A jagged inhale filled my nostrils with his stormwood scent. It was so fresh, so cold, so very masculine. And so very him.
“Sylaira,” he crooned my name. My eyes fluttered closed.
“Yes?” I asked, the word trembling past my lips.
“I was never supposed to want anything.” The velvet of his voice enveloped me. His hot breath ghosted over my ear. “I have always been a weapon. A monster, as you have called me so often. And yet, I cannot help but want you. When they attacked us…”
I interrupted him before he could finish. “It’s just the bond.”
Heat retreated, and I looked up at my mate. The dark expression he wore robbed me of air. It was all cruel truth and barely restrained violence. “There is a difference between wantand need, desire and duty. Remember that once we reach Thalvireth.”
He took a healthy step away and then turned his back on me. I blinked, trying to clear my head of him. The chain screeched as he put more space between us, his stride hitching before he leaned on the wall once again. Without looking at me, he returned to his meal.
A knock sounded on the door, and with an annoyed huff, he trotted down the spiraling steps and opened it. A feminine voice floated up to me, and moments later, a matron emerged from the depths, arms laden with a thick stack of blankets.
“Hello, dear,” she greeted me warmly. “Good to see you enjoyed my cooking.”
“It was delicious,” I told her in measured beats, wary of her friendliness.
She rounded the end of the bed and spread her pile in front of the fire. “Will that be enough, Herr Räviel?” she asked the Issaraeth.
“Aye, thank you,” he replied.
The female approached me then, lifting my tray from my lap. “I’ll have breakfast for you bright and early so you can get going. I know you have a long journey ahead.”
“Goodnight,” the Issraeth said by way of dismissal. She shot me a wink before disappearing the way she’d come.
I shifted on the bed. “Is that where you are going to sleep?”
My mate regarded me, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. The predatory look made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Would you prefer me to lie beside you?”
“No,” I said in a rush. “I just didn’t think the head of House Räviel would deign to sleep on the floor.”
He gulped down the last of his wine, then poured himself another measure. “I slept on little more than a bedroll beneatha canvas tarp while hunting you. A real roof over my head is an upgrade, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” I said, fingers tightening in the sheets. “Can I use the privy before we go to sleep? I’m assuming there’s not one in here.”
“There’s not.”
Which meant he would have to carry me down those stairs again.
“Do you need to go now?”
I nodded and shuffled to the edge of the bed so lifting me would be easier. The Issaraeth’s powerful frame ducked down and scooped me up like I weighed nothing. Like when he’d carried me earlier, my skin burned at every point of contact.
Each muscle was tense, and not from fear that he’d drop me.
The wine had relaxed me enough that each jostling step was nothing more than a drop of pain in the back of my mind. Instead, I was wholly consumed by my mate.
I hated myself for it.
The bathing chamber turned out to be a shared space between all rooms. It was blissfully empty when we entered. The Issaraeth placed me gently on my feet between the wall and the privy, giving me a place to balance myself so as not to put weight on my bad leg.
“I’ll be right outside,” he promised, though all threat had evaporated from his tone.
“Okay,” I replied, waiting until he had shut the door behind him to start tugging on my waistband to lower my leggings.
After a few awkward hops, I managed to seat myself. Tucking my tunic up, I ensured I’d be clean by the time I finished. Yet when I tried to rise, I struggled and failed, collapsing back onto the seat with a curse.
