Varek leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes falling closed. "I've slept on frozen ground with rocks for pillows. I've slept in trees, in ditches, in the backs of carts with my armor still on. I've slept standing up against a wall with my sword in my hand because sitting down meant dying."
His thumb moved in a slow circle against her hip, almost absent.
"Right now I have a fire, a wall at my back, and a soft woman in my lap who smells like she was made for me." The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. "I have never been more comfortable in my life."
Mab opened her mouth. Closed it.
Varek's breathing was already slowing, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm beneath her shoulder. His hand stayed on her hip, heavy and warm, like he'd forgotten it was there. Like holding her was as natural as breathing.
Mab lay rigid against him, waiting for the catch. The trick. The moment when the kindness revealed itself as setup for something worse.
It didn't come.
His breathing deepened. The tension in his shoulders eased by degrees, his head tilting slightly to one side against the stone. The hand on her hip went slack, though it didn't fall away, just softened, his fingers curling loosely against the curve of her.
He was actually sleeping.
Mab let her eyes close.
Just for a moment, she told herself. Just until the fire burned down again. Then she'd move. She'd go back to the bedpost, back to her knife, back to watching the door like she was supposed to.
But the heat of him was seeping into her bones. His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. Mab's hand was still caught in Varek's grip, her fingers curled loosely against his scarred palm.
She'd move in a minute. Just one more minute of warmth.
The thought frayed at the edges, dissolving into something softer. Her breathing slowed to match his, her body going heavy against the impossible heat of him. The last thing she felt before sleep took her was his thumb, moving once across the back of her hand.
A slow stroke. Almost tender.
Then nothing.
Chapter 5
Mab woke to a small hand patting her face.
"Mab." Annie's voice was a whisper, urgent and tight. "Mab, wake up."
Mab's eyes flew open. For one terrible moment, she didn't know where she was—the ceiling was too high, the bed too soft, the light coming from the wrong direction. Then memory crashed back in. The raid. The pantry. The orc who'd held her against his chest while she slept.
She sat up so fast her head spun.
The bed. She was in the bed. The massive four-poster with its pale blue hangings and its mountain of pillows, the bed that belonged to a dead woman whose blood Mab had once scrubbed from the carpet. Tibbs was on her other side, still sleeping, his face slack and young in the morning light.
Varek was gone.
He must have carried her here. Lifted her from his lap like she weighed nothing and tucked her into the bed beside the children.
"Mab." Annie tugged at her sleeve, her small face pinched with discomfort. "I have to go."
"Go where?"
"Go." Annie's cheeks flushed pink. "You know."
Oh. Mab looked around the room, taking it in properly for the first time. The fire had been built up again recently, from the look of the flames. Fresh wood stacked beside the hearth. And there—a door she hadn't noticed last night, set into the far wall between the wardrobe and the window.
"Come on." Mab slid out of the bed, her bare feet hitting carpet instead of stone.
Annie grabbed her hand and held on tight as they crossed the room. The door opened onto a small chamber that made Mab stop in the doorway.
