She snorted, still refusing to face him. Ulric of Glengowyn was beautiful, sexy, and the man she’d been in love with since she was old enough to understand what those strange feelings in her gut meant whenever she looked at him. He was also an elf, and while he wasn’t exactly an enemy now, he wasn’t an ally either. “Go away, Ulric.”

“No.”

“If you’re so concerned about your brother—”

“I could care less about that traitor, and you know it.”

She turned her head just enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. “Do I?”

“Don’t play games, Layla. You know I don’t support the traitors.”

She made a vague noise in the back of her throat to keep from giving him a direct reply and looked out over the cityscape again. From her perch atop the abandoned tannery, she could see several blocks into the Sorcerers’ territory.

She tried to ignore the part of her heart whispering she could trust Ulric. The truth was, she couldn’t be certain if he sided with Althir or not. They were brothers, after all.

And when Althir, along with a number of other elves, broke Glengowyn’s neutrality to side with the Sorcerers, he forced her to guard herself against Ulric’s motives as well.

“Why are you here?” she asked on a sigh. “If you don’t care if I kill him, leave me be.”

Hard hands clamped onto her shoulders, and Layla found herself facing a very angry-looking Ulric. Her breath caught at the sight of him, as it always did. His dark hair was long and silky against his angular, pale face. She could just see the points of his ears poking out from his hair. His body was broad and well-muscled, bigger than the average elf, and so perfectly formed he’d been the fuel for her fantasies for years, even when she’d taken other men to her bed in an attempt to forget him. But in that moment, with the heat of his breath against her face, his eyes captured her completely. Dark blue and as sharp as lightning.

“How many times do I have to tell you this, Layla? I care if you get killed.”

His hands tightened almost painfully for a moment, then loosened. For the sake of self-preservation, she took a step away from him. “I’ll be fine.”

“He almost killed you once already.” Pushing the strands of her bangs aside, he fingered the jagged scar on her forehead.

She knew it was still an ugly red welt against her pale skin, adding to the many imperfections of her face, and she hated having him look at it. She jerked her chin to one side, dislodging his touch, then brushed her short hair forward again to cover the mark.

His jaw tightened and his voice deepened. “I don’t want him to succeed next time.”

“He won’t. I know what to expect now.”

“Do you?”

His mocking tone brought out her anger, which was so much better than her uncertainty and self-consciousness that she embraced it fully. “I learn from my mistakes, Ulric. I will kill Althir this time.”

“But not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because he changed his plans.”

She narrowed her gaze and studied him closely. “Why?”

“One of the Sorcerers summoned him and he couldn’t refuse.”

“How do you know?” But she’d already guessed. “You’re still in touch with him. You still talk.”

“He’s my brother.”

He glanced away, not meeting her gaze, and Layla’s instincts leapt. She hadn’t trusted him before, but now… All the other elves had broken ties with the traitors, even if they were family members. Yet Ulric hadn’t. He claimed he didn’t care if she killed Althir, but he still spoke with him often enough to know his plans had changed? Why would he do that if he so disapproved of what his brother was doing? The only thing she could think was that he was helping Althir.

She clenched her teeth in an attempt to hold in the fury brought on by that possibility. Even if he wasn’t directly helping his brother, Ulric was still in contact with one of the elves responsible for hundreds of human enslavements and deaths. That reality was betrayal enough.

“Leave, Ulric,” she said, struggling with her disappointment. “Before I kill you, too.”

He laughed, the sound so unexpected Layla actually jumped. She cursed herself for her idiotic behavior. Worse still was her body’s reaction to his laugh. Her thighs clenched, her heartbeat sped, and her nipples tightened. Despite her distrust, despite everything, she wanted him so badly it hurt.

“You won’t kill me,” he murmured and closed the distance between them again.

“Don’t be so sure. You’ve betrayed us—”

“I have not!” He gripped the back of her neck hard, bringing her face close to his. “Is that what you think? That I’m working with Althir against the Sinnale?”

“What am I supposed to think when you’re still talking to him?”

“I do that for you.”

She sucked in a breath. “That makes no sense.”

“It does if you’d just believe that I don’t want you to die. If I know what he’s doing, where he’s going, I can keep you safe.”

