Mine.
A deep rumble echoes from his chest, and he drops his gaze to my injured hand, using another roll of gauze to rebind it before he takes me by the upper arms, gently shifts me to the side, and stands.
“There’s a woodshed out back,” he says, removing a cloak from a wall hook. “I’ll return soon, hopefully with some more dry wood.”
He opens the door and goes, shutting it behind himself, and I pull my first full breath since we dashed in here. It shudders free as I’m reminded of all the reasons why I need to control myself. All the reasons I can’t drop my walls and give in to this magnetism squeezing the space between us like a force of nature.
One blares louder than the rest …
Apparently a talon through the heart is the only thing capable of killing Rhordyn, but I don’t see him coming back from being sawed into scalding bits.
I loved my mother. I know I did.
My darkness still ripped her apart.
I pull Rhordyn’s shirt up over my head and slop it on the ground, squeezing my hands into fists, releasing them. “Not mine,” I snarl, wiggling out of my pants before I wrap the towel around myself and secure it between my breasts.
Sighing, I ring the clothes out in the sink and drape them over a rack beside the stove.
The storm doesn’t ease. If anything, it grows more restless every minute Rhordyn’s gone—drumming against the roof, lashing the windowpanes, making the walls quake as though it’s howling at me from all angles.
I lean over the sink and squeeze the excess water from my hair, glancing out the window as a flash of lightning ignites a huge, black shadow prowling around the treeline.
My heart leaps into my throat, pulse scattering. I stumble backward, falling onto my ass with a heavythump.
I press my palm upon my chest and force myself to breathe—in through my nose, out through my mouth—drawing deep, soothing gulps of leather and ice.
Breathe …
“Just my imagination,” I mumble, scrubbing my face with my hands.
Shaking off the full-body shiver that has nothing to do with the cold, I stand, edging toward the window again, peeking out. Another flash of lightning, and all I see are trees reaching for bulbous clouds.
Perhaps I’m going crazy.
I turn my attention to the stockpot sitting on the table where Rhordyn set it down. I lift the lid and draw on the hearty, botanical scent, my stomach gurgling loud enough to wake a sleeping giant.
Not surprising since this will be my first meal in … awhile.
I rummage through a cupboard and find two bowls, spoons, cups, and a ladle—rinsing them, placing them on the table along with a jug of water and a small glass bunny I find tucked at the back. It’s perched on its thumping feet, nibbling on a clover leaf, a hole drilled from its head all the way through the bottom, holding the remains of a spent candle I twist free.
Setting the bunny on the table, I reach for a clutch of purple blooms I’ve never seen before, hissing a breath when thistle thorns stab into my fingers. I frown at the flowers crowning the prickly stems as I suck off the small dots of red, then huff out a laugh.
Actually, it’s quite fitting.
Dragging the stool over, I climb up, unravel the tie keeping the bouquet tethered to the ceiling, then leap down and—avoiding the stems—pop the dried blooms in the bunny vase, a smile gracing my lips.
Cute.
I place a bowl, spoon, and a cup on one side of the table, then pause, staring at the other bowl, a swirl of doubt clouding my enthusiasm. There’s always been a place setting for him … but he never eats.
Why would this time be any different?
I pick up the bowl, then hesitate, torn. My grumbling stomach decides for me, and I shrug. He must be hungry, too, and if not …
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I arrange his setting opposite mine, place the ladle next to the stockpot, then step back, smiling at the little touch of brightness brought to this tiny room so full of restless energy and unsaid words. I draw a deep breath, blow it out, and drop into the seat facing the door, resting my chin on my clasped hands to wait.
