Thirteen #2
I clear my throat and take another sip of stew as Rohan does the same. He moves closer to me though, so close our thighs touch and the heat from him and the crackling fire makes me feel like I’m wrapped up in a thick blanket.
Lykke and his mother sit across from us, the boy making sure his mother eats.
“I hope he gets to be a Dragonbond someday,” I say to Rohan, and he follows my gaze across the fire.
“He would be a mischievous Dragonbond, up to no good, but he has the guts for it.” A pause. “The heart.”
Lykke takes the bowl from her when she’s done and then sits next to her, his arm around her shoulders as she leans her head on his shoulder.
“He’s sweet. Caring.”
Rohan nods. “He is,” he says quietly. “He’ll grow up to be a fine Dragorie. A warrior, and no doubt, a bonded.”
“If another Dragonbond were to emerge from The Glade next year, one from your clan, do they have to go and make their own clan?” I wonder.
Rohan shakes his head. “It’s up to them and their dragon what to do.
Dragons may clash and living together may be so unbearable that they have no choice but to leave and start their own.
Some fight the current leader and dragon, and whoever wins takes over.
But for me, if one wants to stay in my clan and the dragons accept the other, I have no quarrel with them staying. ”
“You wouldn’t feel threatened?” I ask.
He laughs, a low sound that curls in my stomach.
He turns to look at me, eyes intense. “No, I wouldn’t feel threatened.”
I huff and look away. “That’s arrogant.”
He grabs my chin and gently brings my face back to his. “It’s not if it’s true.”
I can’t deny that it probably is.
I clear my throat.
“Where am I to sleep?” I ask.
“With me,” he replies instantly.
“I—”
“Do you not want to?” he asks quietly. “You’ll be in my bed either way. I can’t not have you in my tent. Not near me.”
I eye him at his authoritative tone.
He stares back, waiting for me to tell him differently, but I can’t, and the smug grin on his face tells me he knows it.
I scoff and he chuckles, releasing my chin.
“Eat more.”
I do, spotting Adora and Kaldar on the other side. They get up, a single bowl of stew in her hand and they walk over to another tent. This one is larger than the rest.
“What’s that tent?” I ask Rohan.
He looks across from the fire. “Healer’s. Olaf is injured,” he says quietly.
“Oh no. Is it serious?”
“It may be.”
“They must be very worried about him.”
“We all are. All we can do is offer prayers to Morana.”
“Would Elvanan help?” I ask before thinking better of it.
He sighs. “I’m not sure any God can help, but it’s worth a try.”
I nod.
“Come.” He grabs our now empty bowls and takes them over to Fiona, and she puts them in a larger bucket.
Rohan comes back to me and takes my hand, everyone’s eyes on us as he leads me back to his tent.
There are candles alight in here, the fire full of embers.
Rohan rifles through the chest and comes over with another long tunic.
I take it from him and begin to turn away, when his tunic comes off first, his bare back on display, and then he’s untying his boots, the muscles shifting in his arms in the candlelight.
My stomach turns and swirls, heat pooling there.
His pants are next, no shame as he stands there naked, the tattoos running down the backs of his thighs.
“Are you going to get undressed, Little Whisperer, or do you want to take a closer look?” he asks without looking at me.
I blink and clear my throat.
“I’m…changing.” I blink and quickly change into the long tunic for sleep.
I place the clothes on the chest and turn, finding Rohan already in the furs, axe at his side, eyes on me.
“Come to bed.”
He holds out a hand to me and I hesitate.
I woke up in his bed this morning, but my body was full of Nighturn. Now though…
“Will my hold still feel like thorns to you?” He asks quietly. “Just tell me and I’ll remove them if I can. I will tear them off, piece by piece to make you feel safe in my arms again.”
I look at his hand that’s torn up from the first game, feeling guilty for saying that to him. But my words were true. In that moment, being in his hold would have made me bleed, but now with his words…
I take a step forward, and he releases a relieved breath when my trembling hand slips into his.
Then, I’m on my back in the furs with him half-resting on top of me, his warmth wrapping me up and I tense, like I’m about to be cut but… nothing.
I sigh into him as he curls around me more, his hold almost desperate.
“I missed being able to sleep with you like this,” he murmurs, his arm tightening around my waist. “Being in those cells, being separated from you.” He blows out a breath, tickling the top of my head. “It was torture.”
I nuzzle into his neck without thought, my hand coming up and sliding into his hair on instinct, feeling the braids.
The braids he refuses to undo.
It feels like forever since I last did one.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs gently. “For everything.”
I turn into him more, feeling his guilt, his sorrow. “I know.”
He sighs, holding me closer. “Sleep. I have you now.”
And despite everything, I know he does.