Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ROSAMUND
Another day of waking up to find Valen sitting guard beside me, his gaze on me. Is it so bad that I’m starting to get used to it? No, not just that, but to like it?
His mouth tilts into a smile when he notices my eyes are open. “Good morning, Princess. Did you sleep well on your wool-stuffed mattress, with your down duvet and silken pillows?”
I crack a smile back and stretch slowly, feeling all the aches where small rocks and twigs have dug into my side. “Softest bed I’ve ever known.”
“Doing my best for your comfort,” he mutters, still smiling, still looking at me as I sit up and rub at my eyes. “And here the head chef has been preparing your breakfast.”
“I hope the quail eggs are cooked to perfection,” I quip.
“Oh, yeah. The bacon is crisp, the pancakes fluffy, and the tea strong.”
“Gods.” My stomach grumbles. “This is a cruel game.”
“Indeed.” His smile turns crooked. “Guess what we’re having?”
“More dried meat?”
“Spot on. Here is your prize.” He hands me a strip of meat, and I sigh. “Sorry, Princess.”
“What for? You’re the reason we have any food at all. The reason I’m alive.”
He nods, but his face is set in serious lines. Gone is the bright smile, and I find I miss it. That I’d do a lot to see him smile again.
Gods, I’ve got it bad.
“Did you sleep?” I ask for something to say, and frown when he shakes his head. “Not at all?”
“Wildcats have been prowling. I could smell them. I didn’t want any other bad surprises.”
“How is your shoulder?”
He shifts it a bit, as if to test it. “It’s fine.”
“I should check it.”
“I wouldn’t mind your hands on me at all, but we should get going.”
“And I don’t mind going,” I say, “but I’d get my hands on your first.”
His mouth finally quirks again. “Why, I’ve created a monster. You can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, wondering who this confident, teasing woman is to say such things, when a few days ago I wouldn’t have even dreamed of such a comeback to my cousins, let alone a man.
“I just want to see that your wound hasn’t festered, because if you were to fall sick, who would protect me, then? ”
“I love me a practical woman,” he mutters and rolls to his feet with an elegance I envy. He reaches for me, and I take his hand, letting him haul me up. “Do it, then. You can’t have a faulty bodyguard with you. You’re not the nursing kind, are you?”
“Of course I am.”
“Taking care of the sick, talking in soft tones, feeding them soup, and holding their hands?”
“Theoretically,” I say primly, “I would do such things, were I not a lady living in a manor in the middle of nowhere and the sick having their wives and husbands to look after them.”
His eyes twinkle. “I see.”
I have to stand on a rock to examine the bandage and find it crusted with dried blood. When I untie it, it comes off with only a light tug, and although some fresh blood seeps from the wound, a sniff tells me it’s healthy.
“Will I live?” Now he’s grinning. “I told you I heal fast.”
“Did you? I must have missed that.”
“You should check the rest of me. I might be fatally wounded elsewhere.”
“I’m not looking inside your pants,” I say, “so forget it.”
His grin widens. “What if my cock is wounded and in need of your gentle care?”
Gods, I love his grin. His smiles, his smirks, his grins. Everything.
“Your cock,” I say with a shiver, because ladies don’t use such words and don’t have such conversations, “is not wounded.”
“How would you know what…? Wait. Say that again,” he demands.
“Not wounded?”
He huffs. “Cock. Say, Your cock.”
“Why?”
“Because I love hearing it from your prim little mouth.”
I stiffen. “No way.”
“Come on, princess. Humor a wounded man.”
“You’re terrible.”
“So I’m told.”
I swallow hard. Glance down, then quickly look away. “Your… cock.” I lick my lips. “Is…”
“Is what?”
“Fine.”
“It is very fine,” he agrees, his grin reaching his ears. “On the large side, of course, as werewolf cocks tend to be.”
“Is that so?” I have to lick my lips and swallow again. My mouth has gone bone dry.
“I’d show you and let you measure it, but it’s not appropriate. Am I right?”
“Not appropriate at all,” I agree.
“There you go. I was sure you would say that. I’m obviously a very inappropriate man. These social restrictions really suck all the joy out of life, don’t you think?”
“I…” Gods, he’s right. He’s right, and I want to see his cock and press my body to his, but that’s the worst possible idea.
I’m full of them lately, all these terrible ideas, like smiling when Valen smiles, like craving his teasing, feeling so safe and at peace around him.
Is this what it feels like when you start losing your mind?
“There is a town beyond this hill,” he says later. “We need to make a stop.”
“For food?”
“Definitely. You need to eat more. Can’t have you arriving at your future husband’s home looking half-starved.”
I smooth a hand down my skirt. “I don’t look starved.”
“No, you don’t. You look perfect, but we can’t have you wasting away. A man likes some love handles on his woman.”
I splutter. “Stop saying such things. I’m not one of your buddies in a dingy tavern—”
“You think that’s how I talk to my buddies? Oh, Princess…” He laughs. “We’re a filthy bunch. You have no idea how fucking careful and polite I’m being right now.”
“Are you? You can’t stop talking about sex—”
“I wasn’t.” He places a hand on his chest. “Was I? You’re the one who used the word.”
“It’s not about the word! It’s about—”
“Cocks.” He taps a finger against his lips. “You blushed a lot when talking about my cock. Try saying the word again, just to see—”
“Stop.”
He lifts his hands, grinning. “As you wish, my lady. I wouldn’t dream of using words that make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not…” I huff. What am I doing? This is crazy. “You are such a terrible tease.”
His eyes sparkle. “Only with the people I really like.”
And that is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. Even if I’m not supposed to believe it. Even if it doesn’t matter. As long as he gets me to my destination, whether he likes or hates me is a moot point.
So why does it matter so much to me?