Chapter 36 #2
He hesitated long enough for me to catch my breath in a desperate gasp, then shifted his hand, thumb brushing the side of my throat. “Sorry, kitten,” he said under his breath, so quiet I barely caught it.
Then he shoved away from me, rising in one fluid motion to face the next challenger, leaving me sprawled in the dirt, half-conscious and staring up at the too-bright sun.
I stayed down. But I could hear him moving back and forth near me, forcing the last opponents to come to him. He shouted at them, and at the crowd, and the crowd screamed his name.
He stayed close enough to protect me if someone else came too near.
Almost as if he were standing guard.
When the bells chimed to signal a victor, I pushed myself to my hands and knees. A scrape across my palm ached as I wiped the dust off onto my pants.
I searched for Kiegan, hoping he had won. Slowly, the crowd’s chanting was gathering power. Kiegan. They were chanting for Kiegan again, and I felt a grin split my mouth—even though it also split my lip, which began to bleed.
Kiegan stood between me and the stands, one arm raised over his head in victory. I didn’t have to see his face to know he was grim but proud.
I hoped Bismyth would claim him. I wanted Kiegan by my side, even if he did dare to call me kitten.
Someone’s shadow fell across me. I blinked against the sunlight, squinting up at the blur of a figure haloed in gold. He towered over me like a god.
Then he knelt, and the blur resolved into hard, perfect lines. High cheekbones. Golden eyes. A sinful mouth I should have hated.
Fieran.
Well. Close enough to a god—if gods were infuriatingly beautiful and perpetually smug.
“Are you all right?” His voice was clipped, but the heat in it was as undeniable as the way it had taken half the clan to hold him back in the stands.
“No,” I ground out. My throat felt raw. Every inch of me ached. “But thank you for asking. And for bringing me here, by the way.”
What right did he have to be upset at seeing me hurt? Without him, I never would’ve been trapped in the Trials.
But as he steadied me—his hand braced between my shoulder blades, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my torn tunic—the thought that followed twisted sharp inside me.
What if he was right?
What if the curse was always coming for me? What if, in his infuriating, arrogant way, he’d really saved my life?
I hated the wound of uncertainty that question carved through my anger.
“Let’s get you to a healer.” He sounded as commanding as always.
“You make quite the show of seeming to care about me,” I murmured as he lifted me.
I nestled my head into his hard shoulder.
I didn’t mind him carrying me. It was effortless for him, after all.
“Are we still pretending you’re going to marry me?
Was that show in the stands to make your mother think you’ve gone mad with love? ”
“You know me.” His lips turned up, infuriatingly handsome as always. “Always scheming.”
“I do admire that about you…when I don’t despise it.”
“Progress,” he said. “Disdain with a touch of admiration now. I’ll take it. By the time we’ve been married for a year, you might even like me.”
The crowd parted for him as he carried me through. Even bloodied and bruised, the other shifters lowered their gazes when he passed. His power radiated like heat from a forge—commanding, inescapable.
The healers’ quarters had been expanded into an entire tent at the edge of the arena, but he carried me past the enormous tent and into the regular quarters.
The place was full of commotion, with spillover into the halls and surrounding classrooms.
He set me down on a long stone bench covered in a soft mattress, the sudden absence of his warmth making me shiver.
“We’re doing triage,” the healer started briskly—then froze when she registered who stood before her. “Of course we’ll tend to her immediately, my lord.”
I blinked at the title, disoriented.
“Did you just cut the line?” I rasped, pushing myself halfway upright despite the pain that shot through my chest.
Fieran crouched beside me, his large hand brushing a strand of hair from my face with disarming gentleness. He leaned close enough that his breath warmed my ear.
“Continuing the ruse,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t my future wife have the very best care? Of everything?”
The healer’s magic flowed through me like molten sunlight. Warmth spread through my limbs, dulling the pain, softening the sharp edges of thought. My body relaxed like I was sinking into a hot bath after a winter storm.
“Your wife would deserve it for putting up with you,” I muttered.
He laughed. “Yes. Tell me what she would deserve.”
I bit my tongue to keep from babbling. I had no idea what might spill from my lips in this state.
“Done?” he asked, glancing up at the healer.
“She’ll need rest to finish her recovery,” she warned.
“She’ll have it.” He slid an arm behind my knees and another around my back, lifting me again before I could protest.
I pressed a weak hand against his chest. “Fieran—”
“The ruse,” he murmured, his lips close to my ear.
Then, in full view of the healers and the few curious onlookers still lingering nearby, he bent and pressed a kiss to my temple.
The contact was feather-light, maddening. A calculated gesture meant to sell a lie, but my pulse thundered like it didn’t know the difference.
I should’ve shoved him away. Instead, I let my hand rest against his heart, steady and strong beneath my palm.
He’d carried me into this disaster; he might as well carry me up all those cursed stairs too.
Fieran carried me into his room.
“No,” I murmured. “I’m not going to sleep in your room.”
“Well, you’re not going anywhere else,” he told me sternly as he settled me into his bed.
It was an exceedingly comforting bed; I debated arguing with him more even as I curled one arm around a soft pillow.
“I need you rested, healed, and back to your usually dangerously clever state for the next trial.”
“Dangerous for who?” Gods, he was right that I needed to sleep, not talk. The healing left me in such a dizzied haze. I almost felt fond of him.
“Me, mostly. You’re a danger to me, Cara.” He pulled one of my boots off, then the other.
“You can call me by a nickname again if you manage to come up with one that’s not stupid,” I murmured.
“Difficult. You’re too sharp for something sweet, too reckless for something respectful.”
Funny how it sounded like he’d thought about it. “Kiegan calls me kitten.”
“Is that so?” His voice was suddenly cold. But he still came to my side. I wasn’t sure what he was doing until something warm, soft and damp slid over my skin, cleaning away the blood and dust.
I grinned. “You’re not really jealous. I’m just a mortal. You’re a god.”
“Is that so?” Same words, but this time he spoke them with an entirely different tone, arch and amused.
“You think you are. Make yourself useful and hold me again.”
“We shouldn’t make a habit of that, menace.” Despite what he said, the bed shifted under his weight. Then he gathered me into his arms, pulling me close.
“That’s not very nice.” I threw my leg over his again, molding my body to his.
“Neither are you.” He shifted around, and I groaned in protest at the feel of his muscles flexing beneath me when I just wanted to be cozy. “All right, complainer. I’m trying to get a blanket over us both.”
“Your nicknames really do stink.” I yawned, fighting off sleep even though I knew I needed it, as a warm, soft blanket weighed us both down. “You should ask Kiegan for help.”
“Say his name one more fucking time while you’re in my bed.” But his hand teased over my hair, brushing it back from my face.
“What else have you been thinking of?”
“Mine.”
I let out a short, sharp laugh that roused me a little from my daze. “Never.”
“All right, Never.”
“That’s the stupidest of all,” I mumbled into his chest.
He turned his face toward my temple as if he were going to kiss me, even though there was no one in the room to fool. But it must have just been my imagination, and there was no reason for my disappointment.
His breath stirred my hair. “We’ll see.”