Chapter 12
VIVIENNE
Awareness slowly trickles back into my mind as I roll over in bed. When I open my eyes, the fog of sleep is still shrouding my thoughts and for a moment, I forget where I am.
But when I look over the side of the mattress, I see him, and it all comes rushing back to me.
Auren lies on the floor, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loose over his bare stomach, the blanket covering his hips. A strange warmth settles in my chest as I recall how he comforted me after my nightmare.
I’ve always desired freedom and independence because I loathe the idea of being controlled. And yet… when Auren made me tea and wrapped me in blankets and reassured me after my nightmare, none of that felt like control. It felt like he truly cared. And I’m not quite sure what to think about that.
Morning light slips in through the narrow shutters, spilling across his body in soft gold, tracing every hard line and shadow. It glides over the sculpted planes of his abdomen, the defined ridges of muscle along his chest… the faint rise and fall of his breathing.
He should not look like this first thing in the morning—like something pulled from myth.
Heat creeps up my neck, slow and unwelcome. This means nothing. He is simply… aesthetically pleasing. Like a statue. A very, very well-shaped statue.
My gaze drifts lower before I can stop it. The quilt rests dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his obliques, the subtle V of muscle that disappears beneath the fabric.
I should look away, but I don’t. My eyes lift instead to his bare chest and up to his face. His lips are slightly parted, revealing just the faintest glimpse of sharp canines.
I remember how he defended me last night from the drunken man in the hallway. The way he moved… the way he looked. The memory makes my stomach flutter and then tighten.
My gaze shifts again, tracing over his hands and those long, elegant fingers tipped with lethal black claws. Even in sleep, Auren looks dangerous.
My attention snags on his elvish ears that peek through the tousled strands of his midnight-black hair. I fight back the urge to touch them. To trace my fingers over their elegantly pointed tips.
Closing my eyes, I struggle to push down my errant thoughts. I’m not some foolish maiden in a romance story, lying awake and staring at her mysterious Elf husband.
I absolutely am not admiring Auren. Or his ears. Or the way his body looks like it was carved by the gods themselves with far too much attention to detail. I am merely observing… in a completely normal and rational manner.
I exhale slowly. He’s an Elf. They are known for their attractiveness. So I certainly cannot be blamed for noticing his features. Anyone would think that he’s the most hand—
His eyes open, and he gives me a sleepy smile. “Good morning, me'lira.”
I scowl, because that’s safer than admitting that the elvish term of endearment stirs something treacherous in my chest. “I told you not to call me that.”
His brows lift slightly. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“If I cannot call you beloved,” he continues mildly, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow, “what would you prefer?”
He looks entirely too comfortable and pleased with himself.
“I would prefer you not invent names for me at all.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Very well, my beautiful mate.”
My breath hitches. I hate that title more… and less at the same time.
“You’re intolerable,” I mutter, pushing myself upright and clutching the blanket around my shoulders like armor.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
The question should be simple, but it isn’t, because I did. I somehow managed to sleep in spite of my frazzled nerves after the incident in the hallway and then my nightmare. I slept without waking at every crack of thunder, and as I look at my new husband, I realize it’s because he was here.
For some strange reason, he makes me feel… safe. But I cannot tell him that. “I’ve slept better,” I say coolly.
It’s not a complete lie. After all, the mattress was nowhere near as soft as mine back home.
His mouth twitches as though he can see through my half-truth, but he wisely chooses to say nothing.
He rises in one smooth motion, the quilt slipping from his hips as he stands. I look away instantly and absolutely do not notice the flex of muscle as he stretches his arms over his head.
Not at all.
“We should leave before the roads turn to mud,” he says, reaching for his tunic.
Not wanting him to see the flush staining my cheeks from his ridiculously gorgeous body on display, I scramble from the bed and return to my room, closing the door behind me so I can get ready.
It’s more difficult than I thought it would be to make myself presentable without servants to help braid my hair and ensure everything is buttoned as it should be as I tug on my travel clothes and boots.
When I’m finished, I stalk toward the door with as much royal grace as I can muster. I step into his room and find Auren leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world.
His gaze sweeps over me. Something in his expression softens, and a flicker of warmth slides through my chest like a traitor. “You look beautiful, Vivienne.”
I blink but then narrow my eyes as I think of my somewhat pitiful braid and my inelegant clothing. “Are you teasing me?”
“Of course not.” He frowns. “I mean it.”
I should scoff or roll my eyes. But as his luminous blue eyes stare deep into mine, I see nothing but sincerity in their depths.
My cheeks warm again, and I hate myself for it. “Let’s go,” I mutter, marching past him before he can see the foolish smile trying to tug my lips.
When we step outside, the air is crisp. The courtyard smells of wet earth and woodsmoke and the horses from the stable.
Begrudgingly, I realize he was right about the travel clothes as we walk across the damp ground. If I’d been wearing my regular apparel, the hem of my gown would already be muddy, and my shoes would be ruined beyond repair.
As we approach the stable, two nervous-looking young stableboys rush toward us, their eyes wide. “Thank the gods you’re here,” one of them blurts. “Your wolf—he broke out of his stall.”
Auren frowns. “You locked him in?”
“Well…” The boy hesitates. “That’s what we do with all the horses.”
“My wolf is not a horse,” Auren says calmly.
“We realize that, my lord.” He exchanges a look with his partner. “Normally, we’d be out searching for him, but we… weren’t sure it was safe to go looking.”
“Thought he might eat us,” the other one says. He clears his throat and glances around nervously before leaning in a whispering. “You, uh, don’t think he’s a danger out on the loose, do you, m’lord?”
“Of course not,” Auren replies. “He’s a Dire wolf, not a monster.”
A low huff sounds from nearby, and Vaelen emerges from the mist like something summoned from shadow. His silver-white fur is slightly damp, his golden eyes alert as he moves with the silent grace of a predator padding toward us.
The two stablehands slowly back away, their faces pale.
“There you are.” Auren grins. He runs his hand down the wolf’s neck in greeting, and Vaelen leans into the touch. “Good morning, my friend. Did you have a good night?”
Vaelen huffs once in reply.
Auren turns to the nearest stableboy. “He says he slept well. Thank you for taking care of him last night.”
“Of—of course,” he replies. He exchanges a nervous glance with his partner. “Would you… erm… like us to ready the saddle and the harness?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Auren replies and I stifle a laugh as they both breathe out a sigh of relief and then quickly excuse themselves.
As Auren adjusts Vaelen’s saddle, he glances over his shoulder at me. “He says he caught a hare this morning.” He smiles at Vaelen. “It sounds like you have a fine breakfast then, didn’t you?”
Vaelen chuffs and nuzzles his side.
Watching them interact, I realize Auren’s speaking aloud for my benefit. He doesn’t need words to speak with his wolf, and yet he makes sure to include me in their conversation.
It warms something inside me that he’s considerate enough to make sure I don’t feel left out.
When he’s finished, he wraps his strong hands around my waist and lifts me effortlessly onto Vaelen’s back before swinging up behind me. A warm flush creeps up my neck as his thighs bracket mine, his chest pressing against my back while he gathers the reins.
Heat scorches my cheeks as his warm, minty breath skims across my face as he leans in and murmurs. “We’ll be riding hard today. But if you need to rest at any time, let me know and we’ll stop.”
I nod.
Vaelen surges forward, and Auren tightens his arm around my waist, steadying me.
As we ride, I tell myself I am not leaning back into him; that I’m not aware of his masculine scent, and that I’m not noticing how my body hums in awareness of his.
He is merely… convenient. Warm. Strong. That is all.
Absolutely nothing more.