Chapter Five
We stop in front of my door and I stare at the latch. His hand is still at my waist. My basket hangs from his other arm. His shirt is still over his shoulder, which means the trip down the passage has done nothing to improve my ability to think.
Baldr waits beside me.
I reach for the latch.
Miss.
This would be less embarrassing if he hadn’t watched me open this door every night for the past month.
“It moved.”
“Did it.”
“Very slightly.”
His thumb presses into my coat. “Do you need help?”
“With my own room?”
“I was trying to be kind.”
“Try less.”
I catch the latch on the second attempt and push the door open. The lamp beside my bed is still burning. Asta left the cover turned low over it, though she also left my purple cloak hanging from the wardrobe, my travel boots lined beneath it, and three packed bags against the wall.
She may have been making a point.
On the washstand, a folded stack of cloths sits where I can’t miss it. Asta tracks my monthlies better than I do, and this one’s nearly finished with me—a day left, maybe less.
Baldr carries my basket inside and sets it on the table. One ball of grey yarn has escaped beneath the bread and is trailing over the rim.
“For the mittens?” He touches the yarn.
I pull it away before he discovers how little mitten exists. “You’re not allowed to inspect those.”
“I thought they were for me.”
“They are.”
“Then why can’t I inspect them?”
“Because one of them currently has three thumbs.”
He looks at the yarn in my hand.
“The pattern was unclear.”
“Of course.”
I put the ball back into the basket. Baldr stays beside the table. The door remains open behind him.
The hall is quiet. Somebody walks through the crossing passage at the far end, boots fading toward the kitchens. A low fire burns in my hearth. The bed is turned down, and the stuffed unicorn my grandmother made me is sitting against the pillows with its crooked horn pointed toward us.
This room has never seemed small before.
Baldr takes the shirt from his shoulder. He doesn’t put it on.
“Sól.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
No grin. No joke waiting behind the question. He stands there bare-chested, holding his shirt, and gives me the open door.
“No.”
His eyes stay on mine.
I step closer. “I want you to stay.”
Baldr drops the shirt on the chair.
He reaches me in one step and cups both hands around my face. His mouth comes down on mine, warm and hungry and nothing close to the careful kisses he has given me outside this door.
Oh.
I grab his shoulders. He backs me against the edge of the table, then stops when the basket rattles behind me.
His mouth moves against mine. “Dangerous.”
“The table?”
“You near anything with corners.”
“I’m doing very well.”
My elbow bumps the basket.
Two buttons hit the floor.
Baldr laughs. I kiss him until he stops.
His hands move down my sides and find the ties at the back of my coat. I turn around to help. That puts my back against his chest and his mouth beside my ear.
This isn’t helping.
He unties the first knot.
“Asta did these.”
“I can tell.”
“Because they’re secure?”
“Because there are twelve.”
His fingers work through another. His knuckles brush my back through the coat, and I forget which number we were on.
“She distrusts clasps,” I manage.
“Clothing should remain where she puts it.”
“That’s her general position.”
He gets the last knot loose. My coat opens, and he slides it from my shoulders. The dress beneath it has a row of little buttons down the back.
Baldr looks at them.
“Asta again?”
“She chose the dress.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-three.”
He turns me toward him. “You counted.”
“I was trapped inside it.”
He kisses me once. “Turn around.”
I do.
He starts at the top. The first buttons release quickly. Then his mouth touches the back of my neck, and the fifth one takes a great deal longer.
“You’re distracted,” I whisper.
“Terribly.”
“Should I help?”
“No.”
He opens the next button with his teeth against my shoulder.
I grip the front of my dress.
“That wasn’t the button.”
“I know.”
Oh, good.
By the time he reaches the bottom, I’m holding the dress up with both hands and breathing far too loudly. He kisses the bare skin between my shoulders.
“Still want me here?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me if that changes.”
“It won’t.”
“Tell me anyway.”
I turn. “I will.”
He waits.
“Baldr.”
“Yes?”
“Take it off.”
His grin reaches both eyes. He pushes the dress from my shoulders.
It falls around my boots, which I’m still wearing.
Of course.
I step out of the dress, catch the heel, and pitch into him. Baldr catches me beneath the arms and lifts me over the entire pile.
“That was the dress.”
“The ground has allies.”
He sets me on the edge of the bed. Then he kneels and pulls off one boot, then the other. His hands close around my ankles. He kisses the inside of my left knee.
I stop being embarrassed about the boots.
Baldr looks up at me. Amber and pale green. His hair falls loose around his face, and his mouth is wet from mine.
I put my fingers into his hair. “Come here.”
He does.
