“What else do you miss?”
He grunts but gives me nothing more.
We walk for hours. It’s warmer now, and I’m sweating beneath my tunic. Zevayr walks ahead of me, cloak thrown over his broad shoulder. My eyes linger on the definition in his back, visible even through his thick clothing.
The man is pure muscle—I should know, I sleep pressed against him every night. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed, but today it hits harder. My gaze lingers a second too long before I force it away, muttering a curse under my breath.
This is dangerous.
But it’s normal, right? We’ve been traveling together for weeks. Alone. And I can’t help if—
A sharp yelp bursts free as my boot snags on a thick, twisted root. My ankle rolls. Pain lances up my calf—and then I’m lurching forward with no time to catch myself.
Zevayr spins at the sound, hand on the hilt of his sword. But he’s too late.
I crash into him with full force, the air knocked from my lungs as I collide with the firm pillar of his chest. He instinctively catches me, arms locking around my waist—but the momentum sends us both tumbling backward in a tangle of limbs.
We hit the ground hard, Zevayr bearing the brunt of it. My palms splay against his chest. I realize with a rush of heat that I’m sprawled across him, chest to chest, hips pressed tight, my weight straddling his thighs.
For one suspended second, neither of us moves.
His hands are still gripping my hips—firm, unyielding,burningthrough the layers of fabric between us. My face is buried near the crook of his neck, and all I can smell is him: smoke, pine, the faint trace of sweat and leather.
Familiar.
Maddening.
I lift my head slowly, breath catching. My dark, loose hair spills around his face like a veil, cutting the world away untilthere’s nothing left but us. His storm-gray eyes lock with mine, wide and startled—and something else. Something primal.
The scant space between us is thick with something unspoken and heavy. My heart slams against my ribs. A muscle pulses in his jaw.
Neither of us moves.
And then Zevayr shatters the moment.
“Don’t get enough of me at night?” he rumbles, his lips curling into a sinful grin that has warmth pooling in my core. “I’m happy to oblige, Mayah.”
Tides drown me. And him.
I scramble off, cheeks burning.
“Sorry,” I mutter. I adjust my satchel and stride away, limping.
“Mayah!” he calls out from behind me. Slowly, I pivot.
He’s still on the ground, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Heal your ankle before you storm away.”
Hours later, we come across a small cottage, nestled between the trees. It’s the first sign of civilization since we left Tundrayn. Zevayr says we’ll encounter more and more people now that we’re out of the harsh tundra.
“Do you think they’re friendly?” I whisper. I’m kneeling in the prickly underbrush, Zevayr beside me.
“Maybe. They could be in league with rebels, though,” he says absently, undoubtedly running every possible scenario in his head. “Regardless, they’re definitely not friendly to Tundraynis.”
“So we won’t tell them I’m Tundrayni.” I want a hot meal. And maybe a soft bed.
Zevayr’s lips tick up at the corners. “Solid plan,” he chuckles. “Too bad your pretty blue eyes will give us away.”
The smile freezes on his face, and his mouth slams shut like he can’t believe he said it. He averts his gaze, but not before I catch the flash of sheer panic before he masks it. One second, his face is open—boyish, almost. The next, a shutter drops behind his eyes, and the warmth disappears like smoke in the wind.
