Rain's POV
The room felt like a furnace. Heat rolled over us in waves, and the glow from the molten rivers painted everything in shades of hell. The dwarves lined the walls, watchin' us with hard, suspicious eyes. I could feel the hate rollin' off 'em like smoke from a forge.
I could practically hear Fate laughin' in me ear.
"No," Batista croaked, his voice rough but clear. He tried to rise, but his legs gave way. "No deal. Keep yer cursed Moonthorn."
Vorag chuckled. "What's this then?" he said, leanin' down to Batista. "Are ye two… lovers? Mates?"
"Neither," Batista rasped. "But you can't have her."
A murmur rippled through the dwarves.
"Hmph." Dagrim rubbed his beard, eyein' Batista like one might a rat who'd dared bare its teeth. "So ye'd rather die than see her marry me son?"
Batista raised his head, swayin', his eyes burnin' even though he looked like death itself. "Yes," he said. "She's not someone you trade for a life. I owe her mine."
My throat tightened.
