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I beat Caedryn to his room and paced before the fire. I wanted more—more than the single touch by the edge of his pinkie. Did I have a right to demand more?
When did I come to this conclusion? After a few more days of boggling, suppressed, intolerable itching for contact, I almost broke. I almost throttled Caedryn at dinner when he passed me the salt. Our fingers brushed, and he curled his to his chest, clutching them as if I’d burned him.
I left the table and disappeared for the rest of the evening. I found the armory and melted half a dozen shields into a molten lump.
What was wrong with me?
Emrys—I was emrys. I told myself this. Certain feelings were ingrained, like the consuming drive to find a life mate.
I couldn’t outrun it.
This urge was the reason I craved physical contact.
Why didn’t I stay in Gorlassar? I plagued myself with this question—would plague myself with this question until the world died, and I with it.
Was I considering Caedryn as a life mate? The thought made my spine prickle. I was beyond reason.
Why was I considering him? Did I want romance?
Don’t be idiotic.
“You’re anxious,” Caedryn said as he entered his bedchamber.
I stopped pacing. “What are we doing?”
“I’m going to bed. You’re pacing.” He disappeared into an adjoining room to change.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m tired—”
He straightened the hem of his shirt as he emerged. “I thought you’d been sleeping rather well. I know I have been.”
I squeezed my fists by my side. Only because of me. “Are you toying with me?”
He paused, ready to grab his comforter. The serious expression in his eyes stroked the base of my neck. “I never toy.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“Another truth you’ve learned about me.”
I clenched the bedpost, wrapping my hands around it, squeezing, imagining I was choking Caedryn for one dismal second. I dropped my hands. “Stop. I can’t deal with you like this. Don’t make a joke out of…” I didn’t know what I was trying to say. Our relationship? Us? My feelings? Was I having feelings?
“We should go to sleep,” he said. “You might say something you regret.”
Touch me, you stupid fool! He was lucky a bed stood between us. “I’d regret? And you’d regret nothing? Why should I go to sleep just to wake with you touching my finger the way you do?”
“Niawen. What do you want?”
He looked as though he didn’t know what I was talking about, but I knew well that he did. “How could you not know?”
“You’re upset because I’m not doing something.”
“You’re not touching me!” That sounded inane.
He blinked. “You want me to touch you?”
I almost jumped across the bed to jab him in the eye.
Never had I begged someone to touch me. Everyone touched me. Strangers at the festival brushed my body so often I would have thought they were assaulting me. Some of them had, thinking I hadn’t noticed. Men always wanted to touch me, and here Caedryn was doing his best to touch only my accursed finger.