The laces at his trousers are easier than Asta’s buttons. This would be useful if my hands were working properly. They aren’t. Baldr covers them with his own, pulls the knot loose, and lets me push the fabric down.
I look.
Oh.
Asta is going to ask me about this.
I need a smaller answer.
“That seems excessive.”
Baldr glances down. “You asked me to take it off.”
“I didn’t know you were hiding that.”
“It wasn’t a secret.”
“Your trousers disagreed.”
He laughs, low and warm, and I pull him between my knees.
His mouth finds mine again. One hand slides under the thin linen covering my breasts. His thumb passes over my nipple, and my legs close around his hips.
Baldr breaks the kiss.
“Sól.”
I try to pull him back.
He stays where he is. “There’s something I need to ask.”
That gets through.
His palm is against my bare side. Skin to skin. The same kind of contact his bloodline uses to feed.
“Oh.”
“I’m not taking anything from you.”
I watch his face. “Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Even now?”
“Even now.” His hand remains still against me. “I can keep my hunger separate from this.”
“Would I know if you didn’t?”
“At once.”
I know what strength feeders give. Everyone does. Warmth, weightlessness, a body emptied of every hard edge. People in Sólvik visit certain houses to buy that feeling. Some return until they have nothing else to trade.
Baldr’s thumb rests beside my ribs.
“I won’t feed without you asking. And I won’t ask you tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to know which part is me.”
I reach for something light and come up empty. I kiss him instead.
His hand moves again.
Just Baldr.
That is what I want.
I pull the linen over my head and throw it toward the chair. It lands over the unicorn’s face.
“Sorry,” I tell her.
Baldr looks over my shoulder. “Did you apologize to the toy?”
“She’s seen too much.”
“She has no eyes.”
“That doesn’t mean she deserves this.”
He reaches past me and moves the linen to the floor.
“Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
“The lamp.”
His gaze returns to me. “Do you want it out?”
I consider that.
He’s already seen everything. I’ve also seen everything, though I may need another look to make a fair judgment.
“No.”
“Good.”
His mouth closes over my nipple.
I make a sound that would concern the recruits.
Baldr’s hand settles over my other breast. He kisses, licks, and uses his teeth just enough to make my fingers tighten in his hair. When he changes sides, I fall back across the bed and pull him with me.
His weight presses me into the blankets, heavy without making it hard to breathe. He keeps one arm beneath himself and gives me enough of him to hold.
I run both hands down his back. The muscles move under my palms.
He lifts his head. “You’re staring again.”
“My eyes are closed.” I keep them that way.
“Earlier.”
Oh. That. “You were demonstrating the bow.”
“I was shirtless.”
“That too.”
He’s smiling—I can hear it. “Six minutes.”
I open my eyes.
His grin is terrible.
“You knew?”
“You checked the sun.”
“I was watching the light—”
“You counted under your breath.”
Oh no. I did. I cover my face with both hands.
Baldr kisses the inside of my wrist. “I liked it.”
It doesn’t help. “You took your shirt off on purpose.”
“I was hot.”
“You looked at me.”
“I often do.”
He says it plainly. Not a line. Just—true. My hands fall away.
Baldr kisses me, softer now. His palm moves down my stomach and rests between my thighs.
I forget the sun.
He touches me through the last scrap of linen I’m wearing. One slow pass. Then another, watching my face each time.
“More,” I say.
He slips his fingers beneath the fabric.
The first touch makes my hips lift. He follows me, rubs the place that sends the pleasure straight through my stomach, and holds the same rhythm when I start making helpless little noises into his shoulder.
“There?”
“Yes.”
“Harder?”
“A little.”
He gives me a little.
It is not a little.
My legs tighten around his hand. I press my face into his neck and breathe salt, sweat, and his soap. His mouth moves over my shoulder. He doesn’t hurry. He listens when I tell him faster and listens again when I change my mind.
Then he slides one finger inside me.
My teeth catch his shoulder.
Baldr groans.
I do that again.
“Sól.”
“Did that hurt?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I bite him once more.
His fingers curl. The next breath comes out of me much louder than the others.
He laughs against my skin. “Good?”
“Don’t get proud.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He does it again.
I come with both hands buried in his hair and my knees locked around his arm. There’s no weightless emptiness. Every part of me stays here for it: the rough blanket under my back, his mouth at my throat, the lamp behind my closed eyes, the sound of him saying my name.
When my legs loosen, Baldr kisses my stomach.
Then lower.
I grab his shoulder. “I may not survive that.”
“You have an excellent record.”
“I’d like to keep it.”
He kisses the inside of my thigh. “Next time.”
Next time.
I grin at the ceiling.
Baldr pushes the last of my linen down my legs and reaches for his trousers. I sit up before he can take them off completely.