Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The snow thickens until even Eggory gives up squawking. As we slog uphill half-blind, our boots sink with every step. Then we finally stumble into the cave, breathless, dripping wet, and soaked through to the bone.
“Perfect.” My teeth chatter. “I was starting to lose feeling in places I didn’t know could go numb.”
Cedrik gives me a look as if he could’ve gone his entire immortal life without that piece of information.
The space is larger than I expected—no more than a small bedroom, but tall enough for Cedrik to stand if he ducks. But it’s dry, blessedly dry, and that’s a miracle after trudging through snow that bit like teeth.
The rooster is still trussed in his wrapping, and Cedrik sets him down near the stone wall. Our sacred omen gets to work fluffing his damp tail feathers, sending glares our way until Hennifer toddles to his side. His eyes go wide when she curls up against him.
At least they’re warm.
However, the moment my satchel hits the ground, Cedrik smuggles it away and starts unloading it to take stock of our supplies.
That’s when he stares at my pile of food in quiet horror. “You didn’t bring a bedroll?”
Did he think one would fit in there? It’s hardly bigger than my shoe.
I blink. “No. It was supposed to be a quick poultry recovery mission. In and out, Cedrik.” I make a gesture—two fingers forming trees, one finger darting through them.
He gives me a flat look. “First of all, never make that hand gesture again. Second, you brought enough food for three days. Surely, you intended to sleep out here.”
“I brought enough to share. Not to camp.”
“With who, exactly? You were on your own.”
“I don’t know. Friends I made in the forest.”
He stares at me like he’s auditing my life choices.
I cross my arms. “You’re one to talk. You brought a bedroll and no food. Did you plan to starve?”
His tongue slides slowly over one fang.
“Oh right.” I sigh. “It’s me. I’m the food.” Silly me to forget the bastard drinks blood.
“You’re not the food,” he growls. “I won’t need to feed until we get back. Are you done panicking? You’re putting glitter everywhere.”
“I suppose.” I glance around at the mess I’ve made. “Yes. I think that’s about it.”
He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Good. Now let’s get the fire started before I reconsider not eating you.”
I mean… That doesn’t sound entirely awful.
Cedrik kneels, dumping wood from his rucksack and striking flint. Sparks catch, flame flares, and heat spills across the stone walls. My lungs seize on the first rush of smoke.
I peel off my cloak and it hits the ground like a dead thing. There’s no time to waste. My fingers are numb, and I rub them, attempting to bring them back to life by the tiny fire.
“Please tell me you brought something dry to change into.” He snorts, stripping off his tunic like the concept of modesty died in this cave.
“You should know. You just went through my belongings.” My eyes, treacherous creatures, drink in the image of him.
The firelight carves every ridge of muscle in light and shadow, turning his lavender skin into a beautiful shade of bronze. He’s gorgeous and I don’t think I’ve ever had the urge to lick a man before, but… I do now.
“You’re drooling,” he mutters.
“I am not—”
He doesn’t look up. Just smirks and feeds the fire another log.
I don’t make a habit of undressing in front of men. Mostly because I rarely get the chance, but also because I look like a failed experiment between a scarecrow and a flagpole.
Still. Desperate times.
My leggings are frozen to my thighs, and I do what I can to take them off first. My tunic is stiff with half-melted snow.
I spend three solid minutes trying to untie the sash and attempting to unwrap my waist quietly.
The ice chunks falling to the ground catch Hennifer’s attention and she bursts across the cave, like a cat going after a mouse.
When the wrap is off, I try to pull the tunic over my head, but the sleeves stick to my arms as I tug the fabric up. Jerking harder, the dark emerald fabric manages to block my view of the cave and smothers the light, but doesn’t let me go.
Yanking again, I lose my footing, and the momentum sends me straight toward the firepit.
Cedrik’s hands catch me. Firm. Sure. His grip sears through the chill on my hips as he steadies me and then releases me like he’s been burned.
My tunic remains halfway over my head, my arms pinned like a badly wrapped gift.
He gathers enough fabric to uncover my face, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to change into something dry. Like you told me, if I remember right.”
He drags in a breath, lets it go slow. “Hold still.”
