She will sneak away. She will give herself to the magic.
I will not let her.
I lose the argument. But I will not lose her.
I nod. "We... rest."
Her body sags with relief. "Yes, Threk. We rest. It's okay. I... I won't do it. I promise."
Liar.
I do not let go of her arm.
I pull her away from the murals. I drag her back to the side where there are furs pile up, probably left by some beast, faraway from the wall of lies. I pull the furs, waving it to remove the dust and checking if there’s nothing hiding underneath.
I push her down into the furs.
I lie down beside her. Facing her.
I wrap my arm around her waist, a bar of muscle and bone. She cannot move without me knowing. If she wakes up, I wake up.
I pull her tight against my chest.
She tries to smile at me, that sad, fake smile.
I shake my head. I press my face into her hair. I breathe in her scent, searching for her.
Mine.
I growl the word against her scalp, a low, desperate, furious command.
Stay.
24
BETTY
His arm is a cage of muscle and bone, a bar of solid, living heat locking me against his chest. His breathing is a deep, slow rhythm against my ear, a rumble that has finally, given way to the silence of true sleep.
He is asleep. At last.
My heart is a cold, sick, treacherous thing in my chest. I am a liar.
For hours, he fought it. I had pretended to sleep, my body limp in our nest of furs, my breathing even, but he knew. His instincts, the ones that had kept us alive, were at war with the promise I had given him.
Every time my breathing evened out, his grip would tighten. His massive body would tense, a low, anxious growl vibrating in his chest. He would sniff my hair, a deep, rumbling inhale, a possessive, terrified check. Still here. Still mine.
But his body is a wreck. The Worg-bite in his thigh, the gash in his shoulder, the dozen other cuts from the raiders and the elves... they are all weeping. The fever I had sensed in him is back, a scorching heat that radiates from his skin. The magicalwarmth of this cavern, this sanctuary, is a lullaby his body cannot fight. He had carried me for miles, his own body broken.
He lost the fight. He succumbed to a healing sleep so deep it is almost a coma. He mumbled my name as he went under, a thick, broken sound. "Betty... stay..."
And I let him. I waited for this.
My lie is a poison in the warm, humming air. "I won't do it," I had promised, my voice a trembling, false reassurance. "We rest."
And now, I must break that promise.
Joric's face flashes in my mind. Just like you did your own family.
