She grits her teeth. “It’s stupid to leave me cuffed. What if rebels attack us?”
I study her closely. The stubborn tilt of her jaw. The defiance blazing in her pretty blue eyes.
The last time I left her defenseless, she was attacked by six men. I won’t let her out of my sight now, but I’m still not at my full strength. And if the rebels find us…
I shift closer to her on the grass. Mayah gasps sharply when I fist my hand in her hair, yanking her head back.
Good. She should be afraid of me.
“If you attack me,” I whisper, “I will kill you. If you betray me, I will kill you. And if you try to run…” My disobedient eyes fall to her parted lips before I manage to tear them away. Her hooded gaze twists something in my chest. Despite myself, I reach forher cheek before I realize what I’m doing. I quickly grab her jaw instead.
“I’ll let you go.”
She says nothing as I uncuff the iron bracelets. I was careful not to shackle them too tightly, but there are still faint lines on her wrists. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve left marks on her, either with rope or with iron or both. Her hold on me somehow grows stronger each time, as though I’mherprisoner.
I force my gaze away.
“I’ll heal you. As a truce.”
I’ll heal you. In exchange for a truce. As long as you promise not to break it within seconds.
My mouth tastes like ash. What I wouldn’t give to go back and tell that naïve version of myself not to fall in love. To trust nothing—not her innocent face, not her pretty eyes, not a word that comes out of her lying mouth, truthwielding be damned.
“Heal yourself first.” My voice is rough. “I’ve survived this long.”
Her face pinches with irritation, but she says nothing as she summons a warm glow to her palms, wincing as her fingers touch the back of her skull.
Guilt rears up again, battering my conscience, and I tear my gaze away until she’s finished. Her breath shudders as she scoots closer to me. A beat of hesitation, and then her soft hands bracket my neck. Goosebumps erupt across my skin when her thumbs skim down my throat.
Her eyes collide with mine, wide and uncertain and utterly breathtaking. She’s so skiesdamned close, and I can’t fuckingthinkwith her touching me. A shaky breath fans across my lips. Anguish clouds her eyes. When her brows draw together, I’m overcome by the urge to smooth the crease between them.
To bury my face in her neck and breathe her in until I forget everything else.
To tangle my fingers in her hair, see if it’s as soft as I remember.
To crush her to my chest and never let go.
“Zev…” she whispers softly.
The sound of her pleading voice snaps me out of my skiesdamned trance.
“Heal me quickly,” I bite out. “Then stop touching me. And don’t call me Zev.”
She scowls but doesn’t say another word. Her power flows through me, cool and soothing, and my pain slowly eases with every passing heartbeat. I swallow hard when her shaking fingers unbutton my shirt. I should stop her—should do it myself.
But I can only watch, gaze riveted as she bares my ravaged chest, button by button. A sharp gasp escapes her as she surveys the damage her people did. Fresh tears line her eyes.
It takes several minutes as she works on the still-bleeding and half-scabbed gashes. There’s nothing to be done for the deep lines that bastard carved across my chest. The scabs melt away into thick, white scars. She passes her glowing hands over them, again and again, a hysterical sort of determination setting her jaw, but she can’t erase them.
Her fingers on my bare skin shred my self-restraint, and I grab fistfuls of grass to keep from touching her.
The hopeless, desperate expression on her face tugs at my heartstrings. My body doesn’t seem to remember—or care—about her betrayal. Her plan.
Her lover.
The pale sliver of skin on her ring finger mocks me as her hands mend my wounds.
Hands that plotted to murder me.
