18. Athena
Athena
My sleep should have been fitful. I should have been uneasy sleeping in a strange place, in a spaceship, no less.
I should have tossed and turned, as I adjusted to sleeping on a pile of furs instead of on a real bed.
But my weariness after such a long day combined with the startling softness of the furs had sucked me into a deep sleep.
But just as quickly as I was pulled under, I reemerged. My eyelids flew open as I remembered where I was, but it was too dark for me to see anything. The wall of windows that had let in some light from distant stars was now covered, and the ambient lights in the ceiling no longer glowed amber.
I sat up, the towel that had been wrapped around my body slipping down. It had loosened while I’d slept and now the fabric was mostly bunched up beneath me. I used one hand to hold it up as best I could as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The ship’s engines still hummed beneath me, and I recognized the muffled sound of the waterfall from the bathroom.
But there was another sound, something that hadn’t been there when I’d fallen asleep.
I held my own breath as I listened carefully, then almost dropped my towel when I realized that what I was hearing was the breathing of someone else.
I squinted through the darkness, barely able to make out the shape of someone else lying on top of the furs. Even though I couldn’t see his face or any details that would tell me for certain, I knew it was Lorken. Who else?
I hadn’t heard him come into the room or get onto the platform next to me.
I cursed my exhaustion for rendering me oblivious even as I noted that he hadn’t so much as touched me.
His body was far enough away from mine that we hadn’t touched, and as I studied the shadowy outline of his body, I realized that he was turned away from me.
Lorken was so huge and intimidating that I’d fully expected him to stake his claim on the bed or at least take up more space than me.
Breathing out a sigh of both relief and exasperation, I lay back down.
This warlord of the Vandar was not what I’d expected him to be, and I wasn’t sure what to make of him.
On the one hand, he was insufferably bossy and controlling.
He’d made me agree to a deal to be a war bride, after all.
But then he’d fixed my towel without making any moves on me and now he was sleeping next to me as if I wasn’t even there.
Not that I was complaining about him respecting boundaries, but it made no sense. He made no sense.
He’d made it clear that I would be sleeping in his bed as part of my deal, but had he actually meant sleeping?
The suspicious part of me—and let’s be clear, that was the biggest part of me—assumed he meant that sleeping with him meant I would be doing little actual sleeping.
But here I was, in his bed, and he was doing nothing but sleeping peacefully. It was almost maddening.
I lay on my back looking up at a ceiling I couldn’t see and wishing I could fall back asleep, but somehow it was impossible for me to drift off now that I knew he was there. Despite his breathing being soft and rhythmic, his presence made my pulse trip and my mouth go dry.
Then a thought flitted through my brain that sent heat rushing to my core. He’d told me that Vandar did not sleep in any type of clothing. Did that mean he was currently naked? Was I lying beside a naked Vandar warlord?
I squeezed my eyes shut, telling myself that it didn’t matter. He was on his side, and I was on mine. It didn’t matter if he was dressed as a court jester. I couldn’t see him, and I certainly wasn’t going to touch him.
The idea of Lorken dressed as a court jester made a giggle escape my lips. We had elaborate court jester costumes at the theatre, and the thought of the tough Vandar in a funny hat and a colorful outfit with bells was so absurd that I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing again.
Okay, Athena. Get a hold of yourself. There’s nothing funny about being in bed with a naked Vandar who’s twice your size and could easily pin you under him.
That thought sobered me. But I didn’t know he was naked. I assumed it from what he’d told me, but maybe he’d kept his kilt on this time. Maybe he’d made an exception because of me.
Patience had never been one of my virtues, and my mother had said that my intense curiosity was both a weakness and a strength. Actually, what she’d said was that my curiosity would be the death of me one day, but I was still alive.
Alive but awful at leaving questions unanswered. I needed to know if he was, indeed, lying naked next to me or not.
Every logical fiber in my being screamed at me to leave it alone, leave him alone. It made no sense to bother him when he was sleeping, especially since he hadn’t touched me.
But I won’t bother him, I told myself. I’ll barely touch him. All I need to do is touch one finger to his hip to know if he’s wearing a kilt or not. He won’t even know I’ve done it.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I rolled onto my side and reached my pointer finger across the gap between us. I could make out the shape of him, and I could guess where his hip would be. I stilled my breath as my finger stretched until it brushed bare skin.
I’d barely sucked in a startled breath when he rolled over and grasped my wrist, holding it tight. “Don’t you know that you should never poke a sleeping beast?”