Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Briar became aware of her body in stages. The ache in her ribs where ice had struck. The rawness of her throat from swallowed river water. The strange tingling in her fingers and toes as circulation returned. And underneath it all, impossible heat surrounding her.
Not blankets. Not fire.
Skin.
Her eyes opened to unfamiliar cave walls glowing with moss-light. She tried to move, only to realize arms held her immobile, bare arms around her bare waist, a chest pressed to her naked back, legs tangled with hers beneath soft furs.
Eliam. Holding her like she was the only solid thing in the world.
"Finally." His voice rumbled through his chest into her spine. "I was beginning to think you'd decided drowning was preferable to captivity."
Memory crashed back. The frozen river. Ice-Malachar. The reflection pattern pulling her onto the ice. The crushing cold of the water.
She tried to sit up, but his arms tightened, keeping her in place.
"Don't," he commanded. "Your body temperature is barely stable. Moving away from the heat source would be remarkably stupid, even for someone who throws themselves at magical ice constructs."
"Where—" Her voice came out raw, throat burning. How much river water had she swallowed? "Where are we?"
"Sacred grove. Old growth hollow." His breath stirred her hair. "Closer than the castle."
"Why didn't you just..." She gestured vaguely, trying not to think about how much of him she could feel pressed against her. "Shadow thing. Transportation."
"Because you were unconscious." He sounded irritated, as if her near-death had personally inconvenienced him.
"The shadow paths require a conscious will to navigate safely.
Attempting to pull your senseless form through would have potentially scattered your essence across the realm. You're welcome, by the way."
"For what?"
"For saving your life." His hand splayed across her stomach, holding her firmly against him.
"I was trying to save you."
"From something that wouldn't have killed me." His voice dropped, dangerous. "You saw ice spears about to impale me and you didn't think, you just acted. Threw yourself at danger like your fragile human body could somehow shield mine."
"It worked, didn't it?"
"It put you exactly where Malachar's trap wanted you." His arms tightened almost painfully. "The reflection pattern was meant for whoever was in range. If you'd stayed back like I told you—"
"You'd have been pulled onto the ice instead."
"And I would have survived it. I'm practically immortal, you fool. You're breakable. Soft. Human." Each word came out bitten off, frustrated. "Yet you throw yourself at threats meant for me."
The warmth in her chest pulsed weakly, still recovering from the cold. But it responded to his proximity, to his voice, reaching for him even as she tried to process their situation.
"You're angry," she said quietly.
"I'm considering banning you from existing near anything dangerous."
"That's ridiculous, everything here is dangerous."
"Then I suppose you’ll just have to stay in my bed, forever." His thumb traced a line across her stomach.
“That is the most dangerous place of all,” she murmured, trying hard not to lose herself in his touch. Even though her body ached from exhaustion, Briar couldn’t ignore the way it responded to each movement.
"You have no self-preservation instinct. None. You see danger and run toward it."
“I ran from you,” she argued.
“Unfortunately for you, I always catch my prey.”
As Eliam pulled her closer, she became acutely aware of their position again. Of how every inch of her back pressed against his chest, his stomach, his—
"Why are we naked?" The question came out more strangled than she intended.
"Your clothes were killing you. Holding the cold against your skin." His thumb continued its path, seemingly of its own accord. "And skin contact is the most efficient way to share body heat. Don’t they teach basic survival in your human world?"
"And your clothes?"
"Were also soaked from diving in after you." He paused. "Would you prefer I stayed dressed and let you freeze?"
No. That was the horrible thing. She was finally warm, finally feeling human again instead of like animated ice, and his skin against hers felt...
Safe.
Which was insane. Nothing about being naked with the Forest King should feel safe.
"How long was I unconscious?"
"Hours. Long enough for me to question why I keep saving something so determined to die." But his tone belied the harsh words. There was something else there. Something that sounded almost like...
"You were worried," she said, surprised.
"I was annoyed. There's a difference." But his hand on her stomach pressed slightly, as if assuring himself she was really there.
"Do you have any idea how frustrating it would be if you died?
The mark is incomplete. I haven't figured out what that warmth in your chest means.
