His chest rumbles with his ragged laugh. “No. You broke me.”
For a long time, neither of us speaks.
He lies beside me, arm slung low across my waist, thumb tracing lazy circles against my hip. I stare at the ceiling, heart still hammering, chest rising and falling in sync with his.
“I should regret that,” I say quietly.
“You don’t.”
“No.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “Me neither.”
We don’t sleep much after. Not because we’re restless. Because we don’twantto sleep. We take our time. Taste each other again. And again. Until every inch of skin feels claimed.
Until there’s nothing left but breath and silence and heat.
I wake just before dawn, tangled in his arms.
And for the first time in a long time?—
I feel safe.
14
KRAGNA
The sun hasn’t even climbed all the way up, and already I want to fight something.
Not because I’m angry.
Because I’mrestless.
Because my skin still remembers hers—every inch. Every gasp. Every shiver. I can still taste her sweat on my lips. Still feel her heartbeat under my palm, wild and steady like a war drum wrapped in silk.
We ride hard through the outer fringe of Kyrdonis, leaving its teeth behind. The stink of Lowtown fades, replaced by sporadic forest and dry wind. But no matter how far we get, I can’t shake the smell of her off me. It’s soaked into my bones. Branded into the backs of my eyelids.
I glance over at her, riding just ahead. She’s quiet, but not stiff. Eyes sharp, posture relaxed—but not loose. Like she’s thinking about too many things at once and trying not to show it.
She hasn’t brought it up. Last night.
Neither have I.
But it’s there. Between us. A live wire buzzing under the saddle leather and the crunch of hooves on dry earth.
Every time she shifts, her scent catches the wind and hits me like a punch. Salt, heat, faint lilac, andher.I want to pull her off that horse, lay her out in the tall grass, and do it all over again until neither of us can stand.
But that’s not why I’m jumpy.
It’severything else.
I sniff the air again. Nothing. Just dry brush, horses, and her. But I do it anyway.
She doesn’t miss it.
“You’re sniffing again,” she says without turning around.
“Could be an ambush.”
