“You refuse help even at the risk of your life. You ride out into the storm alone because you are afraid someone might get hurt—but what ifyouget hurt? What if, one of these days,youdo not return? What are we to do then? What am I—” I stumbled over the words, voice cracking with anger, with fear. “What if I had not heard the whisper of the wind tonight? What if we had not come for you, Adrik?” He had at least the decency to look struck. I softened a little. “You do not have to bear this burden alone. Youcannot.”
He closed his eyes, drew a shuddering breath. “I owe this town all that I have and all that I am. If I do not give back—”
“There is a difference between giving back and sacrificing yourself. You are worth more than that. How can you not see it? How can you not see how adored you are just foryou, Adrik?”
I kneeled beside him, one hand grazing the sharp, tight line of his jaw, the other seeking the soothing warmth of his hand. Gently, I unclenched his fingers—one by one, until his hand was slack in mine. He closed his eyes with a shudder.
“Almira told me the truth,” he said quietly. “She told me she lied to protect you—me. She claimed that you made a snap decision and that you will come around.”
I hissed in fury. “I made therightdecision. The one she was unwilling to make because it is a horrible, horrible thing to have to do.”
“I know,” he said, squeezing my hand. Sorrow shone in his eyes, so deep and dark, it stung like a knife to the chest. “For what it is worth, I made the same decision tonight, beneath that tree. I cannot protect these people from what lurks in the forest. I cannot bear to return with another walking corpse.” He slackened with a shaking sigh.
“You told me not to burden myself with someone else’s crimes. The same goes for you, Adrik. You did all that you could and much more. Now you must rest and heal.”
“Or else you will be cross with me?”
“I am already cross with you.”
A sliver of a smile, another sigh. “There is much to organize for the journey—”
“There are three able men in the next room who had nothing better to do tonight than drink, play cards, andeavesdrop.” I smiled slyly when a shuffle came from the other side of the door. “I think they could stand to take some work off your plate.”
“If he ever lets us,” grumbled Radan as he came into the room. “We are not idle by default.”
Yavor followed, mustering Adrik with cautious anticipation—as if scared the latter might still decide to stumble back out into the storm with his bleeding heart. “So? What’s the order?”
I retreated while Adrik spoke to the brothers. From where I rummaged in the kitchen I heard him give hesitant orders, followed by the furious scribble of a quill on paper. Yavor, always eager to help, was taking keen notes. In a drawer I found a vial of healing tonic, and I prepared in a small wooden bowl a tincture to wash Adrik’s wound. I waited until their lively discussion faded to quiet chatter before I rejoined them.
Adrik’s gaze snapped to me, to the washing bowl. His face darkened.
“Out,” he ordered with a voice like cold steel. “Not you,” he said to me, so softly it chased a shiver down my spine.
A sharp anticipation tightened my stomach as three pairs of steps hurried out and faded in the dark. I flinched when the door clicked shut. In the fireglow Adrik’s eyes flared like embers, searing through leather and wool. I found myself once more torn between the urge to run and the thrill of holding his midnight gaze. It was torment, most sublime. To teeter on that ledge, neither here nor there. What if I crossed the room—just three, four, five steps—and sealed my lips to his? What if I slid my restless fingers beneath his leather-bound shirt and traced the ridges I’d felt as we danced? What if I gave in at last to the tight ache within me and begged him in a breathless whisper to soothe the fire he’d so carelessly lit?
I gasped into the stillness, feverish with need, lightheaded with foolishness.
He sat still as a statue, shadows kissing the sharp edge of his jaw. There was no doubt of his otherworldliness as he mustered me half-smiling. As if the light felt as drawn to him as I,gathering like a crown upon his hair, settling like gold-dust over his cheekbones, his jaw, his collarbone.
“I think,” he breathed with a wary glance at the washing bowl, “that I might die if you touch me.”
“You might die if I do not.”
“That too.”
I sucked in a breath and held it as I neared, gaze flickering to the slash on his chest, to the shreds of fabric stuck to his skin. I set the bowl with trembling fingers on the floor and drew a footstool beside him to sit. The water splashed loudly in the crisp silence. I refused to look at him as I brought the dampened cloth to his chest, ribs bruising from my heart’s wild flutter.
He caught my wrist. “You do not have to—”
“I have had few pleasures tonight,” I said. “Allow me this.”
A quick, breathless laugh. His gaze lingered a moment too long on my lips. “As you wish, Ana. Far be it from me to deny you any pleasure at all.”
He studied me closely for a reaction to his low, silken voice and whatever sliver of feeling he caught on my face seemed to please him. I bit my lip as he settled back in the chair, eyes bright with mischief. He did not release me. He twined his fingers with mine, brushed his thumb over my fluttering pulse, and brought the cloth in my hand to his chest. I held my breath as my fingertips slid over his skin - smooth and solid as marble.
I could stand the fire in his gaze no longer. I lowered my gaze to the tense string of muscle where his neck and shoulder met, tracking its carved lines down his arm, mesmerized.
“Ana.” A trace of warning bled into his tone, a slight impatience. I’d forgotten about the rag, my useless fingers trembling above his heart. “Do you delight in my torment or are you blind to it?”
