“To have power over another being? Yes, I suppose it might.” He shrugs.
“That’s not what’s great about having a pet. Maybe some people feel that way. I don’t know. But most people love themfor other reasons. Companionship. Comfort. Entertainment. Affection. Fulfilling the urge to take care of something helpless.”
He snorts. “I have no such urge. Helpless things disgust me.”
I suck in a breath. “You’ve never had a pet? Not even when you were little?”
“Of course not. Even if I had, it would have been taken from me. Tortured, maybe killed.” My heart pangs at his matter-of-fact tone. But when I reach out to squeeze his arm, he jerks it away, rises abruptly to avoid my touch. Then he stands there, wobbling slightly.
Dizzy, I realize, when he reaches up to touch the bump on his temple. “Why don’t we go get your head checked out? Harl can take a look and—”
“It’s fine,” he practically snarls at me, dropping his hand. “I’ve had worse.”
“You should lie down, at least. I’ll stay up and watch you.” I crawl into bed and sit up against the wall, patting my lap. “Come here. I’ll pet you.”
“I’m not your pet,” he grumbles, slinking into the furs anyway like a reluctant cat, and starts to lie down.
“Take off your cloak.” He makes an annoyed noise but unfastens the clasp, letting it fall off his shoulders as he scoots to rest his head on my thigh like a pillow, injured temple facing up. The swelling is still faintly orange, but not as bad as it was. I hope that means it’s not serious.
I trace it as gingerly as I can, and the muscles in his arm tense. Still painful. If I ask, he’ll just deny it, so I move on, stroking over his scalp, running my hand from his hairline to the back of his neck, over and over again. I can feel the faint velvet of his regrowing hair. The shape of his skull, the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders. The weight of him pressing into my sartorius and quads.
“Feel good?” I ask, unsure if I should continue.
“Yes,” he grunts, nudging closer. So I keep going, rubbing the uninjured parts of his forehead like I used to do for Ada when she’d get a migraine.
He lets out a shuddering breath, and the heat of it seeps through my new clothes. I squirm, suddenly conscious of how close he is to the part of me that is the most interested in being close to him.
“Does it make you happy to make me happy?” he asks, the question cutting. He doesn’t seem happyat all. “Do you like the clothing?” he adds, like it’s clarification.
“I do. Very much, thank you.”
“And when I fed your bug? Did you like that?”
My heart squeezes a little bit. Is that why he did it? For me? “That made me very happy,” I whisper.
“And allowing you to care for me? Does that increase your affection?” I smooth the deep furrows in his bow, trying not to smile when he leans into my touch.
“It does.” I might not be in love with Lyro, but this evening has challenged my assumptions that it will be difficult to have a real connection with him. Tonight has made it feelpossiblesomeday.
“Perhaps I am your pet after all,” he grumbles. “A useless creature, purring in your lap.”
He’s coiled tight like a wild thing, though, definitely not domesticated. “I don’t think you can be tamed.”
That makes his lips curve. A tiny flash of silver teeth, and then he curls his fingers underneath my sash, tugging on it sharply, his knuckles digging into the soft part of my stomach. “Lie down and stop talking. We’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“You have to stay awake,” I protest. “For your head. What if you have a concussion? You’re not supposed to sleep after a head injury.”
“Terrakin nonsense.” Lyro twists his fist in my sash and drags me down, pinning my back against his front in one forceful, dominant motion that brings my whole body to attention. “My skull is thick. Ask any of my brothers.”
I chuckle. I’m sure Ada would say the same thing about me. She thinks if I do anything she wouldn’t do, I’m being reckless or stubborn. And when I try to hide my choices from her so she won’t make a fuss, she thinks I’m being underhanded or deceitful when I’m just trying to protect myself from her emotions. “Siblings aren’t always our best judges. They think they’ve lived our life, but they haven’t.”
Lyro doesn’t say anything, but I can tell my words resonate when his arm tightens around me. He nuzzles his face into my hair, drawing a deep breath. Then he growls, “Sleep.”
I try. I really do. But being pressed up against him is too distracting. All I can do is anticipate when he’s going to move, when he’s going to touch me. I’m teetering on the edge of the cliff, waiting for a breeze to push me over the edge.Wantingit to push me over.
It doesn’t, though. His breathing slows and becomes more regular. His arm draped over me gets heavier. Apparently, he’s not as affected by me as I am by him, because he’s out like a light.
I don’t know if it’s the day of horny imagining, or if it’s the adrenaline from tackling him to the floor, but there’s no way I can fall asleep right now. My body is buzzing, my brain is buzzing, and my clit is buzzing.
