Chapter 14
The taste of him lingered on Jessa’s lips all the way back to the den.
She walked in silence beside Tarek, supremely conscious of every inch of space between them.
Her heart still hammered against her ribs.
Her skin still tingled where his hands had gripped her waist and the back of her neck.
Her nipples throbbed and heat pooled low in her stomach.
Every breath she drew carried his wild scent, making her want to close the distance between them, to press herself against him, and demand he finish what he’d started.
But his jaw was set like granite, his eyes fixed straight ahead. His entire body radiated a tension so fierce she could practically feel it vibrating in the air between them.
He’s afraid, she realized. Not of her, but of himself. Of what he might do if he let go.
The thought should have frightened her. Any sensible woman would have been terrified of a barely contained Vultor warrior, struggling against instincts she didn’t fully understand.
But she wasn’t sensible. She was curious. And hungry. And increasingly frustrated by the walls this infuriating male kept throwing up between them.
They reached the den in record time, his longer strides eating up the distance. He disappeared inside without a word, leaving her standing at the entrance with her satchel full of sunvines and her thoughts in complete disarray.
Well, she thought. That’s that, then.
Except it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. That kiss had changed something between them, cracking open a door that couldn’t be closed again no matter how hard he tried.
She’d felt it in the desperation of his mouth and the trembling of his hands, in the ragged sound he’d made when he finally pulled away.
He wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.
All she had to do was figure out how to make him admit it.
Dani was awake when Jessa entered, sitting up in the big chair by the fireplace with a carved wooden animal in her hands. The little mountain cat with remarkably detailed fur was one of Tarek’s creations.
“You were gone a long time.” Dani’s eyes were bright, curious. “Did you find lots of vines?”
“Plenty.” She set her satchel down and kissed the top of her sister’s head. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Really good.” A pause. “Tarek came through a minute ago. He looked… strange.”
“Strange how?”
“I don’t know. All stiff and growly. More growly than usual.” Dani’s nose wrinkled. “Did you make him angry?”
Not angry, she thought. Something else entirely.
“We had a disagreement,” she said instead. “Nothing to worry about. Are you hungry? I could make—”
“I already ate. Tarek left me food before you went out.” Dani held up the carved cat. “And he gave me this. He said it was a practice piece, but look at it! It’s so pretty!”
She took the little figure, turning it over in her hands. The craftsmanship was exquisite—every detail precise, from the curve of the ears to the tiny paws. It wasn’t a practice piece at all. It was a gift.
Her heart clenched.
Damn him. Damn the stubborn, complicated, impossibly kind male who pretended to be made of stone but carved toys for her sick sister and built furniture for guests he claimed he didn’t want.
“It’s beautiful,” she agreed, handing it back. “You should keep it somewhere safe.”
“I’m going to keep it forever.” Dani clutched the cat to her chest. “Tarek’s the best.”
Yes, she thought. He really is.
Even though he avoided her for the rest of the day.
He wasn’t obvious about it—he was too controlled for that—but she noticed the way he found excuses to be in different rooms. She noticed the way his eyes slid past her whenever she entered his space. He answered her questions in monosyllables and retreated at the first opportunity.
Fine. If he needed space, she would give him space.
But she would not let him pretend that kiss hadn’t happened.
While Dani napped in the afternoon—her energy still flagging despite her claims of feeling better—Jessa explored the den more thoroughly than she had before. She’d been there nearly a week now, but there were corners she hadn’t examined and rooms she’d only glanced into.
The storage room Tarek had converted for his own use was sparse but functional. A narrow cot. A small trunk for clothing. A single candle on a rough-hewn shelf. There was nothing personal, nothing revealing.
The main room she knew well—the fireplace, the table with three chairs now, the carved shelves lined with books and tools and the small treasures of a solitary life.
But there was another space, half-hidden behind a heavy curtain she’d assumed led to another storage area.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she pushed the fabric aside to reveal a small alcove, barely more than a niche carved into the stone.
