My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 343

Lyra

"You sure act like one."

I felt a spark of irritation then, and I tried to turn to face her, to give her a piece of my mind. But she caught my arm, her fingers tight around my wrist, and she pressed her mouth to my ear, her voice a whisper. "You're cold, Lyra, and you're tired. I can smell it on you. You're scared, and you're lonely, and you're mad as hell." She leaned back a little then, but kept her hand on my arm. "And you know what? That's okay. That's all okay. You don't have to hide it."

The horse whinnied then, and Odile glanced at it, a small smile playing on her lips. "He's agreeing with me. And you know why? Because you're talking to him, and he can hear it in your voice. He knows you're not a threat."

I felt my face flush, and I knew Odile could see it. She squeezed my arm gently, then dropped her hand. "See?" she said softly. "He's calming down. You're calming down, too. You're doing great."

The horse's calm under my hands now, the lead steady in my grasp. I turned my head slightly, my lips brushing Odile's hair as I asked quietly, "So where's Odile from?"

Her hands went still on the horse then. For a few seconds, she was just gone - looking off past the treeline, somewhere else entirely. The easy chatter dried up, and she was quiet.

It was the first thing about her that hadn't come easily. When she finally spoke, it was vague, quiet, and it cost her something. "Somewhere cold," she said. "Up and away. We didn't stay long anywhere."

I could feel the tension in her, the struggle not to give too much away. And I knew the shape of a person closing a door. I knew because I did it myself, all the time.

I pressed just a little, careful, not mocking. "Somewhere. You had to be from somewhere."

She gave a small, crooked shrug, a half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Somewhere," she echoed, and I knew it was the end of it. The lightness had thinned out of her, and I knew better than to push further.

I should have. I should have dropped the lead and let Odile deal with it herself. I should have turned on my heel and marched back to the castle, back to my own rooms, my own books, my own life.

But something kept me rooted there, in the mud, with Odile's hands still on the rope beside my own. Maybe it was the sight of her, pale-eyed and flushed, her hair in her face. Maybe it was the sound of her laughter, warm and easy. Maybe it was the horse, finally still between us, its breath mingling with Odile's, with mine.

Or maybe it was just the adrenaline still humming in my veins, making me reckless and bold. Maybe it was the knowledge that, for a moment, I'd let myself forget. I'd forgotten the weight of my name, the coldness of the castle walls. I'd forgotten my father’s wickedness, the possibility that my sister may have abandoned me, and the constant ache in my chest.

And that made me feel guilty.

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