6. 4
4
Draven
I awake with a start, the echoes of some half-remembered dream still clinging to my mind. As I blink sleep from my eyes, the cottage remains still and quiet. The fire has died down to faintly glowing embers in the hearth, and a shiver runs down my spine.
What roused me? I sit up slowly on the lumpy pile of blankets, senses straining for anything amiss.
There. A faint creak of floorboards.
I turn to find Thorn standing over me, gazing down with eyes closed in slumber. She sways gently in her long white night shift, raven hair spilling loose over her shoulders. Her feet are bare, her expression serene yet troubled.
“Thorn?” I ask softly .
She does not stir or respond, locked in some somnambulant trance. Odd that she would rise from her bed and wander over here while still deep in dreams.
I eye her warily.
Thorn reaches out slowly, seeking. Before I can react, she kneels, her warm palm coming to rest along the edge of my jaw. My breath catches at the contact as she begins to gently trace the line of my face. I should stop this and guide her back to bed. Instead, paralyzed by her touch, I find myself leaning into her hand. When has anyone last touched me with such tenderness? It’s almost like I can feel a hum from her touch.
Her fingertips brush my lips, sending a tremor through my entire body. Gods, what am I doing? I close my eyes, losing myself to sensations long forgotten…
My trance breaks when Thorn sways forward, her knees tangling up in the blankets on the floor. Still asleep, she tilts toward me, features serene yet imploring. The rational part of my mind screams she is senseless and unaware, but base hunger surges up, and I find myself wishing to accept what this dream tryst offers .
Clenching my fists, I slip from the blankets and stand swiftly moving away from her. Thorn frowns, fingers grasping where I’d been as if searching for lost contact. The sight spears my heart with hot guilt and longing in equal measure. I’m better than this.
As gently as possible, I grasp her shoulders and turn her about, guiding her back toward her own bed. She follows without resistance, but her head twists to keep her sightless gaze on me over one shoulder.
The shy hope inscribed on her face proves my undoing. I pause, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. She nuzzles into my palm, and I thrill at the softness of her skin and the warmth of her sigh against my wrist…
You fool, I chide myself. She is not awake, not aware.
With a pang of regret, I withdraw my touch and firmly steer Thorn the last few steps.
Once she is safely bundled back in her bed, I pull up her quilt and smooth the covers over her shoulder. Let her wake believing this midnight encounter merely a forgotten dream.
I leave Thorn tucked safely in her bed and make my way back across the cottage, each step weighed down by restless thoughts. Sleep will not come easily after that strange encounter .
Kneeling by the hearth, I add a few more logs to the fading embers, stoking flickering flames back to life. Orange light fills the small space as I sink down onto my blankets.
The fire now crackles steadily, warming my face, but its heat cannot thaw the ice within my conflicted heart. Thorn’s touch unlocked foreign sensations I dare not examine too closely.
I’ve known this woman barely a day, yet in that brief span, my soul feels irrevocably changed. Her nature tempts me to cast aside my own armor in turn, to walk away from the responsibilities awaiting me and let one of my siblings take my father’s place on the throne of Trettera. He hasn’t chosen his heir yet, and I imagine my life here would be much more entertaining than if I returned to court.
But come daylight, I must don my princely mantle once again and return to a life of protocol and appearances. My world has no place for such vulnerability as Thorn evokes within me.
I stare into the freshly fed flames, wrestling with truths too disquieting to confront. When sleep finally claims me, my dreams are haunted by emerald eyes that see far too much and by the lingering ghost of her touch against my skin.
***
The howling wind outside pulls me from restless dreams. Blinking up at the rafters of the rustic cottage, I need a moment to gain my bearings. Right. I’m still stranded here with Thorn.
Speaking of whom, I lift my head to see her already up and bustling about. She pauses to stoke the logs in the soot-stained hearth and then glances my way briefly before busying herself hanging a kettle over the awakening flames.
I sit up and scrub a hand over my face. My makeshift bed of hand-embroidered blankets on the hard wooden floor provided minimal comfort.
