CHAPTER SEVEN
A thin sliver of morning light peered through the curtains to wake Deckard. The white-yellow beam drew a line across the foot of their bed and up to his face. He squinted, shifting away from its assault, moving deeper into the comfort of the blankets and Evylin’s arms.
With a sleepy smile, Deckard angled to look down at her, catching only the smallest glimpse of her in the darkness.
Having doused the lamps the night before, the thin beam of sunshine was the only source of light, casting the rest of the room in shadow.
He accepted the gloom, settling into the sluggish atmosphere.
Rarely did Deckard allow himself to linger in sleep. In his youth, he’d set a routine of early mornings and devoted improvement. A habit he continued to the present. But after last night. . . .
Warmth radiated into Deckard’s arm, side, legs, and chest from Evylin’s body, which was tangled with his.
Almost from the start of their marriage, they’d begun to sleep close to one another.
What had begun as a means to keep Evylin warm in the cold winter months of travel had grown into a strange habit neither of them could break.
In all that time, they’d carefully watched just how intimately they allowed themselves to touch. Now, things had changed.
Though it was only the third night together after the consummation of their marriage, they’d already found a new level of comfort with one another.
Evylin practically lay atop him while he held her close, not a scrap of clothing between them—a suggestion of Evylin’s to which Deckard had wholeheartedly agreed.
His hand now rested on her bare hip, his mind regaling him with visions of the rest of her.
Readily, Deckard found he was tired of not being able to see his wife in the darkness.
Carefully, he extricated himself from her.
He’d become somewhat of an expert in the task.
She was a heavy sleeper, which helped. However, they’d never slept quite as twisted up in one another’s embrace, so he found it a greater challenge than usual.
Still, she only stirred once as he climbed free of the bed.
The frigid air nipped Deckard’s skin as he darted across the room.
He only had one mission and wanted to accomplish it quickly.
He jerked the curtains back, letting the light flood the space.
The slightest rustle of blankets alerted him to Evylin’s disturbed sleep, so he hurried back to begin the gratifying process of enfolding her into his arms again.
Evylin roused as he slipped his arm beneath her neck. “You’re cold,” she mumbled, the words low and slurred.
Deckard kissed the top of her head. “I know, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep,” he whispered into her hair.
Without another word, Evylin snuggled into him.
Their legs twisted together again as she settled her cheek on his shoulder.
He let his hand drop back to her hip while running the other along her arm and back.
Her breathing soon returned to its slow, rhythmic pulse.
The blankets still covered all but the tips of her shoulders and head.
Propped up by his pillow, Deckard savored the moment.
In the serenity of sleep, Evylin took on a more youthful look.
Her muscles relaxed fully, her lips parted, and her foot twitched beside him.
Her brow, normally so animated with expression, lay unaffected.
So often, her hooded eyes lifted with her gregarious and teasing smiles, but now they turned down with a contemplative tilt.
Her dark brown lashes grazed the very tops of her cheeks, drawing his eyes down to the solitary freckle that so often got swallowed up by her smile lines.
Deckard drew his fingers up from her shoulder to the rounding of her cheek to sweep away the loose wisps of her hair.
This is it, he thought, the culmination of everything I’d hoped for.
He’d imagined one future his whole life: a future in which he’d serve his country and build a family, a future marked with love for and dedication to others.
Now, he stood at the precipice, holding his wife in his arms as they worked to change the nations around them.
Though Deckard still had reservations about the Alliance, Archminister Fishere’s speech had put him at great ease. He might not be willing to promise his life to their service, but he was happy to assist them in overthrowing their currently corrupted overlords.
However, there was the problem of his promise to Auden.
“I want your word that you’ll join the Alliance in whatever capacity they ask of you.
” Those were Auden’s exact words. Deckard hadn’t quite figured out how to handle that expectation.
Even then, Deckard had known that the Alliance would request that he and Evylin Bond.
Now that they were doing that, what else would that promise require of him?
Was it even something he could fulfill? He wouldn’t go back on his word, but it wasn’t solely up to him to uphold it either.
