Chapter 37 #2
The fire burned brightly, crackling as the near empty spiced stew boiled over the open flame. I sat huddled, hands outstretched as close as I could get without burning my gloves to warm myself.
Camp had already been set, the tents erected and shifts assigned for who would watch the woods and tend the fire throughout the night.
We had entered the wild wood merely an hour before the sun had truly set, and the contrast of the wild wood compared to the plain northern forest was stark.
It was clear as soon as we crossed the border that some dark energy lurked in this place.
The trees stretched out like gnarled limbs intent to grab and drag us into the dense dark that surrounded everything within view.
When day broke, I doubted we’d see much light through the canopy that apparently didn’t grow brittle even in the cold. Was it magic that kept its leaves from falling? Or was it the type of trees in this part of the forest?
Even the shadows within me were different from before, louder and more difficult to ignore. A constant hissing beneath my skin, slithering through my blood with their constant aggravating chanting. It made my head ache and my temper spike.
“Go get some sleep,” Bran nudged me, attention drifting to the bags I knew had to have been deep beneath my eyes.
I shivered as I left the warmth of the fire and made for my tent, only to find Roan already curled beneath the thick blankets, offering me a warm smile as he spread his arms.
“What’re you doing?” I hissed, quickly getting inside and tugging down the flap before anyone could see.
“Body heat.” His whisper was smug, his smile even more so as he motioned for me to join him. With a sigh I conceded, the warmth too tempting. His shift would be after Rena’s regardless and though she liked to tease us, I knew she’d keep it a secret if she caught him in my tent.
“You’re getting too bold,” I chastised, even as I snuggled into the warmth he offered, smiling as his arms circled me in a tight embrace.
The content sigh he let out had my heart clenching as I glanced up.
His eyes were closed, giving every opportunity for my eyes to trace the high planes of his cheeks, the soft shape his lips made—nearly a smile—when he was relaxed.
“I couldn’t resist,” he murmured back. “I loathe this quest and being around others all day when I want you all to myself.”
My eyes squinted, a quiet laugh slipping from my lips. “I never would have guessed it when first meeting you, Roan Delmar, but you can be incredibly possessive.”
One of his eyes peeked open, glancing at me with disbelief. “What did you think of me?”
I hummed thoughtfully. “That you were incredibly rude and arrogant. Sinfully handsome, but an absolute ass.”
He smirked. “Sinfully handsome, hm?”
“Oh hush,” I huffed as my smile widened. “I also thought that you absolutely despised me.”
His brow rose, the expression shifting to something more serious as he released his hold on me and rose to an elbow.
“I never despised you, Syra.” He gave me a rueful smile.
“If anything I was angry with myself. I was tormented by the thought of you from the moment you held that dagger to my throat in the tavern. You plagued my mind, my desires, my every want in a way that no one ever has. I tried to resist you, but it seemed the harder I tried the more I found myself looking for every excuse to catch even a glimpse of you.”
I wanted to return my own declarations. A part of me relished in his affections, the words soothing the rage and hurt buried deep in my heart.
Another part though, somewhere deeper and darker within me refused it, shying away from how sure he seemed.
It terrified me and I hated myself for it.
So instead, where words failed me, I lifted a hand, gently placing it to his cheek as my thumb traced over the little scar beneath his green eye.
“How did you get this scar?”
His eyes clouded for a second as though his mind was taking him back to a time he didn’t wish to remember. “The day my father died.”
My thumb froze its tracing as he gave a gentle, sad smile.
One of reassurance as his hand laid over mine, his own calloused finger brushing against the silver skin of his scar.
“The night my father was dragged from our home, I fought against the guards that seized him. One of them struck me with the back of his hand, decorated in rings of gold. It split my skin and I’ve had the scar ever since. ”
I didn’t have words to comfort him, I’m sorry simply wasn’t enough.
I always hated when people said it to me after they learned of my parents death.
It felt cold. An automatic response that one felt obligated to express.
Instead, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the scar.
A gentle kiss, meant to convey the emotion I couldn’t quite put words to.
He tutted quietly, humor attempting to mask the thickness in his voice. “If I’d known sad stories were the trick to your affections I’d have begun sharing my traumas ages ago.”
I grinned, hiding my face in the crook of his neck as his hand came up to lightly stroke my hair.
“Sleep now, little menace.” He murmured, lips pressing to my head. “Our watch shifts will come sooner than we think.”
“Goodnight, Roan.” I felt his smile against my hair.
“Goodnight, Syra.”