2. God Help Us #2
Sized for Gil and me, it wasn’t huge, but long enough to be comfortable. And stuffed with furs that we’d collected over the years, so we didn’t have to change a straw tick every season. Still, it was hardly a lord’s chamber.
Would she be too uncomfortable here? Should I take her back?
“Grace?”
“How did you do this?” she whispered, touching the side of the box-frame of the bed, lifting one of the quilts and bending it back to reveal the less-faded side, then dropping it again.
“Over years,” I said honestly. “It’s my sanctuary.” And Gil’s. Who would throttle me for bringing her out here.
Unaware of my thoughts, she nodded and touched the bed again before finally meeting my eyes. She opened her mouth, but the first patters of rain began on the blanket of leaves above us and she was distracted.
She looked up and gave a small smile. “I love the sound of rain. You can never hear it in the big houses unless it’s a storm.”
Big houses. So big, you couldn’t hear the rain.
Grace had grown up in homes larger than our barracks.
I swallowed hard and crossed the few paces between us to stand at her side. She saw me coming and she looked wary, but didn’t back away as I stopped at her toes and took her chin in my hand.
“I brought you here because this is where I feel safe,” I said quietly. “And I want you to feel safe, as well.”
Her eyes widened, but she only nodded.
I took a deep breath. “Grace, I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I discovered you in that forest. But…
I know I fucked up.” She shrank a little, and a piece of my heart curled in on itself.
Still, I’d told her I’d be honest, and wouldn’t run.
So, I lifted a hand to her hair. “This is a place we can be alone without worrying about others,” I murmured.
“We can talk, and rest, and… You don’t have to—that is, I wouldn’t ever press.
If you need time… or you want to simply sit together, or sleep—”
“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you,” she blurted, then frowned and clenched her hands at her sides. “But I want to be wanted. For me. Not what I can do, or what I have. Not for wealth, or a name.” She dropped her eyes to her toes, and her cheeks colored.
“God, Grace,” I breathed, cupping her face and tipping up her chin again. “Who you are, what you have, it’s so much more than I deserve. That’s half my fear. That one day you’ll see that and abandon me.”
She frowned again, but fiercely. My heart rose as she hissed in defense of me. “You do not see yourself clearly.”
I huffed as if it were a joke, but my heart swelled.
“I would say the same,” I said gruffly, then combed a strand of her hair behind her ear as she stared at me, her lips slightly parted.
I wanted so badly to swoop and take those lips again.
But this moment was critical. She had to be sure.
I couldn’t press. I couldn’t bear it if later she looked back and felt like I’d taken advantage.
So, it was a shock when, a moment later, a small, trembling hand appeared at my throat.
I caught her wrist without thought—cursing myself the moment she tensed. But I’d frozen too.
We stared at each other, a question in her eyes, and no doubt, pleading terror in mine. Taking a deep breath, I rubbed her wrist with my thumb, then swallowed and I made myself let go.
When she was sure I wouldn’t stop her, she pushed the lapels of the high necked, formal jacket wide. Then she trailed fingers down the double-lines of buttons that kept our traditional jackets, which fell almost to the knee, tightly closed against the chest.
Pop. Pop. Pop. She pulled them loose, unsnapping the domes, until the jacket hung open completely, revealing the shirt underneath.
Nerves and need bubbled in my veins when she reached for the cravat at my throat, the one I’d hopelessly tangled.
I caught myself about to tell her how to untie it—but she was noble, of course she knew.
The tug and jerk shifted my weight as her little fingers worked at the knot.
She was undressing me.
“Grace,” I croaked.
She’d somehow already loosened the cravat and pulled the ends free to dangle down my chest. But now she worked at the buttons of the white shirt, and when I spoke, she shook her head, frowning, as if she burrowed for something.
“Grace, you don’t have to—”
With half my shirt unbuttoned, she suddenly slipped a cool hand under the cotton and flattened her palm against my chest. And the moment she did, the bond pulsed.
I licked my lips, trying to find words, but Grace raised her chin and stared at me with wide eyes.
“It’s you I can feel inside me,” she breathed.
Our eyes locked and a jolt snapped through me.
She sucked in a breath. “You really are afraid?”
Shame and pride mingled in my chest, so that I wanted to squirm like a child being reprimanded at lessons. “I told you—”
“I didn’t believe you,” she said quietly.
But then she sighed, and as I reached for her hands, to take them away, she leaned closer, placing her cheek sweetly on my chest. “Your heart is beating so fast,” she whispered.
Then lifted her head again, looking at my chest in surprise.
“And I can feel it. Inside. I didn’t know that it was you, Voski.
I thought all that pulling and tugging was the dragons and just wanting you. But… I can feel you,” she whispered.
I swallowed hard, nodding. “I can sense you, as well.” I’d been avoiding it. Ignoring it. Lying to myself about it. But the truth was, I’d sensed her dimly from the first moment. I’d been working so hard to stay shut down, to keep myself from feeling her, I’d even kept Kham at arm’s length.
When Grace flattened her palm against my sternum, the ache swelled into a surge that rocked through me and I shivered. My cock thickened, and I prayed she didn’t notice my body betraying me. Her fingers curled into my skin, her nails digging in near my heart.
“You do want me!”
“I told you.”
Her head snapped up. “You really are mine!” she breathed.
I huffed, half-thrilled, half-amused, and all mortified because her words made my heart sing. “Yes, Grace, I am,” I said hoarsely, running fingers through my hair. “And I’m a fucking mess. So, please, I’m begging you… be gentle.”
She blinked and our eyes locked. I knew if I didn’t steer this ship, we would come up hard against the rocks of my making. So, I slipped my hand into my shirt, engulfing her small hand in mine and drawing it out—but not letting her go.
No. It was too late for that.
I tugged her closer, pulled her hand around my side to urge her to hold me, then took her face in my hands and held her gaze.
“I am yours,” I whispered the words, and felt the bell of dread and warning toll in my chest, but pushed it aside. “And you’re mine. God help us both.”
She beamed, her full lips stretching as she opened her mouth. But I took them before she could speak.
My Grace.
My mate.
My heart walking out of my chest on its own.
God help us.
God help us all.