And on concrete?
I’m an idiot. I can feel my toes bruising, and my tendons scream, but I keep staring down Taliesin.
Fucking finally he looks away and I drop.
Fuck, shit, that hurt.
I mask over my pain and pull my hair back into a tight, messy knot. “Don’t get any ideas that I’m performing foryou. You’re the last person I want watching me.”
“Believe me, Princess,” Taliesin says, his golden eyes tracking the line of my neck, “watching you struggle through a workout isn’t on my list of entertainment. But, I guess if you can move like that, maybe you won’t be a complete liability if things go sideways, just a ninety-nine percent liability.”
He stomps out of the cell before I can think of a clever comeback.
As soon as he’s out of sight I sink back onto my cot, and massage my feet. That was a pretty stupid move, but worth it. I’ve quickly worked out that shows of strength can only help you in this shithole.
That’s why I hate the nights, and the nightmares. I have no power over my reactions and sobbing in my sleep doesn’t exactly yell “fearsome warrior”.
At least I’m not the only one.
After the lights go out, the chorus starts up. Screams, moans, and the sound of hope dying.
And it’s always so fucking hot.
Sometimes, in the gloom, I stare at Taliesin. He sleeps like I imagine a soldier would—still, quiet, but with his hand always gripping a homemade knife.
My thin, white bra and panties are damp with sweat. They cling to my skin in a way that makes me feel exposed, even in the dark.
Tonight I’m tossing and turning more than usual.
"You’re awake," Taliesin says. There’s a weary sort of recognition in his tone, like he can’t sleep either.
"The air is too thick," I murmur, getting up and leaning my forehead against the iron bars. "I feel like I’m breathing in someone else’s lungs."
The springs of his cot squeak as he stands. A moment later he joins me. There’s just enough light for our eyes to meet.
His golden-brown eyes move from my face, then track the line of my collarbone, the pulse jumping in my throat.
I should look away. I should snap his head off for perving.
But I don’t.
Instead, I checkhimout. He’s shirtless, his skin slick with sweat that makes the black ink of his tattoos almost glow. He reaches out, his hand stopping just an inch from mine on the crossbar. His knuckles are scarred, his fingers thick and calloused. They are hands that have only ever known how to break things, yet I find myself wondering what they would feel like against my skin.
“Aurora,” he mutters in a low, gravelly vibration that seems to travel through the floorboards and straight up my spine.
He says my name like it’s been forced upon his tongue unwillingly. He leans forward until his forehead rests against the rusted iron, eyes closed.
My sternum aches with a faint, hollow throb, like something is trying to pluck at the damaged tissue of my heart.
“Why…why did you fight for me, Taliesin?" I whisper, the question slipping out before I can stop it. “You could have let the Guild have me and saved yourself the headache.”
He stays silent for a long beat, his gaze dropping to my lips. “Because I’m a fool who still wants the beauty in the world not to be destroyed.”
For a second he reaches through the gap, his thumb grazing the edge of my jaw. The contact is an electric sensation that makes my toes curl into the gritty concrete.
Then he pulls away abruptly.
“Go to sleep, Rory. Just…go to sleep.”
