There’s a lump in my throat the size of his fist, with emotion I haven’t been able to unstopper. Haven’t been able to clear away.
When I opened my eyes from my deathbed, Osrik was staring at me like I was a ghost. Like I was a gift. Then he buried his face into my hair and wrapped his arms around me and made me feel something I haven’t ever felt before.
Safe.
Which is funny, considering I was dying, until, suddenly, I wasn’t.
My thoughts keep veering back to Auren, because unlike me, I don’t know ifshe’ssafe. Osrik told me what happened after I was stabbed. How she was taken, how King Rot went to save her. Now she’s a realm away, apparently.
And afae.
Admittedly, I’m not sure I truly believe him. Then again…I saw her use that gold magic. It certainly seemed otherworldly.
Being awake feels more like a dream. Like all of this isn’t real. I’m still trying to make sense of everything, trying to settle into this new normal. It’s as if the entire world changed that night I was attacked.
The flashback of that blade stabbing into me flickers through my mind, and I shudder unintentionally from the phantom pain.
Osrik’s eyes drop down to my chest, but not for the usual reason that men look there. He’s staring at the edge of the scar that’s visible over the top of my nightdress. I follow his gaze, my finger grazing the healed slice. It’s tender, and my chest twinges a bit, but other than some overall achiness, I feel fine.
Physically, at least.
It’s emotionally and mentally that has me all mixed up. The reason for which is right in front of me. I need to stop this now before he scrambles my mind even more.
“I didn’t die,” I tell him, my tone defensive. “So you can stop this.”
His gaze lifts to mine and he cocks his head. “Stop what exactly?”
I motion between us. “I know what this is. You felt guilty. That’s why you were at my bedside night and day. You felt guilty that I was attacked, because you’re the captain of the army and in charge of the security of the castle and I was hurt. But I free you of that burden of guilt,” I say, forcing my tone to stay even. To not crack. “It wasn’t your fault. So you can stop hovering overme. I’m perfectly fine now, thanks to that girl who healed me. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Consider me out of your messy hair.”
A foul frown creases his face. “There were so many fucked up things in that little speech, I don’t even know where to start.”
I rear back. “Excuse me?”
He sighs, as ifI’mthe insane one. I worry about the sort of people he’s spending time with if he’s this bad at judging mental stability.
In one fluid motion, he reaches down and plucks me from my seat, making my heart leap in surprise as he carries me across the room. “What are you doing?” I demand as my hands go around his neck, fingers tangling in the long length of his coarse, dark brown hair.
Without answering, he sits down on the sofa in the corner of the room and settles me on his lap. My heart pounds so hard I can feel the bruising from the healed wound.
He holds me delicately, which is so at odds with his gruff strength. It makes my heart twinge for a completely different reason. The way he looks at me, keeping my gaze so thoroughly captive, it’s like he’s bound me with rope.
“I know things are a lot right now,” he says, surprising me again. “Because we were fighting this thing between us, and then before we could set it straight, you were attacked and nearly died.”
He chews out that last word like he wants to grind it to dust.
“But while you were fighting for your life, unconscious, I was very fuckingconscious. I watched every minute of your suffering. But I wasn’t sitting there just for fucking guilt. You want to know what I felt?”
“What?” I ask breathlessly, unable to even attempt to be snippy.
“So fucking devastated that I was going to lose you,” he replies, stark honesty rumbling out of his gravelly voice. “That I was going to lose you before I could tell you that I love you.”
Breath sucks in between my lips, my eyes widening as I stare at him. “Love?”
He pauses and studies my face like his dark brown eyes are soaking up every inch of me. “Yes, Rissa Bell. I fucking love you.”
My mind sputters, heart skipping. “But…we barely know each other. We’ve barely spent any time together,” I say in a rush, looking around like excuses are going to start falling onto the floor so I can pick them all up. “We can’t even stand each other!”
He smirks. “We like the fire. We each don’t back down to the other, and we like it that way. So don’t lie and try to act like we can’t stand each other, because we both know that’s not true.”