I don’t even want to think about the fact that I’m standing here, thrust up, naked from the neck down—except for my wet undergarments. Kill me now. Smite me. My the gods have mercy on my soul.
With careful, maddening patience, he eases the wet fabric up my arms and over my head, gaze locked anywhere but on me.
His voice drops rough and low. “Get your dress.”
I fumble into my nightdress—it’s made of thin satin and thankfully still completely dry—and reach for my cloak.
“Absolutely not,” he says.
I freeze. “What do you mean, absolutely not?” I mimic his voice.
“You’ll freeze in that.” His gaze flicks down once, then snaps away. “It’s practically see-through.”
“Says the man without a shirt.”
“I’m immortal, Mersi. I’m a cryomancer. The cold doesn’t touch me.” His jaw flexes. “You, however, are very mortal.”
“What would you have me do? Put the wet ones back on?”
He unrolls the bedroll by the fire. “Either turn around or don’t. I’m getting in.”
“With me?”
“Yes. Body heat, remember? The fire won’t last.”
He strips off his soaked trousers, leaving only thin linen shorts that do nothing for my quickening pulse, and crawls inside the bedroll.
“But your shorts are wet.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.
Cedrik smirks and licks his lips. “Suit yourself.” He reaches down and fumbles for a second, then tosses the shorts across the cave by his pants. “Better? Now, close your mouth and get in.”
I hesitate. My teeth chatter as I stare at him.
He laces his fingers behind his head. “You’re cold. I’m not going to touch you, Mersi. I promise.”
I’m not sure why I do it, but I do. My lips turn downward on instinct and he notices the frown before I register it.
He tips his head, ever so slightly to the side. “That is, unless you want me to.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“Then get in before you start losing digits, please.” He rolls his eyes.
I do. Sort of. It’s not an easy squeeze and Cedrik makes an awkward wince when my dress lifts as I slip into the bedroll next to him. I quickly right the fabric.
The space is narrow and the air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke, pine, mint, and amber. I curl on my side, shivering. He slips an arm under my head as a pillow, the other draped lightly over my hip.
It’s better. Dangerous, but better. And so, so warm.
And I have no idea how I’m supposed to sleep with him daringly naked and me in nothing but soaked panties and a practically nonexistent nightdress.
Not because I’m worried he’d do something.
I know Cedrik well enough to know he would never hurt me, but because I’m worried I’m going to accidently touch him in a way he doesn’t want me to.
Where am I supposed to put my hands?
I try and fail to put my hand, the one not pinned under my side, down four times.
Cedrik groans. “Mersi.”
“What?”
“Just put your fucking hand on my chest and stop moving.”
I clear my throat. “Got it.” Doing just that, I place my palm on his pec, which is blazing warm to the touch.
He stiffens the second I make contact and hisses out a breath.
“Gods, your fingers are cold, woman.” With his free hand, he wraps up mine in his and I realize just how much bigger Cedrik is compared to me.
While I knew there was an obvious height difference, with him being easily a foot taller than me, he could smother both of my hands in the palm of his alone.
“I thought the cold didn’t bother you?” I arch an eyebrow at him in question.
“It doesn’t.” He brings our joined hands to his mouth and blows a heated exhale on my fingers, making me shiver. “Doesn’t mean I can’t notice that you’re cold compared to how warm you should be.”
His heart races in his chest, slamming into his ribs and echoing against my own, pressed against him.
Why is he so nervous?
Granted, he is naked. Laying next to a woman he would rather not be on an impromptu camping trip with. Hell, most days when we’re gathering herbs in the forest, I feel like he’d rather not be in my company at all. He’s always in such a rush to get back to Grim’s Keep.
I suppose he’s not nervous, but more anxious for this to be over.
We lie still. The fire pops. Then he moves, releasing a tiny wince that breaks the quiet.
I twist to face him. “Cedrik…”
A small drip of crimson escapes his hairline and my heart stops beating in my chest.
Reaching for it, my finger dabs the drop away, and I lean closer to the firelight to get a better look.
Blood.
“Cedrik! You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You’re bleeding!”
The asshole wasn’t nervous at all.
He was in fucking pain and didn’t want me to know about it.