I glance around the den. There isn’t a great deal of space, and I really don’t relish the idea of spending the night on the hard ground at the foot of his bed.
Nodding, I reluctantly agree and accept the fur from him. “Very well. I will sleep on top of the furs.”
I don’t undress. Removing my shoes, I lower myself down beside him, keeping careful space between us. With my back to him, I listen as he settles his weight. Soon, the soft cadence of his breathing fills the air, rustling my hair.
Curled up on my side, I’m convinced sleep will never come so easily for me.
It’s the last thing I remember before my eyes close.
27
Not So Different
Iwake to a chamber much darker than the one I fellasleep in.
A soft glow of multicolored light throbs on the air, flowing from the gemstones embedded in the walls and sitting upon rock shelves.
I’m on my back, and high above, hundreds of rock teeth point down at me from the ceiling. Somewhere nearby water drips a soft cadence.
I inhale warm skin. The crisp wintry scent. Loam and leather.
My breathing comes faster, harsh little puffs, and I quickly shut my eyes, willing myself back to sleep, to return to oblivion where I have no awareness of the body beside me. Not the thick thigh pressing into mine. Not the long arm roped with muscles and sinew against my slighter one.
“How long are you going to pretend to sleep?”
The air catches in my throat, further giving me away. “I’m not awake,” I insist, ignoring the absurdity of my words. The last time I woke in the night with a dragon whispering in my ear, I was greeted with threats and fear.
He shifts, and I know without looking he has rolled onto his side, facing me.
“I’m not accustomed to sharing my space with anyone.”
I snort, still stubbornly keeping my eyes closed. “I did not ask to be here.”
“Didn’t you?”
My eyes fly open, and I turn my head to find him so close—dark violet blazes at me.
“Because I tried to escape? Well, I promise I won’t quit. I will keep trying, so maybe you should find a better place for me to spend the nights.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.
The sight of him with his hand tucked so innocuously beneath his cheek completely unmoors me.
At least I know where I stand with Cyphus. With Tage, I’m at a loss, a ship floundering at sea. He could be thinking anything.
My thoughts travel to those horrible places. Had I pushed him too far? Was my proximity too much? Was he thinking the kind of things Cyphus thought? Ugly nasty ideas that end with me as meat.
Does it ever cross your mind that my forefathersateyour kind?
Just when I think I can’t stand another moment of his probing inspection, he asks, “What am I going to do with you?”
It feels like a rhetorical question, for, undoubtedly, he knows whatIwant him to do with me.
The real question, therealfear is...what is it he wants to do?
This fear becomes too much. Trapped in the too-close quarters of his den, in the limited space of his bed, in the dim radiance of gemstones that rival the magical glow of his eyes, I cannot bear another moment of not knowing, of not properly deciphering what unsettling thing lurks in those eyes.
“I won’t taste good.”