Evylin hadn’t made promises to Auden. She was free to do as she pleased. So if the Alliance asked Deckard to do something she didn’t want to take part in, how would he handle such a plea?
Brushing his fingers across Evylin’s shoulder, Deckard drew a circle over her lightly tanned skin, marveling at its softness.
Then he frowned. He’d always been pale compared to her, but the disparity of their different hues had narrowed.
She’d lost so much of her color in the overcast skies of Wauld.
When he first met Evylin, she’d glowed with warmth, her complexion like rich cider, and her hair a deep walnut.
This dreary country had dulled that radiance.
Time in the sun would refresh her outward appearance, but Deckard wondered if a future in the Alliance would dull the woman she was internally.
No matter what they asked of him, no matter the promise he’d given Auden, he’d made vows to her long before, and he wouldn’t bind her to a life any less than she deserved.
That was his priority. He wouldn’t let her be stifled.
He would give her adventure and wonder, unencumbered by the world around her.
Should the Alliance’s requests prove to require anything that would conflict with that goal, Deckard would have to accept the mark on his integrity and break his promise to Auden.
Deckard pressed another kiss upon Evylin’s forehead. Yes, he would take her wherever she wanted to go, do whatever she wanted to do, and live whatever life would make her happiest because she was all that mattered.
Evylin flinched at his touch and pressed her face into his neck, letting out a soft hum of agitation. She rolled farther on top of him, her shoulder blades emerging from the blanket to catch the sunlight. “It’s too bright,” she grumbled, voice muffled on his skin.
Enjoying her attempted escape from the morning, Deckard chuckled. “Are you complaining about the one day of sunshine in Wauld?” he asked, and she groaned in response, eliciting more laughter from him. “You’re such a grump when you wake.”
She lifted her head just enough to glower at him. “And you’re too cheerful. We all have our faults.”
Catching her face in his hands before she could hide it again, Deckard held her deep amber gaze. He smiled at her sleepy scowl. “Good morning,” he said, running his thumbs over her cheekbones.
It took a moment, but her small dimples pierced her cheeks as she pressed her lips together, attempting not to smile.
Considering it a victory, Deckard leaned in to kiss her. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, resting back against the pillows.
Evylin shifted over him, her weight a pleasant pressure against his ribcage.
She tucked her wavy hair behind her ears, then propped herself up to meet his gaze again.
“I slept very well,” she said, then raised her brow.
“Though I certainly could have slept longer had someone not opened the curtains.”
“I would apologize, but I’m afraid I’m not sorry.”
“You’re not sorry to wake me?”
“Not at all,” he said, pleased by her shiver as he ran his fingers along her back. “I was getting lonely.”
Evylin chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes dropping despite the smirk that pulled at the corner of her mouth. Even now, naked and wrapped together, she still blushed at his hint. “Is that so?”
Deckard nodded, content with the slowness of their touches.
Her fingers traced his collarbone. “That’s awfully selfish of you,” she said.
“It’s difficult being selfless all the time,” he teased.
“Mm.” She failed to hide her grin. “I can’t decide whether to punish you or be grateful you’re finally showing some sort of failing.”
Deckard scoffed. “I have plenty of failings. You know many of them.”
“Oh, yes, you’re right.” She pursed her lips as though in deep thought. “First,” she ticked off one finger, “of course, you’re unbearably patient. Second, you care far too much about people. Third, you’re infuriatingly kind. Fourth—”
He grabbed her hands, laughing with embarrassment. “Stop, I understand.”
Evylin gasped in faux shock. “Pardon me, sir, but I’ll need you to let go of my hands.”
“For what purpose?”
“I’m not done yet,” she said, then broke free of his grip. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Fourth.”
Deckard shook his head, tipping it back to stare at the crimson canopy above them.
“You love me,” she continued, “so that proves you’re mad.
Fifth, you are immeasurably and cruelly handsome.
Sixth . . .” She paused, tipping her head to the side in exaggerated ridicule.
Her eyes scanned his face as his dropped to hers again, which lingered on his lips.
“You’re far too good at kissing. I don’t believe anyone should be capable of such power. ”
Deckard screwed up his face, the flattery adorably irritating. “What sort of power is that?” he asked.