Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
J ana’s eyes fluttered open as a cool breeze brushed against her cheek. Her mind felt clear, the fog of fever finally lifted. The familiar scent of woodsmoke tickled her nose as she turned her head toward the fire.
Lothar crouched beside it, his broad shoulders slumped with exhaustion as he stirred something in a pot. His usual neat braid had come loose, strands of dark hair falling around his face.
“Good morning,” she whispered, her voice scratchy from disuse.
His head snapped up and in two long strides he was beside her, dropping to his knees as he pressed a cool hand to her forehead.
“Thank the gods. The fever’s broken.”
Up close, the signs of his exhaustion were even more apparent. A pang of guilt hit her as she realized he must have been watching over her the entire time she was feverish.
“How long have I been sick?”
She tried to push herself up but her arms trembled, weakened by the fever. He immediately put his arm around her shoulders, lifting her up against his chest. Even though both of his arms were around her, she didn’t feel the urge to panic. Instead it felt familiar. Safe.
“This is the third day.” He reached for a water skin and held it to her lips. “Here, drink this.”
The cool water soothed her parched throat. As she drank, she noticed the pot simmering over the fire, the bowl of silvery paste, the stack of firewood. He’d been taking care of her, probably barely sleeping.
“You stayed with me the whole time?”
“Of course.”
The simple statement hit her with unexpected force. No one had cared for her like this since… She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the gentle way his fingers brushed her hair back from her face as he checked her temperature again.
Half-forgotten memories drifted through her mind - his deep voice murmuring to her as he held water to her lips, his big hands carefully changing her bandages, the cool touch of damp cloth against her burning skin. Even in her fever dreams, when dark memories threatened to overwhelm her, he’d been there, anchoring her to reality.
After she finished drinking, he checked to make sure she could sit on her own, then started to move away. She reached out and caught his free hand.
“Thank you. For everything. I know I must have been a terrible patient, especially during the nightmares…”
“No,” he assured her. “Never. Do you want to talk about them?”
Her stomach clenched.
“I can’t.” She quickly changed the subject. “Why did you help me?”
“You needed help.” He started to add something then hesitated. “Anyone would have done the same,” he said finally but she didn’t think that was what he’d originally intended to say.
“Not everyone would have stayed with me,” she said quietly. “A lot of people turn their back on someone in need.”
As she knew only too well.
Once again she had the impression he wanted to say something, but instead he turned back to the fire, stirring the contents of a large pot.
“You need food. Real food, not just broth this time. The stew will be ready soon. And I need to check your injuries.”
He looked back at her shoulder, her bare shoulder, and she suddenly realized she was completely naked beneath the thin cloak that was wrapped around her. He must have removed the shirt she’d been wearing to care for her during her fever. The thought made her pulse quicken, but it wasn’t from fear.
“I… All right.”
She clutched the cloak tighter as she held out her arm. His hands were gentle as he unwrapped the bandages, his fingers brushing against her skin. The scratches had healed well, leaving only thin red lines.
“These look much better.” His voice was low, almost husky.
He shifted his attention to her ankle, which was still tender and swollen. The cloak slipped slightly as he lifted her foot to examine it. His thumb pressed carefully along the joint, testing for pain points. The intimate contact sent tingles up her leg and her breath caught as his fingers traced over her skin. She told herself it was just a medical examination, but her body had other ideas.
She looked up to find his eyes fixed on her face, dark with an intensity that made her heart race. The air between them grew thick with unspoken tension. His hand stilled on her ankle, but neither of them looked away.
Heat pooled low in her stomach. This wasn’t just gratitude she was feeling. This was something else entirely. Something she’d never expected to feel. Something that both thrilled and terrified her. Desire.
She shivered, her skin still tingling from the contact, as he cleared his throat and looked away. He reached into his pack and pulled out another shirt, the fabric well-worn but clean.
“Here.” He held it out without looking at her. “The other one’s still drying.”
She took it, the cloth soft against her fingers. But after days of fever and sweat, she felt grimy and uncomfortable.
“Is there somewhere I could wash?”
“The stream is nearby.” He gestured through the trees. “But the water’s mountain-cold.”
Even icy water sounded better than feeling sticky and dirty. It certainly wouldn’t be her first cold bath, but at least it would be her choice this time.
“I don’t care how cold it is. I need to feel clean again.”
“Are you sure? Your fever only just broke.”
“Please.”
He still looked doubtful but he reached down to help her up. Her legs trembled, refusing to hold her weight, and the swollen ankle throbbed. She swayed, catching herself against his arm, and sighed.
“This isn’t going to work, is it?”
“Will you let me carry you? It’s not far.”
She bit her lip, then nodded.
“Okay.”
He scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, cradling her against his chest. The cloak stayed wrapped around her, but she felt exposed in a different way. His warmth seeped through the thin fabric, and his familiar scent - pine needles and leather and something uniquely him - surrounded her. Her heart started to race.
She’d been in his arms after he rescued her, but this felt different. Something had shifted during those fever-addled days when he was caring for her. She was alert now, aware of every point where their bodies touched, of the steady rhythm of his breathing, of the play of muscles beneath her fingers where she gripped his shoulder for balance.
She didn’t want to let go.
As if sensing her thoughts, his arms tightened, pulling her closer against him. He looked down at her and for a second, desire blazed in his eyes. Then his expression shuttered.
“Here we are.”
The stream tumbled over moss-covered rocks, crystal clear and inviting despite the chill rising from its surface.
“It’s quite deep here,” he said. “Comes up to my waist.”
Which meant it would reach her ribs. She frowned, trying to work out how to manage getting in and out with her bad ankle. Before she could form a plan, he strode straight into the water, still holding her.
She gasped as the cold water hit her like an electric shock and clutched his shoulders, pressing closer to his warmth.
“Oh God, that’s freezing!”
He turned back toward the bank. “We should?—”
“No, wait.” She tightened her grip on his shoulder. “Could you… could you dip me under first? I want to get my hair clean.”
He paused, then nodded. “Take a breath.”
She inhaled and squeezed her eyes shut as he dipped down and the icy water closed over her head. He lifted her up again immediately and she broke the surface gasping and laughing, water streaming down her face.
The laughter died in her throat as she caught his intense stare. His gaze was fixed on her chest, and she looked down to see the thin cloak clinging to her breasts like a second skin. Her nipples were clearly visible through the wet fabric, and her body’s response to the cold only made them more prominent.
Her first instinct was to cover herself, but she hesitated. Instead she raised her eyes to meet his, her tongue darting out to lick the drops of water from her lips. A shiver went through him and the arm around her tightened, his hand pressing against the base of her spine. His gaze went from her breasts to her mouth and he started to lower his head.