Chapter 17 #2
“That you walk too fast,” she said instead.
He laughed—a real laugh, startled out of him—and her heart skipped a beat.
“I’ll slow down.”
“No, don’t.” She caught up to him, slightly breathless. “I like the challenge. It’s good for me.”
“Is that what I am? A challenge?”
“Among other things.”
They walked on in companionable silence, the forest settling around them. She felt herself relaxing by degrees—the tension she’d carried for so long, the constant vigilance and worry, easing its grip on her shoulders.
“About the room,” she said finally. “You didn’t have to agree. If you’re not comfortable, if you need your space—”
“I want you there.” He said it without hesitation. “I thought I made that clear.”
“You mentioned various activities.”
His sidelong glance held heat. “I did.”
“Care to elaborate?”
He stopped again, so suddenly she nearly walked into him. Before she could react, he’d turned and stepped into her space, one hand lifting to cup her jaw.
“I want to spread you out on that bed,” he said, his voice low and rough, “and learn every inch of you. I want to hear you make those sounds you made last night—and I want to make you make louder ones. I want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep holding you every night.”
Her breath caught.
“I want,” he continued, his thumb tracing her lower lip, “to give you everything I have. Everything I am. Even if that isn’t much.”
“It’s so much more than you think.”
“Maybe.” He leaned closer, his breath warm on her face. “With you, I’m starting to believe that might be true.”
He kissed her then—soft and sweet, a promise more than a demand. She melted into it, her hands finding his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath her palm.
When they pulled apart, she was smiling.
“The berries,” she reminded him breathlessly. “We came for berries.”
“So we did.” But he stole another kiss before releasing her.
The berry bushes clustered at the edge of a rocky outcropping, their branches heavy with fruit that ranged from deep purple to vivid red. The colors were stunning—richer than anything Jessa had seen in the valley, as if the mountain air somehow intensified pigmentation.
“These will make beautiful dyes,” she murmured, already mentally calculating the possibilities.
Purple thread woven with gold from the sunvines.
Red and gold accents against cream-colored cloth.
The combinations would be striking—unique enough to command high prices, if Halwick was any judge of markets.
He had brought baskets, and they worked side by side in a comfortable rhythm. He showed her which berries were ripest, how to pick without crushing, and which branches to leave alone so the bushes would continue producing.
“You know a lot about this,” she observed.
“I’ve lived here a long time. You learn things.” He paused. “Also, I may have used these for dyes myself. Some of the hangings in the den, the ones with the darker colors, those are mine.”
“You made those?”
“Wove them. Badly, compared to your work. But they’re functional.”
She thought of the tapestries adorning his walls, the care evident in every piece despite their rough edges. The thought of him weaving alone, year after year, making a home out of his exile…
No wonder he built only one chair. One bed. One of everything.
“You won’t be alone anymore,” she said softly.
He went still. “No?”
“No.” She reached out and took his hand, staining his fingers with berry juice. “We’re here now. And I don’t intend to leave.”
For a moment, something raw flickered across his face—hope and fear and desperate want all tangled together. Then his fingers curled around hers and squeezed.
“Good,” he said roughly. “That’s… good.”
They returned to picking, but something had shifted between them. A door opened that couldn’t be closed again. A promise made without words.
She reached for a particularly lush cluster of purple berries, stretching across the bush to grasp them. The branches rustled around her, releasing the sweet-tart scent of crushed fruit.
“Jessa—”
His voice cracked through the peaceful moment, sharp with sudden alarm.
She looked up, confused.
“—move!”
Something struck her ankle with blinding speed.
Pain—bright, hot, immediate—lanced up her leg. She looked down and saw the snake already retreating, its mottled brown body disappearing into the underbrush. Just a flash of movement, there and gone. The two small punctures in her skin were already beginning to swell.
“Oh,” she said distantly. The pain was spreading now, racing up her calf. “That’s not good.”
The world tilted.
