She frowned, released her hands, and turned around.
Nettle only had a second to look at the creature, a centipede as long and thick as some snakes, scuttling down the well walltowards her. Its pincers flexed wide as it approached, but before it could finish the threatening motion, Silver’s ax came down upon it.
“Ah!” she gasped, the shock of it all as resounding in her chest as forcefully as the blade that severed the insect’s head from its body.
The head rolled towards her feet, pincers stilled.
Silver looked as unmoved as he did when he slayed the toadbird.
“I said it’d be dangerous out here,” he grumbled, as if it was an arduous task to remind her he was right. But he leaned over from where he laid on the ground, plucking up the rest of the centipede’s body and threaded the arrow through its thorax. He dug the tip of the arrow into the dirt by the fire, letting it dangle over the embers to smoke overnight.
Nettle grimaced at the thought of having to eat that thing for breakfast, but had no time to linger on it, as Silver next reached for her.
She held back a moan as he lifted her, the way his touch lit a path straight to her most sensitive bits. His coarse touch against the delicate tips of her wings was electrifying.
If it weren’t for the firelight, he might have seen her glow flare again, the sensation of it running directly into her most sensitive places.
Then he deposited her on his stomach and laid back down, head propped up by his bundled cloak.
“Don’t worry, I’m not a restless sleeper. You can stay safe from bugs here,” he said, as if him rolling over and flinging her off in the middle of the night was now her biggest concern.
“I thought I was a bug.”
“We’ve been over this, you graduated,” he replied as he made himself comfortable on the ground once again.
Nettle was not as quick to find her bedding on his stomach.
Again he had saved her. Again, she found some thrill in it.
Not that she was keeping score, of course. She just wasn’t sure she could be responsible for her actions if he was going to keep protecting her like that. The pulsing heat in her nethers seemed to reignite each time it happened.
And now, he could feel her every movement. Every time she turned over, he would know. Every time he spoke, she could feel the rumble in his chest beneath her, cradling her.
“Something wrong?”
“This is rather… intimate.”
He gave half a shrug, a movement that nearly sent her tumbling. “It happens on quests. Sometimes you find yourself cuddling folk you never would have sat next to in the tavern simply because you’re trying not to freeze overnight.”
“Really? And who’s the strangest being you’ve ever cuddled?”
“Oh, probably a gnomish cultist old enough to be my grandmother,” he chuckled.
“I didn’t realize you met so many interesting people in your line of work.”
“I do,” he nodded, some quiet and contemplative in his eyes.
“I’m a little jealous, truthfully. I’ve known everyone in the Morning Mist Court all my life.”
He shrugged. “I suppose it’s nice at first. But I’m afraid I’m tired of getting to know people I’m only going to forget about. I hate sitting up at night, wondering where they are now.”
Her brows drew together. It sounded terribly lonely.
Before her thoughts could wander too far down that path, however, he reached over to pluck the half eaten berry up from the stone. “Do you want the rest of your dinner?”
Nettle eyed the horizon of his chest, the rippling floor of abs beneath her. She was lost to the prospect of having to sleep on allthis without being able to rock her hips against it. “No, I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Suit yourself,” he replied, and popped the berry into his mouth.
