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He pulls me into a dark corner when the last song comes to an end, and his lips find mine. He kisses me tenderly and then when I sigh, not so much. His hands pull me closer, running down my back, gripping my waist.
“Let’s go home,” he murmurs in my ear.
I notice most of the rebels seem to have had the same idea when I see only waning tracks across the sand. Others are on their way as they pile into the waiting caravans in lively throngs and ride into the desert. We’re the last ones to leave with only one other caravan left.
“Inara and Numair will close the place,” Valdus says as he takes his seat behind the wheel. He looks my way with a skittish smile that has my heart racing in my chest.
I nod, unable to think about anything else but the way the moon makes his arms glisten with the magic of old. As the night’s cold seeps through the rolled down windows, I press closer to him.
I’m not sure when we start kissing again. If it’s still in the caravan, stumbling back into the house or in the kitchen where he presses me to the wall, but when his tongue parts my lips to roll inside my mouth, I sigh and forget about anything else. His fingers are a gentle tug on my skin. On my neck, on my shoulders.
At some point, he lifts me onto the counter. I knock a glass down and lean over to watch the shards skidding across the stones of the kitchen floor.
“Leave it,” Valdus murmurs against my neck.
His lips follow the crease all the way down to the collar of my shirt, and I pull my fingers through his hair with a sigh. Valdus’s grumbling chuckle brings a blush to my cheeks, but he whisks me up the stairs and into his room.
Memories of Ajaia’s hands on my skin make my back stiffen. I close my eyes. Shake my head. Valdus pulls away, his cold fingers leaving an electrified trace over my blazing skin as he brushes my bangs away from my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers.
“Just memories.”
Valdus raises my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You don’t owe any man in this desert anything. Me least of all.”
“Will you kiss me again?” I murmur.
“You don’t have to ask.”
His lips find mine again, his fingers running down to my waist. Emboldened, I unbutton his shirt and slip it down his shoulders, revealing the rising sun pulsing over his heart. My fingers run down the scars where his metal arms become flesh, tracing the net of silver lines.
“Don’t,” Valdus says and catches my fingers, bringing my hand to his lips. “Please.”
“Why?” I ask and want to smack myself when I see pain flash in his eyes.
“These scars…” Valdus leans his forehead against mine. “They are not my most attractive feature.”
“Most men carry them with pride. Symbols of battles won.”
“These are not from battles, but from parents who can hurt their own child when encouraged by a ludicrous belief.”
I run a fingertip over one of the oldest scars all the way from his neck to where his metal arm begins. “They are still from battles you won. Becoming the man you are now.”
Valdus kisses me again, deeply, feverishly, until all I can think of is his fingers running over my skin.
He pulls away with a frown dancing on his brow and looks out the window. It’s when he untangles himself and pulls his shirt back over his shoulder that worry slithers its way into my heart.
“What is it?”
“They weren’t supposed to be coming back so soon,” he says. “Stay here.”
The next moment he’s out of the door. When I hear the rumble of a caravan, I dash after him. I won’t let anyone fight my battles anymore. Valdus throws me a dark glare when he sees me at the bottom of the stairs, but doesn’t have time to say anything as Numair stumbles into the house with a deep cut on his temple spewing blood.
35
Numair chances a glance outside before shutting the door behind him. Winded and with blood flowing freely down his temple, he leans on the wall and closes his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve managed to shake them.”
“Who?” Valdus asks and throws him a towel.
