Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) by Suzanne M. Sabol Page B

bit out. She cupped the bowl in her hands and forced it to her lips. She sat up straight, defiant.
    She hated shifting. It hurt and the memory of her father calling her a beast, an abomination at every full moon when she had to change was just as painful. If she had to be cold to avoid any expression of revulsion in Saeran’s eyes, she would.
    “Milagra,” Saeran chastised. His yellow eyes appeared almost green with the reflected light from the blue flame between them. He glared at her in a way that made her uncomfortable in her seat, and she squirmed just a bit. “I can hear your teeth chattering in your head,” he snapped.
    “But Saeran,” Milagra whined. Cut-off by Saeran’s steady gaze, she didn’t finish her thought.
    “No,” he said, his voice sharp. “Milagra, I’m not ashamed of what you are, and you shouldn’t be either. You are beautiful in both your forms.”
    Milagra couldn’t meet his eyes, watching the blue flame of the fire between them instead. “But, my father,” Milagra whimpered. A warm tear slid down her cold skin, freezing the moment the wintry wind blew across her face.
    “Your father,” Saeran snarled, disdain dripping as he spat out each word, “is a self-serving imbecile. If I had been your father,” he continued, “I would never have given you up.”
    Milagra opened her mouth to thank him but was stopped short. A harsh, rasp of breath that didn’t belong to either she or Saeran filled the silent night. The hairs on the back of Milagra’s neck stood on end as a warning tingled through her consciousness. Something approached them and she caught the faint scent of sandalwood and sulfur on the wind. Squirming in her seat on the downed log, she searched her mind for anything that would carry that particular scent.
    For a few brief moments, the frozen wasteland was silent. The wind stopped whipping about, animals practically disappeared in the wood, and her heart stopped beating.
    Milagra turned to Saeran, meeting his gaze in question.
    His ears perked up at some sound he’d heard, and he jumped from his seat. His yellow eyes darted across the darkness of the frozen tundra and he drew the sword from the scabbard strapped to his hip.
    “Milagra,” he whispered, stern and precise.
    Panic bubbled in her stomach as she met his eyes.
    “Run,” he ordered.
    Run? Run where?
    “Saeran?” She hesitated. He’d never told her to flee . . . from anything. He’d taught her to fight, hand to hand and with a broad sword. He’d said he expected her to stand her ground on her own. She’d even brought the broadsword with her at his direction.
    “Milagra!” he shouted. “ Run !” Gripping his sword, he stood ready, staring into the inky blackness beyond the flickering blue firelight.
    A chill slid down Milagra’s neck as she hopped to her feet. For the first time, she wished she could shift to wolf quick enough to help. Gripping the sword at her side, she ripped it from its sheath.
    “It’s too late for her to run, you Seelie pig,” a deep, maleficent voice roared from the darkness.
    Milagra caught her breath in a gasp of panic as the thing stepped into sight. Standing two feet taller than Saeran, the creature’s skin was covered in heavy black fur. One giant, black eye stared down at her.
    “What do you want?” Saeran barked at the creature, the sword still clutched tight in his grip.
    A chill soaked into Milagra’s bones as the creature laughed. Throwing its head back, he gave a hearty roar of laughter, the night beyond the light of the fire quaked with a quivering fear.
    “Why, Milord, I’m only here to collect what’s owed me,” it barked, pleasure and disdain buried in his words.
    “I owe you nothing,” Saeran spat.
    “I beg to differ,” the creature growled, a sinister smile curving its thick lips and exposing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth.
    Milagra’s haunches rose up along her spine and a growl vibrated in warning up her throat.
    “Ah,” the creature