I swallow, wringing the hem of my tunic. “And I’m tired.”
I wish I wasn’t. Gods, it would make things so much easier if I was full of energy. But now that it’s clear the Enforcer didn’t see us and we’re out of harm’s way, at least for the moment, keeping my eyes open is becoming a monumental effort.
“That makes sense.” The Hunter’s eyes lock on to mine, and suns save me, they’re darker than before. A grassy valley at night, there’s a depth to them that is calling to me. I can barely resist the temptation to close the small space between us. “We rode hard tonight.”
“It’s been a long week, really,” I add as if he isn’t aware of that particular fact. My cheeks heat, and I’d love for this awkward interaction to end any time.
He makes a rumble of assent.
“There’s one bed. And there are two of us.”
“I’m aware.” His voice lowers, each syllable sending a flash of heat through me.
His eyes never leave mine, and that’s... a lot. Gabriel is so big, and this room is so damn small.
Silence stretches between us, and the air thickens. Each breath seems more difficult than the last, and the already small room feels like it’s caving in on me.
I keep searching for something to say, as if words can miraculously conjure another place to sleep out of thin air, but nothing comes to mind.
After what feels like hours, but is probably a few moments, Gabriel nods towards the bed. “Take it, little bird. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
That seems to be the logical solution. After all, the bed isn’t very large, and Gabriel is a big man. His feet would probably hang off the end, and I’m sure that would be uncomfortable.
But even though him taking the floor is the rational, obvious choice, something deep inside me writhes at the thought of him sleeping there. Away from me. Which is... ridiculous.
I must’ve lost my mind on the way upstairs, because for a fleeting moment, I consider inviting him to join me. But that’s... We’re not... That would be insane, right?
Before I can suggest something I would surely regret later, I nod and hurry into the attached bathing room. Its size is laughable, which is unsurprising, but there’s a chamber pot, a bowl, a pitcher of water, a bar of soap, and a grimy mirror. True luxuries after spending so much time outdoors.
I take care of my needs before washing my hands, and then I wet the cloth and clean myself thoroughly. The soap feels heavenly on my skin, and I scrub as much dirt away as I can. For the first time in days, I finally feel clean.
By the time I make it back into the room, Gabriel has drawn the curtain over the window. He’s stretched out on the floor and has one of the two pillows from the bed under his head. His sword is beside him, the other one by the door, and his arm is over his eyes. Using the soft glow of my Mark as a guide, I avoid stepping on him.
The steady sound of his breathing fills the air, and suns save me, is the man already asleep? As I watch him, confirming that he is indeed already sleeping, a wave of homesickness washes over me. My brothers used to fall asleep in the same way after a long day at work. Awake one moment, out the next.
I give myself a single minute to think about my family before I force myself to move on. I can’t devote much thought to the life I left behind or the sisters in the capital because I need to focus on surviving. I refuse to entertain thoughts of my family being anything but alive and well because I don’t know what I’ll do if that isn’t the case.
Placing my dagger on the night table, I pull the thin blanket over myself. The mattress is lumpy and has seen better days, but still. It’s a suns-blessedmattress.
Sleep quickly drags me into its embrace.
Someone’s screaming. I slap my hand over my mouth, hoping to stifle the sound, but it doesn’t work. It continues, because...
The sound isn’t coming from me.
My chest heaves as I fling open my eyes. The room is dark, but thanks to the ever-present glow I bear, I can see enough.
The Hunter is a shadowy form, thrashing on the ground.
There is no peace on his face. No serenity brought on by sleep. His mouth is open in a pained cry, his eyes are screwed shut, and a sheen of sweat coats his forehead. Soul-deep anguish is painted onto Gabriel’s face, and my heart constricts. What has he been through to cause so much sorrow?
A question for another time.
Shoving back the covers, I roll out of bed and crouch on the floor beside Gabriel. I cup his cheeks, his usually warm skin clammy.
Another cry rises from the depths of his chest.
“Gabriel,” I whisper, stroking my thumb down his cheek. “It’s a bad dream.”
