CHAPTER 19 #3
He kneels down beside me, the line of his jaw growing tense as he reaches for the laces of my leather pants.
My head spins and I can’t even form the words to protest before he’s sliding the pants down my legs.
I have just enough time to grasp the hilt of the tiny blade sheathed at my thigh before he removes the leathers, throwing them over the back of a nearby chair.
He lifts me into a sitting position, gathering the fabric of my dress, bunching it around my waist. It’s all too much, too fast, and raising too many memories and feelings I’d rather leave in the graveyard of my heart.
Light flickers in the window and my arm snaps forward bringing the blade to his throat before the answering crack of thunder reverberates through the dimming sky.
His brows shoot up, his hands stilling at my waist. I must look like a frightened animal with claws drawn and teeth bared by the way he takes me in.
It was the first lesson I’d been taught when I learned to hunt, never approach a wounded animal. They are unpredictable, full of lethal desperation.
His face settles back into his usual glower. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Don’t,” I rasp.
He searches my eyes and pins me with a stare. “If you fall asleep in that dress, you might not wake up.”
“I’m f-fine.” My teeth chatter.
“You’re not fine. You’re shaking so hard I can practically hear your bones rattling,” he growls, “Use that blade, or don’t, but I won’t sit here and watch you die for nothing more than your modesty.”
I make no move to take the blade from his throat, and he softens his voice. “Look, I’m keeping my eyes right here.”
He holds my gaze as his fingers begin working the rest of the fabric into a pool around my waist. He slips the dress over my head, peeling the sleeves off my arms, leaving me with the dagger when he has every reason and every chance to take it from me.
We both know I’m in no condition to overpower him.
He unfurls the quilt and bundles me up inside it.
“I’m just checking for wounds,” he says, waiting until I give him a shallow nod before he does a quick inspection of my legs, torso, and neck.
He’s careful to keep the blanket draped in a way that doesn't reveal more than necessary, and he only lingers briefly by the cut beneath my breast.
“Nothing life threatening,” he says as he stands.
The tremors of my body grow painful, the intense heat of the fire scalding me.
Despite the cold and the pain, I’ve never been more desperate for sleep in my life.
I lay my head against the wooden floor with only the heavy quilt as a pillow, drifting off quickly to the sound of a steady sheet of rain pelting the roof.
A cold burst of air licks my skin into gooseflesh and the chill shocks me from my sleep. I glare at the general as he pulls back my covers, relieved of his own soaked clothing.
“What are you d-doing?” I demand.
“Making sure you get the heat you need,” he says, as if that will make everything all right.
My eyes flick to the dagger above my head, where I set it down when he laid me in front of the fire, and his eyes follow my stare.
“I’d rather not get stabbed for my efforts to save your life,” he says, “but I would understand. Especially after this.”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me tightly against his chest, pinning my arms between us.
My biceps are glued to my sides, bound by the iron band of his own.
I suck in a breath, holding it as my body tenses, preparing itself for the need to defend, but the male doesn’t move.
He simply lays still with my chest pressed against his, and my back to the fire.
The tension slowly leaks out of my body, and I will myself to draw in a deep breath, my lungs filling with the scent of citrus and cedar. His scent. My eyes grow heavy as the heat of his body seeps into mine. I feel like an icy puddle melting in the thaw and sigh deeply as my eyes close.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, his lips and a few stray locks of wet raven hair brushing my forehead. “Stay awake just a little longer. You hit your head when you fell.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
“You keep saying that. I’m beginning to wonder if you even know what that word means.”
His arms loosen their hold, and he cups the back of my head, his fingers prodding the tender knotted lump I received in my fall. I pull a sharp hiss of air through my teeth and his hand falls to my back to rest between my shoulders.
“What was that thing?” I wonder aloud.
“A naiad. She guards a spring near the crossing.”
I guess that means some fea are like the La’tari fairy stories.
Though the naiads I read about as a child were benevolent creatures, beautiful and timid.
Not at all like the foul thing that tried to drown me.
He spoke to her, and not in the feyn tongue.
I’m not fluent but I know enough to recognize it when I hear it.
“What did she say to you?” My eyes close with a weight so great I begin to wonder if I’ll ever open them again.
“She named her price for your life,” he says softly.
“What was it?” I murmur as the darkness comes to take me.
“It doesn’t matter.” His lips are so soft and his breath so warm when he whispers against my skin. “I would pay it a hundred times over.”
The words are all but lost to the void.