She was cold, she realized. She was asleep, or halfway there, and she was cold. And alone. She always slept alone, so this was normal, or at least some reasonable part of her tried to argue. But this wasn’t normal alone; she felt that deeper than any rationality could penetrate. This was bad. It was forever. She was alone, and she would always be alone, and she would never get warm, it would just be colder and colder and?—
“Clio.”
A low voice, rough with sleep. Then, a hand on her shoulder. A warm hand, impossibly warm.
“Clio, sweetheart. You’re dreaming.”
A shake.
“Clio.”
With a groan and a great heaving effort, Clio dragged herself the rest of the way to wakefulness. Hector was looking down at her, his unfashionably long black hair a tangle around his face, his eyes shockingly blue even in the dim of the room, which was illuminated only by the embers of the banked fire.
Clio didn’t pause to think. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him.
“Och, lass,” he said, and Clio wasn’t certain that she’d ever felt anything as comforting as the deep rumble of his accent as his voice went through her. He was so solid under her arms. Solid, and present, and as true as anything she’d ever felt. “You are fine. You’re fine. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
It was the kind of soothing nonsense that you told a frightened child, or a horse, and if Clio had been a little more in control of her racing pulse, she might have objected to it. As things were, however, she sank even more firmly into his embrace.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered into his chest, even as she dug her fingertips into his shoulders. “I just …”
“A bad dream?” There wasn’t any judgment in the question.
She nodded miserably. It sounded so silly. Itwasso silly that she, a woman grown, would be reduced nearly to tears by a frightening dream that wasn’t evenaboutanything.
“Tell me about it,” he said, rubbing circles on her back. “It helps, sometimes.”
She shook her head, not in refusal, necessarily, but because she was already embarrassed enough, and she didn’t know if she could stand the feeling of foolishness if she put it into words.
“It was nothing, it was just …” She sucked in a soothing breath, finding it even more calming when she got a lungful of his soapy, masculine scent. “I was just alone. I know that sounds?—”
“No,” he said gently. “I understand.”
It was so simple, that assurance, but it made her feel as though she might cry.
“You do?” she asked, hating the hopeful sound in her voice.
“Aye,” he said, laughing, but clearly not laughing at her. “Trust me, princess. I do.”
For some reason, this made her laugh too, another airy sort of sound. It wasn’t funny, not really, but there was a wonderful sort of relief in knowing that he had felt this, too, even if it was horrible.
He rubbed a few more circles on her back.
“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked, as though this question was so easy and not the most complicated thing in the world.
And yet, somehow, the way he asked made it seem simple for once in her life.
She looked up at him and found his face inches from hers. That comforted her, too. It was so astonishing how familiar his face had already become.
“Make me feel good,” she whispered.
He hesitated just long enough for her to see his smile. And then his mouth crashed down on hers.
She melted into his kiss, letting his strength support her. It felt sogoodto lean upon him, to know that he was strong enough to hold her up. She had spent so long trying so hard to prove that she could do things herself, that she didn’t need her brother, that she didn’t need a husband. That she was fine when she was alone. That she preferred it that way, even if deep down, she knew it was a lie.
It feltso bloody goodto just … let go.
“You delight me,” he murmured into their kiss, and Clio shivered at the strange effect this praise held over her. “You constantly surprise me. You utter marvel.”
