CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sage
I huddle deeper under the blanket as a sharp breeze cuts through the trees. The porch swing creaks slightly beneath me. I'm curled up on it, the heavy volume Winston lent me balanced in my lap. The scent of old parchment mixes with pine and distant woodsmoke while I try to lose myself in ancient satyr lore, but my brain is foggy, scattered. No useful leads yet. Just vague references, poetic metaphors, and too many footnotes.
"You really are something else," Kayden drawls from the doorway.
I don't even look up. "You keep saying that like it's a revelation."
"Is it the thrill of almost freezing to death, or do you just like the view?" he asks, stepping outside. His boots hit the porch with a solid thud. "Because the backyard isn't that spectacular."
"It's not about the view. It's the air. The space. Being outside calms the ache a little."
He narrows his eyes. "Nymph stuff?"
I nod. "Yeah. Nymph stuff."
Without asking, he lowers himself into the swing beside me. Instantly too close. It's not a small swing, but somehow he takes up all of it—arms spread out like he owns the damn thing.
I shoot him a warning glance. "You're crowding me."
"Consider it my personal contribution to warming efforts." He smirks, then catches my hands. "And these? Ice blocks. Are you trying to become one with the frost?"
Before I can reply, he's rubbing my fingers between his palms, then brings them to his mouth and blows warm air over my knuckles. The heat of his breath grazes my skin, sending an involuntary shiver.
"You know," I murmur, trying to ignore how intimate it feels, "if you keep doing things like this, I might start to think you're… nice."
His head tilts, mock-offended. "Watch your mouth. That's a dangerous accusation, sunshine."
His grip on my hands loosens, but he doesn't let go. There's something softer in his expression now, buried beneath the cocky surface—a flicker of real warmth. Or maybe something darker, deeper. I can't quite tell.
"Nice is boring anyway," he adds. "I prefer... dangerously magnetic with occasional acts of reluctant heroism."
I raise an eyebrow. "Still planning to rip my throat out? Or is that on hold?"
"Depends on the mood," he says with a shrug, then, without warning, scoops me into his lap like I weigh nothing.
"Kayden—!"
He tightens his hold. "Relax. I'm unpredictable, remember?"
I should resist. I should push away, scramble off, yell at him. But I don't. His body is warm, solid beneath mine, and my muscles are still half-frozen. Against my better judgment, I sink in.
I hate that it feels good.
I hate even more that he knows it.
When I stop struggling, he shifts me more comfortably in his lap and pulls the blanket tighter around us both. His arms encase me in heat and danger.
"This isn't about being nice," he murmurs, breath brushing my skin. "Can't let you freeze to death out here. Not when there are far more entertaining things we could do."
"Oh, really?" I ask, trying to summon irritation and managing only dry amusement. "Such as?"
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, the kind that slides down my spine like warm syrup. "Well… I noticed you stopped reading and started brooding. I'm guessing that ache of yours is acting up again. Nature calling or whatever," he says, his lips grazing the edge of my jaw. "I happen to offer excellent...reliefservices."
My breath catches at the way his voice drops on relief—too smooth and suggestive. And too damn effective. I hate how easily he gets under my skin. How this push and pull between us keeps dragging me further in.
"I'm generous like that," he adds. "And I promise, I could keep you very…thoroughlyquelled from all those aches."
