she wasn’t careful.

A firm hand settled over her shoulder, wrenching her back onto the carpet. “No, you don’t,” Locke said. “Eat first.”

Locke’s large hand stayed on her shoulder as his hard gaze raked over her face. He didn’t pin her down with any real force, but she felt too tired to put up much of a fight. And her empty belly did squeeze near to the point of pain.

“Fine,” she whispered.

“What was that?” he asked.

Scowling, she shoved his hand off her shoulder and said, “You heard me. No need to humiliate me any further. My current situation covers that sufficiently, I think.”

A tall, skinny boy with startling red hair and a charming grin popped up beside them. He was all freckles and long limbs, probably near to her age. He held out a waterskin to Locke and said beneath his breath, “She might remind you of your sister, but I don’t think those fond feelings go both ways.”

His sister? Locke growled, “Bait, enough.”

Bait. The boy’s name was Bait. It appeared her haphazardly decided nickname was a good fit for this group after all.

Locke jerked the waterskin out of the boy’s hand and held it out to Rora. “Drink. Unless you’re too humiliated by us helping you.”

Jinx slapped the back of his head, but he barely budged, the waterskin still dangling in his outstretched hand. She took the water, mumbling a sorry and a thank-you. She hated feeling helpless. When her magic hadn’t manifested, she tried to make up for the shortcoming in every other possible way—whether it was through her studies or the physical training she did with the guards.

All eyes were on her as she took her first sip. The cool liquid was such a relief that she took a bigger gulp.

“Go easy,” Locke said. “Little sips or you might get sick.”

She wanted to gulp the whole thing down and pour a second container over her face, but she did as he said. He was trying to be kind, apparently because she reminded him of his sister. There was a sinking in her belly, and she returned to her water.

When she had nearly emptied the waterskin, the bearded man returned with food. Bread and berries and some kind of cooked brown meat on a stick. The bread was stale on the outside but soft and warm on the inside. The berries were familiar, and she picked at those next. As she lifted up the meat for her first bite, she lost the battle with the blush spreading over her cheeks. Everyone was watching, as if they didn’t trust her to feed herself. Gingerly, she took some of the meat between her teeth and pulled. It was a little greasy, but a strong savory flavor burst over her tongue, and before she could help it, she moaned in satisfaction.

Locke grinned, and she nearly moaned again in mortification.

“Ran is a good cook. The best,” Locke said, and the blush on her face burned hotter. Even though she immediately wanted to take another bite, she paused and said, “Thank you.” That was to Locke. Then she found Ransom. Despite his hulking size, he still looked relatively young. Somewhere north of twenty but shy of thirty. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

He smiled, teeth appearing amid the reddish-brown mass of facial hair, but didn’t say anything back.

“So … are you all hunters?” she asked.

Locke nodded. “More or less. We’ve all got different skills, but it takes all of us to make it happen. You’ve met Jinx, but this is Duke.” An old man she hadn’t noticed before stepped out of the corner. Her thoughts were scattered, but he seemed familiar. But certainly she would have remembered an old man with a long beard, braided hair, and leather armor. The extensive webbing of scars on his arms added to that image. This man had lived a warrior’s life. Locke continued: “Duke’s the one in charge. He brought us together and taught us to hunt. You met Ransom and Bait and Sly is—”

“Over here.” The voice came from the far corner of the tent, and Rora craned her head to see a slim girl with dark skin and curly hair cut close to her scalp. Quiet and unassuming, Sly had light, intense eyes that stood out starkly against her dark complexion.

“Everyone,” Locke said, “this is Roar.”

She watched his face for any hint that he knew her true identity but saw none. She cleared every bit of the food on her plate, and only then realized how cold she was. She laid the plate to the side, and shoved her fingers beneath her thighs to stop them from trembling.

“Here,” Locke said, reaching into one of the leather pouches that hung off his person. “Cold front settled in while we were sleeping.”