I woke up to the sound of snoring and the stench of shame.
My head throbbed. My mouth felt like someone had stored dried fish and regret in it overnight. And my body...
Well.
My body remembered everything before my brain did.
I cracked one eye open. The light stabbed me like an unpaid tab.
Oh no.
Oh gods no.
The room was the inn's top floor suite — barely more than an attic with aspirations. Sloped ceiling. Crooked beams. A small round window leaking judgmental sunlight.
And the bed.
The bed.
I was in it.
Nude.
Save for one thing.
I looked down.
Sun medallion.
Hanging between my tits like a badge of betrayal.
I groaned and flopped onto my side, which was a mistake, because that's when I saw him.
Sir Odran.
Also nude.
Flat on his stomach, snoring like a troll with sinus issues, one leg kicked out, the other bent, bare ass in the air like it was trying to surrender to the gods. Suspicious bite mark on his butt cheek.
I let out a long, slow, despairing sigh. Then another, with more swearing in it.
The memories came pouring in like a barmaid's cheap wine.
The fight.
The shouting.
The kissing.
The biting.
The hate-fuck.
The actual hate-fuck.
The moaning, the scratching, the part where I slapped him and he called me a "divine menace" and somehow it only made things worse.
Curses and groans and angry thrusts and gods help me, there were actual tears at one point — not mine — and then another round after I stole the medallion and refused to give it back unless he earned it. Again.
Well done, Saya.
Getting wet for the enemy.
Real tactical genius.
I rolled away from the snoring disaster of a man and buried my face in the pillow. The medallion pressed cold and traitorous against my chest.
"Ughhh gods," I muttered. "He's so... infuriating. And cocky. And rough in just the right way."
My thighs ached.
My pride ached more.
"Okay. Okay, okay, okay," I hissed to myself. "Get a grip, girl. You can fix this."
I sat up, slowly, so the room wouldn't spin. My hair was a tangled mess. My lips were swollen. There was a suspicious bruise on my collarbone in the shape of someone's teeth.
I needed to leave.
Now.
Before that horny bastard woke up and tried round three or, worse, started talking.
I shuffled around the room looking for my clothes — or some approximation of them. A boot under the bed. My blouse draped over the lantern. One sandal nailed to the door with a throwing knife. No idea how that happened.
I spotted his dagger on the table.
Without even thinking, I snatched it.
Not because I needed it.
Just because.
Because I'm petty.
Because I'm shallow.
Because I'm an ungrateful bitch who just slept with the man who stole her treasure and made her come so hard she saw gods she doesn't even believe in.
I tiptoed toward the door, nearly tripping on the night pot. Caught myself. Glared at his snoring form one last time.
Don't say anything, Saya. Just leave.
"Asshole," I whispered. Then I blew him a kiss.
Then I was gone.
Outside, the sun was too loud.
Everything was too loud.
My sandals flopped against my back as I walked, slung over one shoulder like a hussy's banner of defeat. Odran's dagger hung from my belt, equally useless and satisfying. My hips still ached. My pride still bled.
I spotted a hole-in-the-wall breakfast stall tucked between a tannery and a chimney sweep's shack. Wooden stools, cracked bowls, the smell of burnt porridge and strong coffee.
Perfect.
I still had a couple of coins. Enough for caffeine and self-pity.
I slid onto a bench like a ghost and dropped my sandals beside me. My blouse was missing half its buttons. My hair looked like I lost a knife fight with a crow. But nobody looked twice. This was that kind of place.
And then I noticed him.
Sitting one stool over. Squinting at his mug like it owed him money.
The dwarf.
The same dwarf from the inn last night. The one who had declared he was joining Odran's dragon-hunting party. His beard was lopsided now. Someone had braided one side. Sloppily. Possibly me.
He turned his bleary eyes toward me.
Smirked.
"Tight-lipped cave," he rasped hoarsely, raising his mug in greeting.
I groaned. "Shut up."
The barkeep brought me a mug of steaming, bitter sludge that claimed to be coffee. I took a sip. It tasted like regret and ash. Just what I needed.
The dwarf gave a loud sniff and said, "Whatever you and me did last night…"
"Should stay buried," I finished.
He nodded solemnly. "Aye."
We drank in silence for a while. The street shuffled and coughed around us. A rooster somewhere sounded like it regretted everything.
The dwarf looked at me. Then looked down at the bruise blooming on my collarbone. Then looked back up.
"So." He grunted. "You and the hero, eh?"
I stared straight ahead.
He picked up a mug, sniffed it, made a face, and sipped anyway.
"Explains the screaming," he added.
Then I muttered it under my breath.
"He's a bastard."
I stared into my coffee.
"Tied him to an oak once."
Another sip.
"Tied him to a bedpost last night."
"Ay," the dwarf said with a grim sort of reverence. "I've seen it."
We both sighed.
He picked something out of his beard and stared at it like it was a war crime. I rubbed my temple, wishing I could squeeze the memory out like pus from a wound.
"The dragon's gonna kill me," I muttered.
"Who?" the dwarf asked.
"Mind your own business."
He grunted.
We clinked mugs in silence.
The coffee was awful.
The shame worse.
But somehow… it helped.