Mav had risked his life to save mine when it would have been easier for him to let me perish. My death would have freed him from the tether. Still, he saved me. It came as no surprise. Even after only six days of making his acquaintance, I knew he was the sort of man who would stand between peril and someone he cared for.
Did Mav care for me?
He was reckless, infuriating, and arrogant.
He also mattered to me more than I was prepared to allow.
Facing Mav across the narrow strip of ground between our bedrolls, I lay on my side. The fire had gentled to embers. Shadows stretched long and soft. Thistle slept, curled beneath her blanket. Vesper was a heap of fur beside Branrir’s boots, tail twitching with dreams.
Sleep eluded me.
Each time my eyes closed, the same unwelcome images flashed—the bandits, the blood, and Mav collapsing to the ground.
“You need rest,” he insisted.
I nestled my cheek against the blanket. “I am too anxious to sleep.”
A beat.
“I can help with that.”
My eyes narrowed. “Another ploy for seduction?”
He laughed—not the maddening one, but the low, rough, honest sound that warmed the tight places in my chest. “For once, that’s not what I meant.”
Firelight lay bronze across his features, bandage tight about his ribs, the hard line of his jaw gentled by fatigue. I closed my eyes, determined to rest. Perhaps if I lay still, my heart would learn the trick and follow. Perhaps I could persuade it to quiet, to forget how it stuttered when his gaze found mine—and clenched when I feared it never would again.
A few heartbeats passed.
Warm fingers brushed my hairline. I startled at the touch.
“Is this all right?” he asked, hesistant.
I opened my eyes. He watched me, brow furrowed, concern flickering in his expression.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He said nothing more, only resumed the motion—stroking my hair in steady, deliberate passes. Callused fingertips traced a quiet rhythm. A hum sounded, soft and low, summoned from deep in his chest. The melody was half-remembered, but familiar. Notes wrapped around me in a soothing embrace. I let it carry me. Let his touch draw my breath into slower measure. Tension slipped from limb and thought.
Perhaps this is what safety feels like.
17
MAV
The last note of a nameless tune slipped from my lips, the sound trailing off into the dark. My fingers combed absently through Quinn’s hair, long after her breathing had settled into the steady rhythm of sleep. Her features softened in a way I rarely saw when she was awake. As if, only for tonight, the tether, the countdown, and the weight of memory had relented.
I watched her.
Her dark lashes cast delicate shadows against her cheekbones. The swell of her lips parted to let sleep through. One hand curled beneath her chin; the other rested inches from mine, close enough to reach but not quite touching.
And in that moment?—
I knew.
I was never letting her go.
The realization struck like a blade to the ribs—for the second time today. Though this one spilled emotion rather than blood.
