He stiffened. A curse burned his throat, but he didn’t have any air to give it life.
Amryn. She was here. She was the shadow crouched before him. She’d found him locked in a nightmare, and she’d grabbed his wrists.
He’d torn away from her. Saints, it was a bloody miracle he’d recoiled, rather than lashed out. When caught in the throes of a nightmare, he was unpredictable. He’d attacked Ford several times after his rescue, thinking him an enemy. His father, too. Every time consciousness had filtered back in, he’d been left shaking and sickened, overwhelmed with regret and pierced with painful vulnerability. And they’d been left staring at him with a mixture of grief and pity. As if he were broken.
Hewasbroken. He just didn’t want anyone else to know that.
And yet, Amryn had just seen him shatter. No—it was worse than that. She’dfeltit. Every pain and weakness the nightmare flayed open. His guilt and terror.
His hands shook and his gut churned. Especially when he realized this wasn’t the first time. Amryn had woken him from a nightmare before, on Zawri, whenthey’d slept near each other on that mountain. Trapped in the clinging haze of the nightmare, he’d tackled her to the ground with a knife at her throat when she’d tried to wake him. Because she’d known he was in agony. Because she’d felt it. And in return for trying to comfort him, he’d attacked her.
Even if he hadn’t truly hurt her physically, his emotions would have caused her pain. They were as stark and jagged as forked lightning streaking across a night sky. Erratic and sharp; rapid, yet glaring.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Amryn said, her soft voice tentative.
“It’s fine.” Nothing about this was fine, but he didn’t want her pity—and he certainly didn’t want her to feel any guilt.Hewas the one who needed to apologize. He unlocked his clenched jaw with concerted effort. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she said at once. “Not at all.”
But he’d frightened her. That was excruciatingly obvious.
Tremors still rocked through him, remnants of the nightmare that had taken him back to hell. He scrubbed both hands over his face, determined to ignore the way they shook. “You can’t touch me when I’m like that.”
“You were in pain.” There was a fissure of answering pain in her voice, and it cracked something inside him. “I couldn’t just leave you trapped like that. You were so afraid . . .”
Shame bled through him. He hated that she could read him so perfectly. That she’d felt his fear, or even a fraction of his torment. She was depending on him to keep her safe. How could she trust him to do that if she knew what a wreck he was?
His fingers interlocked at the nape of his neck. The pressure grounded him. Helped slow the relentless churn of his frantic thoughts. “If it happens again—if you need to wake me—just call my name. Don’t ever touch me.” He would never forgive himself if he hurt her, even unknowingly. He swallowed roughly, meeting the faint glint of her eyes in the darkness. “Promise me, Amryn.”
“I promise.” Her voice was soft. Just like her scent, her skin, her touch.Amrynwas softness, while he was all rough edges and fractured pieces.
Silence permeated the tent, each of them simply breathing. His breaths were noticeably more uneven than hers.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.
The muscles in his back locked, straining his scars.
Amryn chewed her lower lip. “Maybe if you talked about your nightmares, they wouldn’t haunt you so.”
He would rather wander the Scorched Plains for all eternity than talk about what he’d endured at Raza’s hands. And to Amryn, of all people? The woman who had his heart—the woman he would bleed and die for—and the one person who would not only hear his words if he spoke them, butfeelthem?
“No,” he told her.Never.
Amryn’s breathing thinned.
Carver tensed, thinking she would question him or press for more.
Her expression wasn’t discernable in the dim lighting, but her voice was incredibly soft as she said, “If you ever change your mind . . . You can tell me anything, Carver.”
His throat worked as he swallowed hard. Her gentleness was almost painful in the aftermath of his nightmare, but he was grateful for her understanding. He murmured his thanks, and Amryn nodded once before moving to tuck herself into the bedroll beside his.
Carver slid into his own bedroll. His voice was surprisingly even as he asked, “How is Jayveh?”
“She finally fell asleep.” There was a pause, and Carver studied Amryn’s profile as she lay on her back, gazing up at the canvas stretched above them, that glow from the fire beyond highlighting the beautiful curves of her face. “My heart is breaking for her,” she whispered at last.
Carver’s gut suddenly hurt for another reason. “Is there any way Argent could still be alive? Maybe you just didn’t sense him because he was unconscious?”
Sorrow filled her eyes as she shook her head. “Even if he’d been unconscious, I would have sensed something from him. Especially with the increased power of the bloodstone.” She hesitated. “Carver, I felt Tam. Argent wasn’t with her. Even if he’d gotten away, he would have beensomewhere. But I couldn’t feel him. I’m sorry.”
