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I don’t want him to let go.
It could be anyone’s hand, of course. I still don’t like him or his bad attitude. But considering this situation, I accept the fate.
“Sleeping is going to be fun with these big scary men walking around at night,” I say in a hushed tone. I just want to snuggle against that warm hand.
“Isn’t it, though?” Warrose chuckles. “This place just keeps getting better and better.”
I let my head settle back down on the rocky ground. I’m deeply uncomfortable. My stomach twists with the need for warm bread or a glass of milk. But at least my stomach will look flat while I’m in this revealing uniform. My thighs won’t touch. My shoulders will remain sharp and pointed. All is right.
“Is this the worst place you’ve ever had to sleep?” I ask. I’m not sure I want to know the answer. But I need a distraction. Something to help me fall asleep in this cage. Something to make me forget about the giant, earless man that stalks the halls of this prison.
“Sadly, no.”
“Top five?”
He nods.
“What was the worst?” My heart jumps as Warrose adjusts his hands on top of mine. But he doesn’t take it away.
“Uh”—he scratches the facial hair growing thicker along his jaw—“I had to hide from a nadaskar once. By sleeping under a dead bear.”
“What?” I hiss, trying not to wake the others.
Warrose nods. “I was eleven. Part of my training was to track down a rabid nadaskar. It ended up tracking me. Nearly tore my leg off. The only way to get it to forget about my scent was to sleep under a dead bear for a while.”
I have no words. Not a single appropriate response. Do I apologize? Tell him I can relate? I understand? I cannot. Hopefully, I never will.
“What about you?”
“This is definitely the worst. But the time you made me sleep in a tree comes to a close second.”
One night, while we were following Skylenna, Warrose was sure we were being followed. He made us climb a tree while we watched Demechnef soldiers trying to track where we went next. I complained all night, only stopping when Niles fell out and screamed in pain as he landed on his burned skin.
He scoffs. “You’re such a brat. The only thing that made sleeping in a tree unbearable was hearing you whine about it.”
“I’ve been told my whining is quite cute. Sexy, even.”
“You have been lied to.”
I snort. “Men don’t lie when they’re in the thrusts of passion.”
Okay, so I’ve never actually experienced thrusts of passion. I did, however, lose my virginity to Benjamin Darthmunt, who lasted a good three pumps before grunting like a dying engine and landing on top of me in a sweaty heap. We did it three more times after that over the span of two months. I kept thinking it would get better. Maybe he’d last longer.
He did not.
It was awful.
Warrose’s scratchy hand flexes over mine, gripping my knuckles like he wants to yank my arm and pull me into his cage. The sheer strength of his grip sends a rush of heat to my belly, sliding down my thighs.
“So, these men that are thrusting with passion are making you whine in bed, then?” His voice is dark and smoky, like a massive campfire at midnight.
“That’s right.” Not true. The only noise I made was to ask, is it over?
“It was bad sex,” he states.
“Uh, no. It was really good. Like really good. So good.”
Warrose turns his head, giving me an amused look of disbelief.
