Page 97 of Folds
Heat creeps up my neck instantly.
“So,” I say, reaching for the ointment a little too fast, “whoexactly did this to you?”
Something colder settles over his expression.
“Poachers.”
I frown, confused. “Poachers?”
“They harvest naga venom.” His jaw flexes faintly. “Scales. Fangs. Skin. Every part of me can be sold for a pretty penny to the right client.”
A sick feeling twisted in my stomach.
“Oh—that's fucking horrible. I'm so sorry.”
“They won’t trouble anyone again.”
The quiet certainty in his voice makes me pause.
Then he smiles slightly, just enough for the edge of one fang to catch the light.
Every survival instinct I possess should have been screaming at me to run out the front door. To risk the rain, the mountain trails, and get back to civilization.
Instead, warmth curls low in my stomach so fast it almost makes me angry.
What in the actual fuck is wrong with me? Seriously?
A dangerous, gigantic naga casually implying he murdered people, and my brain decided that was attractive?
Maybe I really had hit my head crawling around under the cabin earlier.
I push any attempt my brain has at preserving my safety to the side.
The mugs in my hands are white with faded harvest-gold stripes around the rim, probably bought sometime in the seventies when my uncle first built this place.
For a second, the sight of them tugs me backward—summer afternoons smelling like sawdust, my uncle laughing while terrible coffee burned on the stove, his rough hands guiding mine over freshly sanded wood.
Then the floor creaks softly.
I look up.
Bahtam iswatching me across the firelight, gold eyes fixed entirely on me.
And just like that, the warmth in my chest changes shape.
"You are different, you know," Bahtam says, snapping me from my memory.
I huff a less than quiet laugh, handing him his retro mug of tea.
"Uh, you're half snake, Bahtam. I think you've beaten me on the whole different front."
His lips part slightly at that statement, just enough for that flicker of his tongue, quick and curious.
"I mean," he corrects, his voice lower, "you are warm in a way I've never felt."
I know that I couldn't possibly be warmer than the fire he sits in front of, that he's implying something else entirely.
"Well, you really crawled under the best cabin then, didn't you? Premium heating, comes with tea." I tell him sarcastically as I plop down next to him on the floor.