You can't die leaving me with unanswered questions. "
"How terribly inconvenient for you."
"Exactly." He shifted slightly, and she bit back a gasp at the feeling. "Though I admit, your method of near-death was... unexpected."
"What?"
"You saw danger aimed at me and your first instinct was protection." His voice held genuine puzzlement. "Why?"
She didn't have an answer. In that moment, seeing ice-Malachar rise behind him, she hadn't thought. Just moved. Just...
"I don't know."
"Unacceptable. There's always a reason." His breath ghosted across her neck. "What made you think I needed protecting? What made you risk—"
"I don't know!" The words came out sharper than intended. "I saw something that would hurt you and I moved. There's no grand reason. No hidden meaning. I just... didn't want you hurt."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by their breathing.
"You're a fool," he said finally.
"Yes, well, we've established that." She tried for levity. "The naked cuddling really drives the point home."
"This isn't cuddling. This is survival."
"Of course it is." But she could feel his heart beating against her back, faster than his calm voice suggested. "How much longer do we need to stay here?"
"Until your core temperature stabilizes. Until that warmth in your chest stops flickering like a dying candle." His arms adjusted around her, and she definitely didn't think about how perfectly she fit against him. "Until I'm certain you won't collapse the moment we return."
"And then?"
"Then we go back. You'll be examined by healers. You'll eat something warm. And you'll explain in detail what possessed you to protect me."
"I told you, I don't—"
"You will." It was a promise and a threat combined. "Because this can't happen again. I won't have you throwing yourself into danger for me. You're mine to protect, not the other way around."
The warmth in her chest pulsed at that, reaching for him with embarrassing eagerness.
"Fine," she conceded, too tired to argue. "No more protecting the immortal Forest King."
"Good." He sounded satisfied. "Now stop talking. Rest. Warm up properly."
"Bit hard to rest like this," she muttered.
"Would you prefer the alternative? Freezing to death with your dignity intact?"
No. That was the problem. Despite everything, the embarrassment, the vulnerability, the confusing intimacy of skin against skin, she didn't want to move. Didn't want to give up this warmth that went beyond physical heat.
"That's what I thought," he said when she didn't answer. "Now be quiet. Let me fix what your heroics broke."
So she did, closing her eyes and trying not to think about the way his thumb still traced absent patterns on her stomach and his breath against her neck felt like safety. How the warmth in her chest hummed contentment despite everything.
Just body heat, she told herself. Just survival.
But when his arms tightened slightly, protectively, possessively, she knew they were both lying.
His hands were moving.
That was what pulled her from sleep—not the encompassing warmth of his body against her back, but the deliberate path of his fingers.
One hand had drifted from her stomach to trace the curve of her ribs, thumb brushing dangerously close to the underside of her breast. The other rested on her hip, possessive and still, like he was holding himself back from more.
Briar kept her breathing steady, feigning sleep while her mind raced. How long had he been touching her like this? Minutes? Hours? His exploration was careful, almost reverent, but there was something else, a tension in his body that spoke of barely leashed control.
She knew she should say something, protest or move away or establish boundaries. But his thumb had begun tracing devastating circles on her hip, and that warmth in her chest was reaching for him with embarrassing eagerness.
She stayed perfectly still, trying to process the situation. His body behind hers radiated tension, and she could feel evidence of his arousal pressed against her lower back. His breathing wasn't quite steady either.
A slight shift to ease the ache building between her thighs gave her away.
"I know you're awake." The words rumbled from his chest, voice wrecked like he'd been fighting this battle with himself for hours. "Your breathing changed."
"How long?" Her voice came out breathier than intended.
"Hours." The word emerged like it had been dragged from him.
His hand on her ribs moved slightly higher, fingertips just brushing the curve of her breast. "Hours of you moving against me.
Making those maddening little sounds in your sleep.
Pressing back like you knew exactly what you were doing to me. "
She became hyperaware of their position. Of how her back arched slightly, pushing her more firmly against him. Of how her thighs had parted just enough during sleep to be inviting. Of how wet she already was, how her body had been preparing itself while her mind slept.