Hazel
Warden’s eyes are unblinking as the fire flickers its light over both of us.
“Warden, I…” I break the tension between us. “I need to get back to my tavern,” I say lamely. “It’s all I know and it’s my job so…” I shake my head. “I can’t do…this.” I motion between the two of us.
“I am as cursed as the Laidly Wyrm.” Warden sighs. “All I get is to be the jailer of the Shadow Keep until such a time as I regain my mortality. I don’t get to take a mate. I don’t get to do anything which any of my ancestors would do because I am immortal.”
“You don’t want to be immortal.”
“It is the worst thing you can do to a Brag. The worst curse imaginable. Our mortality gives us our true power and our true purpose,” Warden says haughtily.
“So, you’re powerful?” I query, somehow both pleased and annoyed the strange spell between us has been broken by the talk of curses. “Turning into a horse.”
Warden grins. “As a mortal monster, I am far more than a creature who can turn into a horse,” he says.
“But immortal, you just turn into a horse.”
“I am a warrior, and I am the jailer of the Shadow Keep,” he growls, straightening. “My immortality makes me good at both. After all, what can a Faerie do to a creature who cannot die?”
The way he speaks pulls at my chest, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why I kissed him. I don’t know why I’m still here with him.
But I am.
“Who took your mortality?” I ask quietly.
“It was tricked from me,” Warden says with some force. “But I will get it back,” he adds with a growl. “Nothing messes with a Brag.”
“Apparently not,” I respond, throwing another log onto the fire, which produces a warmth I am really appreciating as I settle back under the little shelter Warden has made.
It is small, and it begs the question…
“Where are you going to sleep?” I ask.
“In the shelter.”
“Warden, I don’t think there’s enough room for me, let alone you.”
“We can fit,” he says bombastically, also adding a log to the fire. “I might appear big, but I can get into small spaces.”
I look him up and down. There is no way we’re both fitting unless I lie on top of him.
And given our recent kiss, I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea.
“I can stay by the fire,” I suggest. “I’ll be fine.”
“You will not,” Warden growls. “It would appear I got you into this situation, and therefore it is my job to get you out of it.”
“I don’t think it works like that when it comes to sleeping arrangements.”
“We will fit,” Warden says. “I can guarantee it.”
We do not fit.
The only way, as predicted, we can both get under the shelter is if I lie on top of Warden. And, given I’d like to keep my clothing as dry as possible, I need to get out of my dress too.
So, I’d be lying on top of Warden in just my shift.
“This isn’t going to work,” I tell him. “Not if I get undressed.”
“I do not care what you wear, my lady,” Warden says. “Wear what you want. Wear nothing at all if you need to.”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I retort.
To add insult to injury, it has started to rain, the drops pitter pattering on the wood around us and the makeshift tent. Inside there are some little glow worms, emitting a greenish light. Normally I wouldn’t sleep with insects, but in this case, I rather like the little critters helping out.
I guess I have little choice. I pull off my sword then my dress, bundle it up as small as I can before stuffing it into the shelter, and then climb in, sword by my side still because I can’t leave it behind.
On top of Warden.
“See,” he says. “It’s good.”
“You might say that, but you’re lumpy,” I grumble.
“So are you,” Warden replies. “Lumps on the front and rear.”
The absurdity of his words makes me giggle. And once I’ve started, I’m struggling to stop.
“Don’t…jiggle,” Warden growls.
“Lumps on the front and back,” I repeat and laugh even more.
“Female…” Warden growls again.
“Yes, I’m female. That’s why I have lumps…front and back.”
I feel the growl in Warden’s chest rather than hear it. “I know what a female is,” he says, in a way which makes me think, strangely, he doesn’t have a clue.
Then he huffs out a long breath. “We should sleep. Chances are the Underhill will not make it easy for us to leave tomorrow.”
“Oh, great.” His words take the laughter out of me. “Yet more possible death.”
“Not while I am around, my lady,” Warden rumbles. “You have your sword too,” he adds.
He is right. I have one hand on it as I lie over him.
“Yes,” I reply. “I do.” But my stomach is filled with stones.
The sword is the last thing I want.
But the Brag, now slumbering beneath me? The one who hates his immortality, something so many crave, and has a past which seems as dark as our present. The creature who seems to attract mayhem and danger.
I can’t possibly want him instead…