***
Leth wakes to a dry mouth and throbbing head. He’s also very warm. Somehow the quilt twisted around him overnight, looping around his waist and pressing against his back. Leth melts under the comfortable warmth, tempted to drift to sleep again. Delay his morning prayers and the full assault of his hangover. There’s something soft and secure about being enclosed like this, with the gentle sigh of breath on the back of his neck.
Wait—breath?
Leth goes rigid, suddenly wide awake. That’s not just the quilt wrapped around him: a strong arm encircles his waist, palm draped against his chest.Evain’sarm. That’s Evain’s entire body plastered against his, chest to back, thigh to thigh. Evain’s knees tucked behind Leth’s.
That’s Evain’s cock, unmistakably hard against Leth’s ass.
Evain mumbles something in a language Leth has never heard before. The words stir in Leth’s hair. Then his arms tighten, and henuzzlesthe back of Leth’s neck.
The tiny movement shatters through Leth’s every nerve and jolts him into action. He shoves his hand under the pillow as he drives his elbow back into Evain’s stomach. Evain’s surprised, sleepy grunt doesn’t stop him. In one surge of movement, he flips over onto Evain. His dagger’s scabbard clatters to the floorboards.
Blinking beneath him, Evain doesn’t resist. His unbound hair spreads across the pillow, and his red robe falls open to bare most of his chest. The collar catches on the shape of his piercing. Urgent heat pools under Leth’s skin. A wash of something that must be fury, or embarrassment. Surely nothing else.
“What the fuck were you doing?” Leth snarls, his knife kissing the apple of Evain’s throat. Against Leth’s thigh, Evain’s erection doesn’t subside in the slightest.
?
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVAIN
Blood and power simmer through Evain’s soul, mapping out the revelation of Leth’s desire. The human’s lust is overwhelming. Undeniable. Evain never imagined Leth could desire so strongly, much less that his desire would ever stray towardshim. But Leth’s gaze is molten shadow along his skin, melting under the edge of his robe.
Harvest Lord’s balls, Evain has never felt this powerful. With fuel like this, he could bind and banish a dozen demons. Cast and control a thousand shadow-swords. If he contracted himself to a heart like this, he would never go hungry again.
The way Leth looks above him is captivating. That pretty face flushed in the gray light, all dawn’s fire caught as fury in his eyes. A pillow mark on his cheek, and his hair a mess. Morning wood is no explanation for how hard Evain is.
And if Evain breathes a word of this revelation, Leth’s knife will slice straight through his jugular. Which would be both very messy and suspiciously nonfatal.
“I was sleeping,” Evain says carefully. He’s good at languages, but remembering his Charaini is difficult with the distraction of Leth’s thigh against his cock. “Sometimes I hug a pillow in my sleep.”
Leth doesn’t move. “Do I look like a pillow?”
“A very sharp pillow.”
The knife falls away from his neck, and Leth swings off of him, to Evain’s relief and regret. Lying back, he fixes the memory in his mind as he listens to Leth moving around the room. He needs to memorize the precise weight of Leth on his thighs, the way his collar fell open around his neck. And before that, his too-brief, half-awake awareness of Leth’s narrow waist under his arm, the scent of his skin. How well they fit together. His ass.
Evain already misses Leth’s ass.
The door opens. Evain calls out, “See you at breakfast.”
The door closes.
As Leth’s footsteps disappear down the hall, Evain’s hand disappears under his robe. So much for his plan to forget about Leth. Until Evain has him, he’s going to think of nothing else.
***
Evain descends to a tavern hall much emptier than the night before. Sleepy servers bring food to sleepier guests scattered along the trestle tables. The fireplace with its dancing pigs gives the room a lazy, comfortable warmth compared to the slate-gray skies outside. Evain finds Freya across from Marta and Haldis at one end of a table, closest to the fire. No sign of Arthur, Shae, or Leth. Evain flags down a serving woman to reserve breakfast for two, then sits next to Freya.
“Arthur and that necromancer are out checking the horses and the roads,” Freya tells him, stretching over the table for the jug of water. Glowing with unmistakable satisfaction, she’s probably the most awake person in the room. “The rain didn’t last the night, so it shouldn’t be too muddy out.”
“It’s rude to keep calling him a necromancer like that.” Wrapped up like usual, Marta tugs her cream-colored scarf down enough to sip from a steaming mug. The scarf suits the light brown of her skin.
Freya sighs. “Well, he is one, isn’t he?” Marta just stares over the rim of her mug, until Freya sighs again. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m trying to be better about that.”
Marta’s lips curve in a tiny smile. “Of course.”
