Page 53 of The Fox Heir

He grimaces. “I’ve had worse.”

“Sit down.”

He doesn’t move. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be.

Our eyes meet and, for once, he doesn’t argue further. That alone tells me how much pain he’s in. He leans against a nearby pillar and slides to the ground with a quiet exhale, his jaw tight.

My eyes flicker up to his. “I’m going to have to get a better look.”

He nods curtly.

Gently, I pull the fabric of his wool shirt up over his stomach. He hisses in pain but doesn’t stop me. My eyes grow wide at the sight. His ribs are a mottled mess in the moonlight. No doubt he has at least one cracked rib, likely more. I suck in a breath. At any other time, I’d use my powers to heal him. I’ve relied on my gifts my entire life, but now I have to admit that there’s nothing I can do.

Guilt and shame tumble inside me. What good is a Fox Heir with no power? Who am I if I can’t even heal bruised ribs? My chest tightens until I can hardly breathe.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Tristan’s stomach muscles flinch, and he lets out a tight groan. “It’s not your fault.”

I move my hands over the mottled swelling. My fingertips hesitate, hovering just above his skin. Something stirs inside of me, faint as breath on glass, but it’s gone before I can grasp it. With a pang of regret, I pull away.

“It’s alright, Red.” He sounds almost disappointed. As if he thought the sight of his injury would trigger something in me. That it would make my powers surge back to help him. But my core is just as hollow as it’s been since I arrived in Gwyllion.

“No, it isn’t.”

He shrugs, then winces. “I’ll heal like I always do. With time.”

“That isn’t the point.”

His cut lips press into a thin line, but something soft flickers in his gaze. He pulls his shirt back down over his ribs and slowly rises to his feet. My eyes drift up to his face to find that he’s staring down at me. He holds out a hand. I hesitate before grabbing his calloused palm. He lifts me to my feet and, for a breathless moment, we stand there, inches apart.

I swallow, hard. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my skin is prickling beneath his gaze. Under my tunic, my body flares with heat. I blink away the mental image of me, leaning into him. Of my hands taking him by the collar of his shirt and pressing my lips to his. Of the feel of his hard body pressed against mine in this ice-filled temple, where there’s no one around to witness the awful, delicious things my body craves to do to him.

I suck in a breath and start to turn from him, but Tristan catches my wrist. His eyes find mine again. My wrist burns where he’s touching me, but not from pain. His fingers tighten just enough to remind me how easily he could pull me closer. And how much I want him to.

The ruined temple is silent around us. It feels as if the icy north is waiting to see what choice we’ll make, here, alone in the darkness of a ruined sanctuary.

I want him. And the look in his eyes suggests he’d like nothing more than to press me against the temple’s altar and take me right here. My body responds to the thought. Heat pools low in my belly, and my nipples harden. Every inch of me begs to give in, to surrender to instinct and desire.

Yes, I want him. But I can’t let that happen.

“Your power will return.” His voice is steady, assured.

“Why do you have so much faith in me?”

His eyebrows draw together over his gray eyes. “Because I see you, Red. Not your power, not your family’s throne. You.” His voice is tinged with something dangerously close to longing.

My heart stills. “Do you still see a spoiled heir?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No. I see a woman who’s going to bring kingdoms to their knees and leave blood in her wake.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Only to those who get in your way.”

A thrill rushes through me at his words, but I tamp it down. “Right now, it looks like I’m in my own way.”