Hellfire

Manon

Manon Blackbeak was tired. No, tired was an understatement. Bone-numbing exhaustion rippled through her. The Thirteen had been flying for weeks now, periodically stopping at some of the places they had seen - and killed, she reminded herself - Crochans before. Nothing was there, not a whisper, not a trace. Perhaps they had done their job too well, Manon thought softly. Of course, having Dorian here was another distraction she didn't really want to contemplate. The looks Asterin had been giving her over the past few days were enough for Manon to think about shoving the King off the side of a cliff, just to make Asterin stop.

"Manon?" Dorian's voice rippled through her, and Manon snapped herself out of her reverie. They were descending, darkness nearly upon them. Asterin must have found somewhere to camp. Mother save her, if Asterin gave her one more look when mentioning sleeping arrangements. Abraxos huffed beneath her as they landed, the ground almost shuddering as the Thirteen began setting up camp. Manon quickly unpacked, and stalked off to set up her tent. She was about halfway through when she scented Dorian coming up behind her. She twisted around, spying him leaning against a tree.

"So, where exactly am I going to sleep this time?" he asked, his dark - edged smile making her blood heat.

Manon turned away, continuing to set up the tent, not trusting herself to answer him.

"Hmm, Manon?"

Manon decided he needed to stop saying her name like that if they had any hope of making through the night. She finished the tent, whirled around, eyes narrowing, and thrust a hand towards the finished product.

"There," she growled, then stalked away before he could say anything else damning. She saw Asterin's poorly concealed grin as she stomped towards Abraxos, and Manon silently dared her to say anything. They had better find those damn Crochans quickly.

Dorian was inside the tent by the time she returned, laden with blankets from Abraxos's pack. He was curled in a corner, reading a book he had carried around all this time. For a moment, she allowed herself to take in his form, his face, softened by the intent by which he scanned every page. Dorian's head snapped up, and Manon realized with a start that she was staring. Dorian stared back, a half smile dancing on his lips. Part of her wanted to growl at him, but the other part sat up, going still at the attention. She fairly chucked the blankets at him.

"You take the left side, I get the right."

He had the nerve to look vaguely disappointed, and Manon felt a snarl climb up her throat.

"So fussy, today. You and Aelin sure make a pair of exacting royals," he teased

She crossed her arms, tapping her foot as he took a blanket from the mound she had thrown at him. When he had, she moved, grabbing one, and quickly making up a bed for herself. She was fairly certain she'd never done it so quickly.

"Goodnight, Manon," Dorian whispered roughly. Manon tugged the blankets closer to herself and refused the urge to turn over and look at him. His quiet laugh bounced through the air as he heard her pull the blankets tighter around her.

"Damn you," she hissed. Only quiet emanated from his form. She silently cursed him as she listened to his deep breaths, and closed her eyes.

Manon felt like she had only been asleep for a moment before hands yanked her out of bed. She cried out, only to have the sound muffled by some type of cloth. She began to struggle, slipping her iron nails free, before a sword was held at her throat. And someone else's.

"Look what we have here," crooned a Crochan witch, her brown eyes glowing in the dim light as she held a dagger against Dorian's tan throat.