Mabel’s breath caught as he revealed a slate gray chest roughly the size and firmness of a brick house. Blue-black tattoos swirled across his shoulders and over his chest, and the flesh covering the sturdy cage of his ribs bloomed with dark green and violet bruises. His shoulders and upper arms were relatively undamaged, but she still struggled to look away from them, which was… unusual for her.
Gods knew she’d seen every inch of men before. A thick orcish chest wasn’t particularly noteworthy.
Definitely not noteworthy,she reminded herself with a firm internal shake.
Ignoring the heat in her cheeks, she tried to set aside the curious way her heartbeat refused to slow and examine her captor.
Brows drawing together, she asked, “How long have you been fighting, soldier?”
Henrik shot her a wry smile. “That bad, hm?”
“I’ve seen the like of it,” she answered, reaching out to palpate a nasty, knotted scar on his chest. She did her best to ignore the way his muscle rippled under her touch. “Soldiers who’ve been in the field too long without a healer all tend to look a bit like a quilt.”
In a quieter voice, he replied, “You’re the first healer I’ve seen in a long time.”
“That’s because most of us are dead.” Rolling up the long, long sleeves of his oilskin jacket, she used only the tips of her fingers to peel away the edge of his bloodied bandages.
Even sitting, Henrik was nearly the same height as her. When she leaned in to place a hand over the nasty shrapnel wound on his side, it brought their faces uncomfortably closetogether. She could count his eyelashes if she wanted to. Which she didn’t.
“Mabel.” His hand closed over hers, stalling her work. Peering into her eyes, he rumbled, “When I saw you on the battlefield, the gods spoke to me. They told me to find mercy, to protect you at all costs. Perhaps I’ve seen too many dead healers and taken one too many hits to the head, but I heard them all the same. You’re safe with me — not simply because I’m your mate, but because it’s my duty.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t believe in the gods anymore, soldier. No god would allow the horrors I’ve seen.”
Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a soft, reverent kiss to her knuckles. “The gods guide us even in the darkest night, my blessing.”
Slipping her tingling fingers out of his grip, she whispered, “The night’s lasted a very long time.”
“Aye,” he replied, settling his hands on his thighs, “and now that I’ve found the light again, can you blame me for wanting to protect it at all costs?”
The Brightest Lights: Sugar and Snow 3
He understoodwhy Mabel was upset. He just wished she would stop trying to escape.
“My blessing,” he sighed, gently extracting his mate from the vent she’d crawled into when he was distracted, “you must stop this.”
“Let me go!”
“I can’t do that,” he replied, dropping her onto her wee booted feet. Wiping a smudge of gods only knew what from her silky cheek with the pad of his thumb, he gave her a good once-over to make sure she hadn’t injured herself somehow. “We’ve talked about this. It’s too dangerous, and with the snow?—”
“I could be saving lives,” she argued, as intimidating as a fluffed up kitten. “Instead you’ve got me locked up in a damn sugar factory!”
He’d lost count of the number of times they’d had this conversation over the last week. There were many things he’d learned about his mate while they were snowed in, but chief among those things was that she appeared to be primarily composed not of flesh but determination.
Directing her away from the half-caved in factory floor, Henrik gave her soft backside a gentle pat. “You won’t be saving any lives if you’re dead, and that’s exactly what will happen to you if you run back to the front lines.”
Mabel shot him a scarlet-faced scowl over her shoulder. Her dress hadn’t been salvageable, but it’d been a battle all its own to convince her of the fact. It took two days for her to warm up to the small boiler suit he’d found in the locker room. It was a damn good thing, too, because helovedwatching her walk in it.
And now that she’d gotten more comfortable with him sneaking small touches, it was all he could do to distract himself from getting his greedy fingers on her.
Swatting his hand away from the curve of her backside, she muttered, “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he replied, suddenly serious. “Trust me, my blessing. I do know that.”
Her shoulders rounded. Rubbing her eyes, she sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he assured her. Trying to lighten the mood a little, he nudged her toward the office, where they’d set up what he called their nest and whatshecalled her cell. It was a fun game they played.
Smiling down at his witch, he added, “Except, perhaps, for making me burn our dinner.”
