He pulled her back into him until her face was inches from his. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
The side of his head rested against hers, the scent of campfire tangled in her hair. He breathed it in and whispered in her ear, “This is my favorite one so far.”
His stomach sank the second he said it. Were those his words? Sometimes they came out so fast, so absent of thought that he couldn’t tell which statements were compulsive lies and which were truths. He had only lived two lives so far, and this one was full of limitless anguish. Surely, it couldn’t be his favorite of the two.
And yet ...
“I only have one life to live, but”—Helspira shivered under his breath—“I can honestly say I never felt more alive than I do right now.”
“I wager precious few women who took a halberd to the stomach could make such a claim.” He felt her muscles stretch into a smile against the side of his face.
“I could write an entire speech on why I’d do it again in an instant,” she said.
Her proximity soothed the ache in his arm, and against his better judgment, he pulled her closer. “Go on, then. I’ve ruined enough of your speeches. I owe it to you to listen to your next one.”
She pulled away just enough to find his eyes. “Now? Well, I ... um ... that is to say, I ...”
Sikras grazed his forehead against hers. “No notes. Easily the best speech I’ve ever heard.”
The distant tempo of Benjamin’s tune increased, the accelerando matching the primal beating of Sikras’s heart. Was he leaning closer? He must’ve been. Anticipation sizzled through his veins like an electric current.
Right up until Benjamin’s song ended and caused a momentary break in the gravitational pull.
“Thank you, thank you,” came Benjamin’s far off words. “You’ve been a wonderful if not slightly horrified audience.”
The phrase pierced through Sikras’s covetousness like a spear, for they echoed the words Benjamin had uttered at his and Imri’s wedding upon finishing his toast.“You’ve been a wonderful audience,”Ben had said to the crowd. And they had clapped. And Sikras had taken Imri in his arms, had kissed her, and now remembered every detail of her face when she had smiled at him in her gown—
Guilt rained like a downpour of enemy arrows, and in each stab, he saw Imri’s face. He peeled his hands from Helspira’s body and stepped backward. Only one thought came to him in the moment. It somehow catered to both his inclinations despite their antithesis. “I should take you to bed.”
Helspira
HAD SHE HEARD HIM RIGHT? Maybe she only heard what she wanted to hear, or the substantial blood loss was making her hallucinate, or—“Yes,” came her eager interruption. “I’d like that. Very much. That’s—yeah—bed would be ... great.”
As her imagination wandered, her stomach tightened—and not just because a foe had driven steel into it however long ago. Even for a demon with an impressive pain tolerance, she winced, every subtle movement reminding her of the injury. If she wasn’t hallucinating, and if Sikras reallywasinviting her to share a bed, a near-crippling stab wound would make it difficult to be an active participant in any rigorous intimate acts.
Then again, Sikras was probably a gentle lover ...
He would probably spend a good portion of his time exploring her with his lips ...
His fingers ...
And the promised flood of desire between her thighs would likely draw focus from her injury as he slowly slid—
“Helspira?”
“Nothing!” she blurted, a burning heat invading her cheeks.
Sikras blinked. “What?”
“What? Never mind. Sorry, my mind was ... wandering.”
“A blade to the stomach will do that, I suppose.”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Fingers crossed I won’t have any other objects jammed into my body any time”—oh, gods, she needed to stop talking—“soon.”
Sikras chuckled, and, merciful fate, what a lovely sound it was. “Right. I know you favor sleeping outside so you can see the stars. You’re sure you won’t mind sleeping inside for one night?”
