Holding his hand even when he doesn't know it's there.
He’ll make it through. He has to.
I'm aware of how ridiculous I look. I'm aware that my crew is exchanging glances behind my back and doing a very poor job of pretending they're not. I'm aware that this makes no rational sense whatsoever.
I don't care even slightly.
“Calista,” Briallen says carefully. “When was the last time you slept? Properly, I mean.”
“I sleep.”
“In the chair beside your bed doesn't count.”
I sigh as a heaviness fills my body. It’s like finally saying it has made the fatigue appear.
“I’m fine.”
“Why don’t you sleep in my bed for a few hours?” she suggests.
She’s the only other female and has her own room. The rest of the men sleep in the bunks beside the cargo haul.
“I’mfine,” I repeat with a little more emphasis.
She tilts her head and gives me that look she’s been perfecting since she was twelve years old. I ignore it.
“Go check on the eastern traps,” I tell her. “It’s getting dark.”
“Yes,Captain,” she says sarcastically before leaving.
She goes.
I stand at the rail and drink my tea, watching the stars come out in the endless sky. I try to think about where to go now to fill my half-empty cargo hold, but as usual, my mind drifts back to the man in my bed and I can’t focus on anything else.
That night, when all the traps are on board, and I’m slumped on the chair, half asleep beside his bed, clutching his hand, he wakes.
I gasp as I sit up, watching him slowly blinking those eyes open.
There’s no fever. No delirium. No screams of pain.
He moans as he opens his eyes and turns his head, looking right at me.
I stare back at him in awe.
His eyes are green. As bright as my emerald sword and just as sharp. They’re fixated on me with an intensity that should be unsettling, but somehow isn’t.
“Welcome back,” I whisper.
He just stares at me in wonder. I feel a warm sensation tingling from my fingertips to my toes and everything in between.
All of the color is back in his skin and lips. He looks good. Healthy, I mean.
He winces as he lifts his injured arm and runs his hands through his wavy brown hair.
“Don’t move it,” I say, rushing to help. I grab his arm and gently lower it back down. “Your arm was really injured when we found you. It was ripped out of your socket.”
“Where am I?” he asks in a deep raspy voice. That voice… it does something fierce to my body. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
Keep it in check, girl. He’s injured and not up for any ofthat.
