Ever.
Grier stiffens immediately. A squeak escapes him as he turns back around, wisely choosing not to engage further.
Delia nudges me with her elbow, suppressing a grin. Her smirk is unmistakable.
“You’re ridiculous,” she murmurs, amused.
I grunt, unrepentant. “He spoke to you.”
“Yes, he did. About a musician. Who’s like seventeen.”
I narrow my eyes, unconvinced.
“He doesn’t need to speak to you.”
She laughs softly.
“You’re doing that thing again,” she whispers, eyes forward, lips barely moving.
“What thing?” I ask, though I know.
“You’re acting jealous.”
“I am possessive, not jealous,” I correct, voice low and sharp as a crackling ember. “I’m newly mated. It is natural I be covetous of you, Shula.”
“Ah,” she says, leaning closer, shoulder brushing mine. “So it’ll wear off then? With time, I mean.”
The very idea offends me down to the bone.
“Fuck no.”
She barks out a laugh, bright and delighted. A few nearby miners glance our way, then immediately pretend they didn’t.
Wise.
“Good,” she murmurs, and the word slides over my nerves like a caress. She tips her head back to look up at me, smiling. “’Cause I think it’s hot when you get all growly.”
“You have no idea how unwise it is to say that to me in public,” I grind out.
“I dunno. Seems to be working out for me,” she teases.
The fire in my chest roars.
I want to kiss her until every fool in this camp understands she is mine beyond question, beyond doubt.
“I will always be growly when it comes to you,” I tell her instead. That much, I can promise without burning the world down.
She reaches for me then, rising onto her toes, and steals a kiss—quick, hard, all mouth and heat and reckless trust.
Gods.
I nearly lose my mind right there in the middle of the commons.
Mine.
I don’t know what’s got me more on edge, that she likes this—or that she likes me like this.
The possessive edge, the way my temper snaps at anyone who looks too long or speaks too familiar.
