The tent flap falls behind us like the jaws of a beast.
Torchlight from the cavern leaks in only in thin, trembling strips, painting the hide walls in blood-red slashes. Inside, the air is thick with crushed pine, old smoke, and the musk of men who have killed and fucked in this same space for years.
Katan kicks the flap closed with his heel. The sound of the drums outside drops to a muffled, hungry heartbeat.
Rahn wasted no breath on taunts or threats—his silence was his weapon, cold and absolute. He flung me onto the furs like discarded meat, his grip on my arm bruising deep into the muscle, the impact slamming through my bones and forcing a sharp gasp from my lungs.