Yawning, I try to shake off the lingering unease from my fitful sleep. Something about sharing such confined quarters with Thorn all night puts my instincts on edge, even as my treacherous heart stirs at her nearness. I don’t get feelings. Toward women, I should say. Do I become angry, sad, happy, or find someone attractive? Yes, but it’s always fully under my control. Thorn is getting past my walls, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that.
Crossing creakily to the frosty window, I peer outside at the bleak vista. An impenetrable wall of swirling white obscures the forest beyond. I can scarcely make out the woodpile a few yards from the cottage beneath the mounting drifts.
Any hopes I harbored of escaping this enforced proximity with the prickly witch are quickly dashed. We’re both snowbound here, it would seem. Just marvelous.
I turn back to deliver the news, only to find Thorn already watching me resignedly. She stands clutching two steaming mugs, the firelight playing over her delicate features.
“So it seems we are fated to enjoy each other’s company a while longer,” I announce wryly. No point denying the obvious, given the weather’s unrelenting fury.
Thorn’s mouth presses into a thin line as she hands me one of the mugs. “Obviously. Drink. It will take the edge off the… discomfort.”
I eye the beverage curiously before taking an experimental sip. Rich, earthy flavors coat my tongue, at once foreign yet distantly familiar. The warmth infuses my belly, seeming to spread restoring tendrils throughout my entire body.
I blink in surprise as the ever-present hunger pangs of my vampire nature ease, my empty reserves somehow replenished by the mysterious contents of this brew. Most astonishing. Not even blood itself could provide such instant satiation.
“This tea is good,” I remark, swiping my lips clean. “What’s in it?”
Thorn tenses almost imperceptibly. “Just a restorative tea from herbs found in these parts,” she murmurs evasively.
My eyes narrow, but she avoids my gaze, busying herself with menial tasks. Clearly there is more to this than she cares to share. I file that away for later consideration.
I drain the last of my mug, warmth spreading through me. As Thorn collects our dishes, I offer, “Allow me to tidy while you cook.”
She only nods and I look around for what to do.
Tidying is new to me. As the eldest son of a noble family, I never had to. Such tasks fall to servants .
Selecting the stoutest broom, I sweep with vigor, but where a sword handles light, this tool bucks in an unfamiliar grip. Thorn watches subtly from her work, eyes dancing though her face remains neutral. Her gaze prickles my skin.
Pausing, I declare, “Fear not. The situation is well in hand.”
No sooner do the words leave my lips than the broom slips, scattering debris. Thorn’s lips twitch as if to smile, but she says nothing of my fumbling. Her discretion intrigues more than mockery might have.
With her instruction, my sweeping proves more adept. As the final dust bunnies are dispatched, I glance to where Thorn works. Her focus on the task at hand seems complete, yet something in her eyes betrays more observation than she lets on.
I stride over to the rough wooden shelf holding Thorn’s random assortment of spices and jars. “How about I whip us up something tasty?” I declare enthusiastically, grabbing ingredients without really looking too hard at what they are.
Behind me, Thorn makes a strangled sound. I glance back to see her watching my haphazard ingredient selecting with barely disguised horror .
“Or… perhaps you would prefer to handle the culinary matters,” I concede reluctantly, carefully replacing the items in no particular order.
Thorn presses her lips together, mirth glittering in her green eyes. “A wise choice.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Yes, well, clearly one cannot be skilled at all manner of tasks.”
As if to emphasize my point, Thorn turns back to the bubbling kettle hanging in the hearth and promptly knocks it askew. Steam and scorching water hiss over the burning logs.
“Seriously?” she exclaims, shaking her damp skirt.
I can’t help but chuckle. “See? We all have our clumsy moments, do we not? At least I refrained from sending boiling water across your humble cottage floor.”
Thorn shoots me a piercing look, spots of color blooming on her fair cheeks. “My humble home is all that’s keeping you alive right now, and my clumsiness is your doing, vampire,“ she mutters.
I lift my hands in bafflement. “I fail to see how nearly upending your own kettle could possibly be my fault unless you intend to blame the confines of this cramped space?” I gesture broadly around us .
Thorn simply presses her lips tight and turns her back on me. “Just stay out of my way. I don’t want to scald myself further on your account.”
I stare after her, totally confused. Everything I do seems to annoy her more. Being crammed in this tiny cottage wasn’t my idea. Why is she so irritated with me?