For a moment, Alora simply watched him. It was strange, almost too intimate, seeing him do something so ordinarily…human.
Well, perhaps he was now.
Yet none of his beauty had dulled with the loss of his power. If anything, his features had softened. Less sharp. Less carved from shadow and fury yet still chiseled.
He was…real.
Rune wore a simple black tunic with the sleeves rolled up his arms, muscles firm, fitted trousers clinging to the familiar strength of his large body. That hadn’t diminished either. He looked no less formidable, only… mortal in a way that unsettled her.
And he made her little cottage feel smaller.
Rune looked up, eyes devoid of any crimson embers. They were warm copper, catching a hint of morning light peeking from the edge of the curtains.
“Ah, my sleeping beauty awakes at last,” he murmured, setting down the book.
“Good morning,” she replied softly, the bedsheets slipping down.
Rune’s gaze lingered, dark and unreadable, before drifted to her cleavage exposed by her low nightgown. But she made no move to cover herself and nor did he look away.
Heat surged up Alora’s face beneath that stare.
And she sensed he was thinking of last night.
Seven help her, she could still feel the impression of his hands on her skin. The hardness of his body moving against hers. The sound she’d made when he pushed her over the edge.
But that dark had hidden him.
As though he were holding back something far more dangerous than desire. He only let her feel the weight of him…and it had been heavier than expected.
Alora’s heart faltered, stumbling over itself.
She tore her gaze away, mortified and breathless. Then she was too warm under the covers, and even worse under the weight of his attention. One night, and now the air itself shifted between them like a held breath.
“Did you find any rest yourself?” she muttered.
“I do not sleep.”
Her brows raised, surprised by that and she looked at him again. “Never?”
His expression was unreadable.
“Even now? Surely you must feel tired without your magic.”
“Rest, it would seem, eludes me in any form.” Rune stood and reached for the kettle hanging over the low fire in the hearth. Steam swirled as he poured a concoction into a chipped teacup and brought it to her. “Tea?”
She accepted the cup hesitantly. “Since when does the God of Shadows know how to make tea?” Alora took a sip and widened her eyes in pleased surprise, savoring the flavor. “That’s lovely. Rosehip and clover and…” She took another sip. “Honey.”
“I have many skills, songbird.” He sat beside her. “Rest well, and when twilight arrives, we will set out for the ruins.”
Alora frowned in confusion. “Why wait until… oh.” She glanced between him and the window. “Are you hiding from the sun?”
His jaw flexed “I am not hiding. I amavoiding.”
She tilted her head, studying the way the shadows drifted in the room, no longer clinging to his skin like armor. How must he feel now without his magic? Perhaps exposed and unprotected. The light was his weakness, but…
“Perhaps now you can stand in the sun.”
“I would rather not find out the hard way,” Rune muttered, glancing down at his Bloodstone ring. “At present, the sunrise is in direct light and that burns the most.”
