“You aren’t sleeping,” Brela whispered. That damnedbeautifulwoman pressed a kiss to his neck, scrambling his rational thought.
Cason couldn’t form words. Didn’t want to think about her, about all the time he wasted—was still wasting—by not talking to her. Because it was over. He needed to accept it. He needed to get her out of his mind, otherwise he would go insane.
“Can’t.” It came out as a strained whisper.
That non-scent remained wrapped around him, even as her arms loosened in surprise. He could almost hear her jaw tighten at his short answer. “We don’t need a watch tonight, but if you’re that worried, I can stay up with you.”
“No need. I just… wanted some air.”
Her arms dropped abruptly. “Okay, I’ll leave you then.”
“Wait.”
His hand shot out before he could stop it, and he glared at his fingers. Cursed them for how they curled so perfectly over her wrists. How they loved to trace over the smallest scars and ridges of her skin. Did he eventryto stop himself?
No.
Cason cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. He had to have already lost his mind to be able to hear so clearly that she wasn’t. To be able to pick up on those little inflections in her voice, the change of scent when she was uncomfortable. None of this wasfine.
He knew it was only asking for trouble, but still he turned to look at her.
Then swore. Almost out loud.
Brela looked like a damn goddess.
Her hair was mussed and hanging loose over her shoulders, the five oddly shaped braids he’d weaved still tied amongst her loose curls. Wearing nothing but his shirt with the ties loose at her chest. Always his gods-damned shirt. And those never ending legs had to be so damn close to him. Close enough to touch.
Bathed in starlight, Brela literally glowed as if she were made of the moon.
She frowned, oblivious to every conflicting thought he’d just had between ripping through that shirt to get to her skin and spinning around and jumping out of the gigantic hole in the house to resist that urge.
He was going to fail if he sat here any longer. Oh, he was going to failmiserably.
“Case,” she whispered.
Shit. Just…shit.
“Please talk to me. You’ve been quiet for days.”
Cason clenched his jaw. “I don’t know how to do this, Brela.”
She remained a step away, but he read the tensing that rippled through her body. Knew it better than he knew his own reactions. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but his own damn foolishness had forced this hesitation in her.
“How to do what? End… us?” she asked, voice soft. Voicesteady, though not emotionless.
He blinked, but like he knew her, she knew him. She didn’t let him stew in that surprise long.
Brela swallowed, though now he could hear the slight shake in the words. “Because that’s what it’s about, right? This thing between us ending once we reach Rooke and return to our lives before I was caught?”
“Yes.” He squeezed his fists together. “Do you know why I’ve always had to count?”
“To keep your magic under control.”
“To keep myemotionsunder control,” Cason whispered. “Fire is one of the most volatile magics. No matter the strength of power, it’s always burning, trapped inside and demanding to get out. Even a flicker of emotion can trigger something deeper and more dangerous than intended. Made worse if you have more fire magic than a body should be able to hold… like me.”