Empty, mostly—just bare walls and a layer of dust that suggested it hadn’t been used in years.
But something caught her eye. A bundle of fabric, shoved into the far corner like someone had tried to hide it.
She pulled it out carefully. The fabric was fine—finer than anything she’d seen before. Deep green silk, or something like it, embroidered with metallic thread that had tarnished to dull bronze.
She unfolded it, and her breath caught.
It was a tapestry. A portrait, really, woven with a skill that made her hands itch with envy. The subject was a Vultor male in a high-collared coat adorned with medals, his shoulders thrown back, and his chin lifted with unmistakable authority.
Tarek.
The resemblance was unmistakable, despite the differences.
In the tapestry, his hair was shorter, swept back from his face.
His expression was commanding, the face of someone accustomed to power and respect.
His eyes gleamed the same green as they did now, but there was none of the warmth she’d come to recognize, just cold authority.
What was this? Who had he been, before he came to this mountain?
She studied the tapestry more closely. The weave was masterful, but age had not been kind to it. The edges were frayed. Several threads had come loose, distorting the image in places. A tear near the bottom had been inexpertly mended with the wrong color thread, standing out like a scar.
Someone had tried to repair it, but that someone clearly didn’t know what they were doing.
I could fix this.
The thought sprang up unexpectedly, but once it arrived, she couldn’t shake it.
Her fingers traced the damaged areas, cataloguing what would be needed.
Matching thread would be difficult, but she had sunvine in various stages of processing.
With the right treatment, she might be able to approximate the original colors.
It would take time and careful, patient work. But it would be a gift—something she could offer him that no one else could.
Decision made, she tucked the tapestry under her arm and retreated to the main room.
The work consumed her.
She sat by the fire, her head bent over the damaged fabric, while Dani dozed in the chair beside her and Tarek stayed… wherever Tarek was staying. Outside, probably, prowling the mountainside and pretending he didn’t have two humans inhabiting his den and disrupting his carefully ordered life.
Let him pretend. She had work to do.
Mending fine fabric was a delicate business—one wrong stitch could pull the entire weave out of alignment. But she had been doing this since she was old enough to hold a needle. Her mother had taught her well, drilling technique into her fingers until the motions became instinct.
Start from the strongest point, her mother used to say. Build outward from there. The foundation matters more than the decoration.
She worked on the frayed edges first, securing the loosening threads before they could unravel further. The tear required more careful attention. She unpicked the clumsy mending and replaced it with stitches so fine they were nearly invisible.
The embroidery was harder. Some of the metallic thread had deteriorated beyond repair, but she managed to salvage enough to patch the worst sections. Where the original thread was too damaged, she substituted carefully dyed sunvine thread, matching the color as closely as she could.
It wasn’t perfect. Nothing could be, with damage this extensive. But when she finally held the finished piece up to the firelight the next evening, she felt a surge of satisfaction.
The Tarek in the tapestry stared back at her with those cold green eyes. A commanding male who had clearly been someone important and powerful.
What had happened to him? What had driven him from that life to this one?
Names have power, she remembered him saying, as if his very identity was something to be guarded.
Who are you really, Tarek?
She carefully rolled the tapestry and tucked it away, saving it for later. A gift to be given at the right moment.
And perhaps, with the giving, she would find some answers.
Night fell slowly, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose before finally surrendering to darkness.
Dani had gone to bed early, exhausted from even the small exertions of the day. She had tucked her in, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and promised that everything would be fine and that Tarek would keep them safe.
Don’t make me a liar, she thought at the absent Vultor. Don’t make me regret trusting you.
She was sitting by the fire, staring into the flames and trying not to think about that kiss, when she heard footsteps behind her.
Tarek.
She didn’t turn around or acknowledge his presence. She just sat there, waiting, letting him decide how to approach.
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. She could feel his gaze on her—that intense, focused attention that made her skin prickle with awareness. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a storm.
“Jessa.”
His voice was rough and uncertain. So different from the way the male in the tapestry must have spoken.
“Tarek.”