Eve steeled her posture. She had not anticipated having no support, for a warrior deserved to be rewarded, lauded. She thought to finally use her position, her ties to her father, to secure a safe spot for Michel. And she was about to leverage it when Renault continued.
“You can go south to Carth,” he proposed. “I will arrange a safe house for you there.”
Eve pulled back and considered. “Yes,” she said. “I know Carth.” She nodded. “That will be acceptable.” Then she rattled off a list of things she would need.
He turned to leave. She stopped him by calling his name. He turned to her.
“You should know,” she said, her voice accusatory. “Michel may have taken me on, but his dedication to this route and his obligations never wavered. I don’t think you could find someone more loyal.” She turned back to Michel. “I hope you communicate that to whoever wants to know.”
“I will, my lady,” he said, slipping out the door.
ChapterThirty-Two
Several hours later, Eve had completed arrangements with Renault, settled the camp, and made a stew for those who needed food along with a complex healing broth for Michel. The men had calmed, telling stories of Michel fighting the monster. Eve did not attempt to tamp down their gossip. Let the legend spread that Ganbold had been felled.
They held a little memorial for Terence, too. He had been annoying to most of them, but these were men who tallied losses. They wanted to say goodbye.
In the end, Iman said it best: “You were a little fuck, Terence. But you kept us entertained.” He nodded his head. “We hope you have found your peace.” They shared a drink. Eve included.
By then, evening had come. Michel had slept fitfully throughout the day, calling out for her, still fighting in the space between dreams and wake. She sat next to him on the bed and nudged him. “Michel,” she whispered, running her hands down his chest, still using her fingertips to check for trauma. “You need to drink something.”
Michel stirred and opened his eyes with a start. “Eve,” he muttered.
“I’m here.” She stroked his cheek.
He blinked, coming fully awake for the first time since they had returned to their yurt. He pushed up, looking down at his bandage and then back to Eve.
“You took care of me,” he said, giving her a smile.
“I should say that to you.” She reached forward to touch his chest. Michel grabbed her hand and held it, pulling her toward him.
She sucked in a breath, her body responding, his heat seeping into her. But she pulled back. “You must drink if you wish to recover,” she said. “Lean forward. Be careful.”
Michel released her hand and lifted himself as Eve propped cushions behind him. Eve retrieved the bowl of broth and then sat on the bed, holding it out for him. “This will make it easier to rest.”
Michel drank, watching her over the rim. He handed it back when he finished.
“Are you in pain?” she asked. She ran her hand over the skin of his chest, his arms, seeking contact. Feelings of gratitude and affection, need and desire, ballooned inside her, and she didn’t know how to navigate them. So, she sat there, kneeling beside him, though she wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against hers, to affirm his spirit hadn’t dissolved like she had witnessed happen to two others just that morning.
“The pain’s tolerable.” He stretched, giving a wince as he did.
“Michel.” She took his hand. “We must leave here,” she said. “Renault cannot guarantee us lodging. He has secured a place for us in Carth, instead.”
Michel’s expression turned dark. “His livelihood is because of me. Everything he has.” He wiped his hand down his face, the disappointment evident. Then he shook his head, changing focus. “We must make some kind of arrangement for the bodies.”
“Iman offered to take Terence’s body back to France.” She bowed her head. “And Ganbold…” She pressed her lips. “Died a warrior's death. The forest will feast on him. He will return to the earth. It is the most respectful way.” She squeezed Michel’s hand. “I truly don’t know if his death means I am free from that tribe or they will come after me tenfold.” She looked down. “I do know that it was him or me.”
Michel leaned up, his other hand coming to her cheek. “Do you feel safe? With him gone?”
She smiled, knowing one emotion in her stayed pure, untainted. “To be truthful,” she continued, “I have felt safe since the moment you bought me in Merv.”
He pulled her to him. She leaned into his chest like she had wanted to earlier. As her cheek touched his skin, she borrowed his strength. She felt, for the first time, an overwhelming need to cry. It surprised her, because until that moment, she had never thought about tears. They flooded now. All of them. Tears saved from the shock of being stolen and losing her family. Tears for Michel’s pain, tears for Terence. They all came at once, and they soaked her cheeks, Michel’s chest, her dress, and the bed. The grief came as a rush of rain.
Michel held her and stroked her back. At some point, he tipped her head up and began kissing her cheeks, damming up the rivulets of tears. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that—her tears writing all the words she ever wanted to say and Michel accepting each one on his glistening lips. When she felt her cheek begin to dry, she pulled back and looked at him. She touched her hands to his face. She ran her thumb over his lips. Michel just gave her a smile.
She needed something more.
Then she was up on her knees, between his legs. Holding his cheeks, she kissed him with sudden, delirious desperation. Michel startled at first, then wrapped his arms around her, adjusting himself to her kiss. She tasted the salt of her tears on his lips and felt his desire and urgency break through to meet her own. She opened her lips and took his tongue against hers. She drew him into her, wanting nothing more than to be full of him.