“It’s not your place to keep me safe. The elves chose their neutrality when the war began. You agreed with that position. You took your weapons and left us to our fate.” Elven weaponry was their only defense against the Sorcerers. But after the invasion, Glengowyn broke off all trade with Sinnale, including those vital weapons. “Why would you care if I lived or died now?”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve always cared.”

The grip on her neck softened, coaxed, drawing her closer so only a breath of space separated their bodies. Feeling the heat pumping from his skin, through his tunic and her heavier shirt and cloak, left her momentarily helpless. The air was damp, threatening rain, and she was cold after spending so much time on this rooftop waiting for Althir to appear. Ulric’s heat drew her more surely than any fire.

His fingers stroked lightly where her now short hair met her neck, and Layla shivered.

She didn’t trust him and yet she found resisting him one of the hardest things she’d ever done. More difficult even than her first kill.

“I hate that you cut your hair,” he said, his gaze traveling over her face. “You’re still beautiful. But I adored your long hair.”

“Long hair is a hindrance during war. And I know full well I’m not beautiful.”

Just weeks after she’d nearly killed his brother, and almost died in the process, Ulric started to show up everywhere she went in Noman’s Land, following her and trying without any subtlety at all to get her into bed. After years of treating her as no more than a friend, the daughter of merchants he regularly sold elf-weapons to, suddenly he was plying her with compliments, touching her, teasing her. As much as his continued communication with his brother, his attempts to seduce her roused her suspicions and heightened her distrust.

“You never believe me,” he said, shaking his head. But his tone was teasing now, as if scolding a naughty child.

“Why do you keep the scar hidden?” he asked.

She glanced away. “It’s ugly.” It wasn’t the only ugly thing about her. But it was the one thing she could cover. The gap between her two front teeth could only be hidden if she kept her mouth closed and she was too outspoken for that. Her nose was too sharp, her face too long, her eyes too far apart. Her skin was splotchy and her figure much too thin. Two years of war had taken their toll on a body and face never perfect enough to compete with the beauty of the elves anyway.

Now she had a scar to add to her imperfections. Yet another reason she didn’t believe Ulric could really want her.

He brushed her hair aside again, catching her hand when she reached up to stop him. “It’s a mark of your courage,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t be ashamed.”

“Easy for you to say.” How could he understand? He was a warrior without a single scar, not one imperfection, though she knew from her father that Ulric had fought in at least two wars during his long life. He was battle-hardened and yet still looked magnificently flawless.

“No. I hate that you have this.”

He ran his finger over the rough skin and Layla trembled in response. The slight contact sent heat radiating throughout her body. She started to lean into him, catching herself only at the last minute.
“It reminds me you were nearly killed. Every time I see it…” He paused and swallowed visibly.
Layla raised her brows. He sounded and looked so sincere.

“But you shouldn’t be ashamed of the mark.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And I need the reminder.”

She frowned. “Why?”

He used the hand he still held to tug her a step closer. With only a couple of inches of air between them, his scent overwhelmed her. She’d always liked the way Ulric smelled. She used to make excuses to be near him when he came to negotiate with her parents and later her, just so she could revel in that scent. But now, there was a heady intensity that blocked the harsher smells of Noman’s Land—the rubbish, the sewage, the ash of burnt fires and other things she tried not to think about, the hint of magic that was as impossible to describe as the scent of a baby’s head but just as distinct, though much less pleasant.

With Ulric standing so near, with his eyes staring directly into hers and his hand gripping her, warm and strong, all those other things faded under the spicy, subtle aroma of him.

“You aren’t answering my question,” she managed to say, but her throat was tight.

“I’ve forgotten what you asked.”She was pretty sure that was a lie. He couldn’t possibly be as overwhelmed by her nearness as she was by his. But for the life of her, she couldn’t see the lie in his expression.

She tried, gods help her, she tried to tug her hand free of his. She needed to step back, to put some distance between them. Instead, she leaned ever so slightly forward and her gaze dropped to his lips. A mouth she’d studied more often than she cared to admit.

“Please come away with me,” he whispered.

The please almost had her. He’d never sounded so sincere, or vulnerable. Or quite so desperate.

But a very small and quiet part of her whispered, “He’s still in touch with his brother. And you are trying to kill Althir.”

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