He’d left his jacket at the fortress, donning only his leather pants—which must be absolutetorturein this heat—and a loose, white cotton shirt. It was drenched in sweat, clinging to every ridge of muscle down his long, lean torso. The thick column of his throat worked as he took a long sip from the canteen, and Xenia was shocked it was possible for her to feel any hotter than she already did.
She wiped the sweat from her brow and temples, then gathered her springy curls and swept them on top of her head.
Cael’s eyes dipped to her newly exposed skin before he tore his lips from the canteen. “You’ll be dying for this heat once the sun goes down.”
“Unlikely,” she croaked, her lips dry and throat parched. “What was that stone you used to transport us here?”
“A fire opal, imbued with the power of the Fallen Goddess. Maksym gifted them to my father when he arrived to fetch me. I was hoping it would have transported us further, but I must have used up most of its power to return to you.” He gazed down at her with an intensity that fluttered her pulse. “I would never have left you there to die, Xenia.”
“How did you convince your father to let you come back?” she asked.
His eyes shuttered. “It’s not important.”
She wanted to press, but thought better of it. “Where are we heading? And how do you know we’re going in the right direction?”
Cael scooted closer to her on the rock, close enough that she could smell the mossy green scent of his perspiration. How was it fair for someone that sweaty to smell so good? She wondered what she smelled like to him, scrutinized his face for a nostril flare or any other sign of displeasure. She found none.
He pointed off into the distance towards a rolling, shadowy mass on the horizon.
“Those are the foothills of the Icthian Mountains, the range that follows the Dordenne River. Should only be a few day’s walk. We’ll take them down into Rhamnos.” A bead of sweat dripped from his sideburn and trailed along the sharp edge of his jaw. The unexpected urge to lick it brought to mind other, more pleasurable ways for them to sweat together.
High Gods, what was wrong with her?
Why was she thinking about sex after everything she’d just been through?
She guessed every individual’s response to life-threatening situations was different; she never assumed hers would be uncontrollable lust. Though she’d never been in this kind of danger before, so it’s not like she could’ve predicted how she’d respond. Plus, Cael had just freed her from aliteraldungeon and laid waste to her captors—she’d forgive herself a bit of swooning.
He pressed the canteen into her hands, snapping her from her naughty thoughts. “Drink,” he commanded. “You didn’t take enough.”
“I took plenty, it’s fine,” she countered. “We need to conserve it.”
“Drink,” he insisted, eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you passing out and forcing me to carry your sweet ass over my shoulder all the way to the foothills.”
Xenia expelled an outraged squeak, her anger rising but also stoking her desire. Why did she get off on arguing with him?
“You think I want to feel your rippling muscles digging into my stomach the whole time?”
And why were they incapable of arguing without complimenting each other?
“Don’t make me force this water down your throat,” he growled. “You know I’d do it.”
She snatched the canteen from his hand and took a long pull, counting to three before she lowered it from her mouth and twisted the cap back on. She stood from the rock, but the minute the tender bottoms of her feet hit the sand, she yelped and collapsed back down.
Cael was instantly on his knees before her, grabbing her ankle to examine her foot.
“Bloody Stygios, Blondie! Why didn’t you tell me you were in so much pain? Are you trying to burn the skin off your feet?” He ran a tentative finger down her insole and she clenched her jaw, hissing.
“I’ll be fine,” she bit out through gritted teeth. “I just need to get back on them again. I’ll be okay once we start moving.”
He gazed up at her with a tortured expression. As if her pain caused him physical harm. Her heart somersaulted.
“Besides,” she said, aiming a careful look over his shoulder, “you must be worse off than I am and you’re not complaining.”
His face slackened and she knew it was the wrong thing to say.
He’d need to deal with the loss eventually, would need to talk to someone about what he was feeling. And she desperately wanted to be the one he’d open up to. But she knew better than to push.
“If you continue walking on your burned feet, you’re just going to make the blisters worse. You won’t make it to the foothills, let alone survive the trek to Rhamnos.” He pulled the tin of healing salve from his pocket.
