“Sorry,” I murmur.
I worry my lower lip. Zev’s been nothing but patient.
Nothing but kind.
He holds me when I fall apart. Protects me when I can’t breathe.
“You’ve done so much for me,” I whisper into the charged air of the room. I’m too nervous to turn and meet his gaze. “Youkeep me safe—and I know I don’t make it easy. And it’s your right as my husband. So … if you wanted to … I’d be willing.”
Zev looses a deep, shuddering sigh, and I fill my lungs with it. His fingers caress my collarbones, skimming down to splay over my ribs. Bright, electric pulses burst across my skin everywhere he touches me. His searing heat seeps through the flimsy fabric of my nightgown, and Tides, I want toburn.
When he speaks, his voice sounds as if it’s been raked over shards of serrated glass. “Skies, Mayah.” His lips brush my temple like a vow. His fingers ghost over my hip, dragging lower to grip my bare thigh.
He stills.
“I don’t want you justwilling, Mayah,” he groans into my ear. “And definitely not because you think you owe me something. When I take you, I want youbeggingfor my touch. You come to me whenyouache. I can wait until then.”
But Iamaching. It would be so easy to turn around, to say yes, to—
No.No. I can’t.
My pulse races, wild and unsteady, and I’m certain each beat thrums beneath the iron hold where he grips my thigh.
I trace an invisible circle on the bedsheet, voice barely above a whisper. “I could move to another room. Just for a little while. So it’s not so … hard for you.”
The silence that follows is deafening. My chest aches. My fingers curl in on themselves.
“That’s very considerate,” he finally says, his voice stiff. “But I want you right here. With me.”
“But you’re suffering.”
“Nothing a cold shower won’t fix.”
I shift slightly, and he groans, low and guttural.
“Averycold shower.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Ready?”IaskSauzon,though my voice is too tight, too high. I try to ignore how the gleaming scalpels reflect the torchlight like tiny lightning bolts. My palms are slick with sweat. This is a procedure neither of us has performed before. Our patient’s life—and her baby’s—depends on us. We cannot fail them.
Sauzon adjusts his spectacles. “I spent all of last night reviewing the diagrams again. It will go well.” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder in a comfortable weight, before he clears his throat and begins unpacking gauze and salves from a nearby cabinet.
“Should we ask Graman to assist?” I ask. Nerves flutter in my belly, and I wring my hands as I pace the stark, white room. “I haven’t seen him since that first day when—”
“You barged in here like it was your father’s infirmary and the prince coerced me into becoming your nanny?” Sauzon drawls, his voice dry. He attempts to look stern, but he can’t hide the twitch of his lips or the mirth in his dark eyes.
“Yes,” I laugh, the weight in my chest loosening. “Sincethat.”
He hands me a numbing oil and sutures—we shouldn’t need them, but it’s good to have precautions.
“I dismissed Graman.”
“Why?” I frown. “He seemed interested in my powers. He watched me heal every patient.”
Sauzon casts me a sideways glance. “It wasn’t your healing he was interested in.”
Oh.
