Chapter 8 #2
“No,” I say firmly, though my teeth choose that moment to start chattering. “I’m good. Over here. Personal space, you know?”
His heavy brows draw together. He pats his chest again. The movement is simple: here. Warmth. Safe.
“Close is…” He starts in Drakavian then finds the word he wants in English. “Goood.”
“Close is weird,” I correct him, hugging my arms around myself and rubbing briskly, chasing friction. “I’m fine. Just… cooling off.”
His gaze tracks the tremor in my shoulders. The way my hands keep shaking.
Then he huffs out an annoyed, exasperated sound.
Apparently, debate time is over.
He reaches out, big hands catching my waist, and simply drags me toward him across the stone.
“Hey!” I yelp, slapping at his wrists. “Let go, you giant—”
He ignores every protest, spins me neatly, and settles me back between his legs. The stone under me is cold; he is not. My spine hits his chest with a fleshy thump, and heat slams into me so fast it actually borders on painful.
He wraps his arms around me in one smooth, no-nonsense motion, pinning my arms to my sides so I can’t flail my way back out.
“Stop,” I hiss, squirming uselessly. “I said I’m fine.”
“You… cold,” he growls near my ear, his voice rough with irritation. “Die… or warm. You pick.”
I go still.
The translation is blunt, but the meaning is clear enough.
Die or warm.
Well. When you put it like that.
I don’t relax exactly. But I stop fighting him. I sit there, stiff, radiating offended dignity.
“This is under protest,” I mutter.
He does not bother to respond in any language. He just tightens his arms enough that I feel the clear message: stay.
His body heat hits me in waves. The damp chill in the alcove retreats.
There is no version of this that is casual. My hips are bracketed by the long, heavy line of his thighs, and his arms adjust without needing instruction, one banding under my ribs, the other low across my waist, broad palms spanning almost from one side of my torso to the other.
They feel like they’ve known where to go for longer than I’ve been aware I had ribs.
I let myself lean back.
Just a little.
Okay. A lot.
Being wrapped up turns out to be markedly better than vibrating alone against damp rock.
“I just want you to know,” I murmur, because if I don’t say something, my brain will start filling in the silence with every scenario available, “this doesn’t mean anything…”
He makes a puzzled sound, something between a hum and a growl.
The noise vibrates through his chest into my spine. Before I can unpack what that does to my nervous system, he does it again. This time, the sound doesn’t stop. It settles into a low, continuous vibration.
I freeze.
“What are you doing?”
He rumbles deeper. It is absolutely not a human sound. It’s more like distant thunder purring in my bones.
“Are you… purring?” I ask, voice climbing.
He huffs, the vibration spiking a little like a cat’s when you find just the right spot behind its ears.
“Okay, that’s…yeah, we’re not doing that.” I try to twist away.
He simply does not allow me to escape. Every time I shift forward, his arms bring me back as if I weigh about as much as my basket. Meanwhile, his body just… keeps radiating.
Warm isn’t the right word. He’s hot. Not-burn-your-skin-off hot, but deep, soaking heat. Like inching into a bath that feels too hot at first and then turns out to be exactly what your muscles have been begging for.
The fight drains out of my shoulders.
My head tips back, resting against the hard plane of his shoulder. Just angles and hard muscle. It shouldn’t feel this comfortable. But it does. His jaw hovers just above my temple. Each breath he lets out brushes warm over the side of my face.
“You really don’t do half-measures, do you?” I murmur. “You’re either all the way across the cave or in my lymphatic system.”
He makes a curious noise at lymphatic, like the word is a pebble he’s not sure what to do with. I snort softly.
“It’s fine,” I add, softer. “I’m just… not used to this.”
To what, exactly? The rational part of my brain asks.
Being hauled into the lap of a walking glowstick who smells like sunshine and sharp, dangerous things?
My throat tightens out of nowhere.
Absolutely not. No. We are not going to cry. That is not the vibe.
The purring goes on, steady and low. It shouldn’t be comforting, but it is. It burrows under my skin in a way my spine apparently approves of.
My eyelids grow heavy.
It’s meant to be a blink. Just a long blink. A blink where I do not imagine that his hands belong permanently locked over my stomach, or that this is what it might feel like to have someone at my back on purpose.
The rock creaks once, softly, far away, but enough to snap my eyes open again.
Sarven’s entire body goes rigid around me. The purr cuts off. His breath stills. Ten entire seconds stretch where he’s a statue made of heat and tension.
“What?” I whisper, every nerve re-sensitized.
He inhales slowly, then lets it out against my neck. The breath is warm enough to make my skin goosebump.
“Smell,” he rumbles. “Not… water. Not… stone.”
He goes quiet, listening with his whole body. My heart muscles in on the silence, beating loud enough that it sounds like part of the cave noise.
“Gone…now,” he adds after a moment.
But his arms tighten around me, and his purr doesn’t restart for a long time.