There was a fluttering sound near her ear. She flinched away from it, raising her hand. Something landed in her hair and she jerked back, shaking her head, trying to dislodge it.
The witch hunter moved toward her. “Stay still. I’ll get it. It’s just a moth.”
She couldn’t have stayed still, even if she trusted him. There was something trying to crawl in her ear. A petal-soft brush against her cheek. Casrian was saying something that she couldn’t hear over the sound of beating wings. She twisted away.
The blanket fell from her shoulders into the dirt. She didn’t care.
That sound.
Hard hands clamped on her arms, pulling her back. “You’re going to fall into the fire. Stop fighting me. Be still.”
Something in his tone reached her, and she went still, squeezing her eyes shut as he worked the thing free of her hair. Flung it away.
“Got it,” he said. “You can open your eyes.”
She opened her eyes. The witch hunter smiled at her with a crooked smile, his eyes warm, a lock of dark blond hair fallen across his forehead. He didn’t smile often. She blinked, struck by how much younger it made him look. Softer, too.
His hands slid down her arms, warm and comforting. “It was just a moth.”
Releasing her, he leaned over and grabbed her blanket. He shook it out and wrapped it around her shoulders. His knuckles grazed the side of her neck and a shiver passed through her.
Casrian’s smile faded. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” she said, stepping away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Good. It just startled me. I hate moths.”
He was going to think she was weak. Jumping at shadows and insects. Turning away from him, she looked back at the fire and frowned. There was only one moth now circling the fire, rising until it disappeared into the night.
“I’ve never seen them do that. They don’t like people.” She shook her head. “They don’t even seem to like each other. I’ve never seen two in one place before.”
She expected him to laugh at her again, but he didn’t. He pulled her back to her seat beside the fire. He threw another log on and looked out into the darkness. “They’ll go back to normal once we kill the witch.”
The woods seemed to quiet at his words. It was probably her imagination. She rubbed her arms, trying to work warmth back into her limbs. She tried to forget the sound of those wings beating in her ear.
Casrian glanced her way, something in his expression softening when their eyes met. “You want first watch or second?”
“First.”
She wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep right now after all the talk about witches. Especially not with the image of that pale-faced specter haunting the edges of her mind. The shadows were too deep. The woods too quiet. She might not sleep ever again.
His brows drew together. “Sure you’re all right?”
“Of course.”
He didn’t look like he believed her, but he rolled himself into his blankets and quickly fell asleep. Like an innocent babe. As if he hadn’t been dripping with blood earlier that day. She shivered and moved closer to him. In case the moths came back and one of them tried to land on him. Not because he made her feel safe.
She watched the moths dance above the flames until they drifted away. Then she stared into the dark, flinching at every sound, huddled into her blanket until it was time to wake him.
19
Casrian ran a hand through his hair as he watched Rowan sleep. She looked incredibly young in the pale predawn light. Beautiful and untouchable, like the angel he’d first thought she was when he woke up in her bed. Her dark hair was sleep-tousled, her lips slightly parted. Long lashes fanned across her pale skin. She had freckles. It seemed wrong for a woman with freckles scattered so sweetly across her nose to be lying here on the cold ground in the Black Woods.
“Rowan.” He nudged her shoulder, and she made a small, distressed sound, rolled over and snuggled deeper into the blanket.
He wished he could let her sleep. She’d waited too long to wake him for his watch.
She’d insisted on taking first, though she’d looked so ragged and worn he’d almost insisted she turn in. Even after he relieved her, she had trouble falling asleep. She’d tossed and turned with bad dreams for most of the night. It was probably this place. No one slept soundly on a witch hunt. She’d been spooked by the bear. By whatever she’d seen in the woods.
“Rowan,” he said her name a little louder, ignoring the frown that twitched at her lips. God, she was hard to wake. He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her harder. Her shoulder was thin, the bones too prominent, fragile. He’d felt it when he caught her from the saddle, how light she was.
