RISSA
Dragging the comb through myhair, I scrape out the knots, tangle by tangle. It’s taken a very long time to brush it out, all of it already dried from my bath. My arm aches, but when I finally get the last snarl loosened, I sigh in relief.
I check myself in the mirror on the vanity table before me, shifting my head left and right as I peer into the glass. Both mirror and table are quite plain, the wood painted black like all the rest of the furniture in this room. It makes it look as if everything is always in shadow.
Speaking of a shadow…
My eyes snap to the darkened bulk that suddenly walks into my room. My heart leaps, but I can’t fool myself and sayit’s because he startled me. It’s because ever since I woke up, my heart has been doing those leaps every time I look at him.
It’s very aggravating.
Setting the comb down, I send him a look of accusation as I eye his reflection in the mirror. “Don’t you knock?”
“No,” he grunts out.
The big oaf of a man blunders in, letting the door slam shut behind him.
My nose wrinkles as I watch him stomp toward me. “Great Divine, have you always stepped thatloudly?”
Osrik stops and glances down at his booted feet, as if he might stop and ask them. “I’m walking normal,” he says with a shrug.
“You practically stampeded,” I say snappishly.
He looks up at me then, and though I try not to, I get stuck in his brown gaze. Stuck, like an insect to sap, with no hope of escaping.
Am I going to be trapped forever?
There’s been an intensity to him since the moment I woke. It’s obvioussomethinghas changed. It’s like we were both reading the same book, but he went ahead and finished it before me. It feels like he’s just waiting for me to catch up, watching me flip every page, staring at me as I go word by word.
“Didn’t take you for a reader,” I mumble.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I clear my throat. “Like I said, you need to knock. You can’t just come and go into my private room as you please.”
Especially looking likethat. He looks masculine and broody, as if he’s just finished training some soldiers before riding a horse and then chopping down a tree.
Every single one of those images of Osrik flits through my mind, making butterflies skitter through my stomach.
I wonder if he does chop wood? Maybe I could be near a window to watch…
“Yes, I can,” he retorts before setting down a trunk I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying. It lands with a thump at his feet, the brass handles clinking. “Clothes for you.”
I try very hard not to watch the way his arms flex, bare and on display from where his sleeves are cut at the shoulders. “Thanks, but no, youcan’t—”
Before I can finish, he leans over and spins my stool around so we’re face to face. My breath pauses, and I’m caught in those eyes again.
“Yes, I can.” We’re inches apart, but he watches me like he’s closer. Like he’s all the way under my skin.
And he is.
Not that I’m going to admit it.
But I was told he stayed by my bedside every single day—nearly every singleminute. That he was so devoted to me he barely ate or slept. That sort of bedside vigilance goes way past simple attraction.
Doesn’t it?
His voice drops down and scrapes out with the grim look on his face. “You were almost dead, Yellow Bell. Hours ago, I was fucking sayinggoodbyeto you.”
