She wasn’t going to tell him that. It didn’t matter anyway. She’d played her hand, told him what she wanted. He didn’t want the same thing. He didn’t really owe her an explanation.
“All right then.” Not looking at him, she climbed to her feet, clutching the blanket tight in one fist.
Casrian rose with her. “Rowan…”
She didn’t think she could listen to another apology from him right now.
“I should get dressed,” she said. “Do you mind if we skip knife practice today?”
An image flashed through her mind of her knife sinking into the man’s flesh. How easy it had been. How was she supposed to practice stabbing Casrian knowing how easy it would be to actually hurt him?
“I let you sleep late. We don’t really have time to train this morning anyway.” He hesitated a moment and then asked, “Are you certain you’re all right?”
She couldn’t force herself to look him in the eyes. Instead, she focused on the collar of his jacket. “I’m fine.”
He was silent for a long moment. She could feel the weight of his stare though she couldn’t find the courage to meet it. Finally, he said, “I’m going to scout the area to see if there’s any sign my patrol passed this way while you get dressed. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”
When she nodded, it felt like she was agreeing to more than the immediate plan. Like she was agreeing to put what had happened between them aside to focus on the mission. Like she was agreeing it wouldn’t happen again.
Casrian seemed to accept it. He tossed the remainder of his tea into the fire and walked off into the woods to check for tracks. She waited until she couldn’t hear him anymore before she let out a ragged sigh and began to dress.
Slingingthe bow across her back, she grabbed her quiver and some tooth powder before heading to the stream. Casrian hadn’t yet returned to their camp for which she was grateful. He was considerate that way, allowing her as much privacy as he could while keeping her safe.
She tried not to think about Casrian scrubbing her clothes before the sun came up just so she didn’t have to pull on the bloodstained fabric in the morning. She tried not to think about the way his hands had felt on her and the things he’d whispered over her skin as she came apart. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t want to do it again. That she didn’t wonder what it would feel like to have his cock inside her instead of his fingers or what he would look like if he ever let himself truly go.
He was so very disciplined, careful about the face he showed to the world. It was probably the way he’d been raised—the selfish father and neglectful mother caught in their spiral ofobsession and violence, being abandoned to an orphanage even though he actually had family who could have taken him in, the brutality of his work as a witch hunter. It was no wonder he blocked people out and kept them at a distance, showed them who he wanted them to see. The perfect soldier. Dutiful and bright. Not the bastard. Not the orphan. Not a breath of scandal attached to his name. Somebody who couldn’t ever be hurt.
She understood the impulse. Did he think she didn’t want to escape being the witch’s daughter? The poor strange girl from Toam? She would shed those titles if she could. Only, escaping them meant abandoning her mother and she wasn’t going to do that. So she wore her titles instead. Made sure that people could see them. Rubbed their damned faces in it.
She supposed she kept people at a distance too.
She’d thought they’d found some common ground out here in the woods. She’d thought he was letting his guard down a little bit. It made her feel safe enough to do the same. But it was a trap and she’d fallen right into it.
It didn’t matter how much the man inside the uniform wanted her. And he did. She’d felt that even if he didn’t want to admit it. All that mattered was the uniform. Being a good soldier. Following his stupid rules. Being a witch hunter who wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping with a witch’s daughter. Maybe he’d told her the truth and he didn’t see her as beneath him, but he didn’t see her as a woman he could let himself want either.
Which was frustrating. Because as much as she wanted to pretend that she didn’t still want him after that awkward conversation, she did. She needed to put it out of her head, like the dead man.
Forget it had happened.
Forget about the whole damned night.
She was so distracted bynotthinking about Casrian that she didn’t notice the silence of the woods at first. When she did notice the change, she stopped.
In the distance, she could hear the trickle of water over stone. There was a slight breeze stirring through the trees, making the leaves rattle. But there were no animal sounds. No birds flitting between branches. No squirrels rustling around.
She stretched out her senses, reaching out to the trees around her. There was that warm welcoming hug of connection followed almost immediately by a thrum of dread.
They come.
She stopped and turned to the nearest tree. A red oak with orange and russet leaves carpeting its base. Her palm scraped over the deeply ridged bark as she tried to deepen the connection, closing her eyes even if she’d rather keep them open.
Who comes?
The tree’s awareness brushed against hers, making her fingertips tingle. A spark ran up her arm in a current. She winced at the sensation. Something oily. Something shadowed. This tree wasn’t gone to rot but it had been touched by it.
Danger, child.
She resisted the impulse to withdraw her hand and pressed deeper.