He caught her before she hit the ground, his arms coming around her with desperate strength. She heard him cursing in a language she didn’t understand, felt him lower her to the earth, felt his hands at her ankle pressing hard.
“Stay with me.” His voice seemed to come from very far away. “Jessa, stay with me. Don’t close your eyes.”
She tried to obey, but the edges of her vision were going dark, the pain transforming into a strange floating numbness that was somehow worse. She watched through dimming eyes as he worked on her leg—cutting, sucking, spitting—and thought vaguely that she should probably be more alarmed.
“Talk to me,” he ordered. “Tell me—tell me about the cloth. The first piece you made. Tell me about that.”
“The loom,” she managed. Her tongue felt thick and clumsy. “Broke it. Seven years old. Mama was so…”
She couldn’t remember the word. Couldn’t remember anything except the spreading cold and Tarek’s hands on her skin and his voice getting further and further away.
“Stay with me, damn you—”
The world went dark.
She drifted.
There was heat—too much heat, burning through her like a fever. Cold water on her forehead. Voices that might have been real or might have been dreams.
Mama, singing a lullaby. The feel of thread between her fingers. The creak of a loom, steady and rhythmic as a heartbeat.
Dani’s laugh, bright as bells.
Green eyes glowing in darkness, watching over her. Always watching.
“—fever’s breaking—”
“—not enough, need more—”
“—drink this, please, you have to drink—”
Time lost all meaning. She swam through a sea of confused images, reaching for shore and never quite finding it.
Tarek’s hand, holding hers, squeezing so tight it hurt.
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
A child’s voice: “Is she going to die?”
“No.” Fierce and absolute. “I won’t let her.”
She woke to stillness and the soft crackling of a fire.
The ceiling above her was familiar—stone smoothed by time, flickering with reflected light. The bed beneath her was large and soft, covered in furs that smelled faintly of herbs and woodsmoke.
The big bedroom. The one she and Tarek were supposed to share.
She tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Her body felt wrung out, weak as a kitten. Her left ankle throbbed with a deep ache that spoke of recent trauma.
“Don’t move.”
Tarek appeared in her field of vision, his face haggard with exhaustion, shadows deep beneath his eyes. How long had he been awake? How long had she been unconscious?
“What—” Her voice came out as a croak. “Water?”
He held a cup to her lips, supporting her head while she drank. The water was cool and sweet, soothing her parched throat.
“You were bitten,” he said, when she’d drunk her fill. “A mountain viper. Not usually deadly, but the venom is… unpleasant. You’ve been unconscious for a day and a half.”
“A day and a—”
“I extracted what I could at the site. The rest had to work its way out of your system.” His voice was steady, but his hands shook slightly as he set down the cup. “Your fever broke two hours ago. You’re going to be fine.”
She reached for him, her fingers clumsy but determined. She found his hand and held on.
“You saved me.”
“I should have seen it sooner. I should have checked the area before letting you reach—”
“Tarek.” She squeezed his fingers until he met her eyes. “You saved me. Stop blaming yourself and accept my gratitude.”
Something crumpled in his expression. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm, his eyes closing as if in prayer.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered against her skin. “For a moment, carrying you back here, I thought—”
“I’m here.” She reached up with her other hand, touching his face, feeling the tension in his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He gathered her into his arms, careful of her injured leg, and held her like she was the only solid thing in a world gone liquid. She felt him trembling, felt the desperate strength of his grip, and understood something fundamental. He needed her as much as she needed him.
“Where’s Dani?” she asked, when she could finally speak again.
“Asleep. She refused to leave your side for the first twelve hours—I had to carry her to bed when she finally passed out.” A ghost of a smile. “She’s fiercer than she looks.”
“Family trait.”
“Clearly.”
She leaned into his warmth, letting exhaustion pull at her again. But this time it was a gentle tug, the natural weariness of a body that had fought hard and won.
“Stay with me?” she murmured.
“Always.” He shifted them both so she was cradled against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. “Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”
She believed him.