“An inspiring demonstration.”
“Shut up.”
“There she is.”
Veya glared at him, but another tremor moved through her before she could attempt standing again.
Dax did not ask her body to prove anything else. He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders, lifting her from the chaise.
She stiffened at first.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
The words were meant as practical reassurance, yet they affected him more than they should have.
Veya’s head rested near his shoulder as he carried her through the library. Her face turned instinctively toward his throat, and her lips brushed the collar of his shirt.
Dax’s grip tightened.
Not because he feared dropping her.
Because he had noticed her long before the crisis began.
He had noticed the reluctant laugh in the guest suite, the cautious intelligence behind her questions, and the way she had placed her hand in his in Leena’s garden after making him wait for the choice. He had noticed how anger sharpened her and how quickly the smallest trace of humor transformed her face.
The attraction had already existed.
Whatever moved through her now had merely stripped away the distance she had used to hide her side of it.
Dax carried her into the eastern guest suite and placed her on the bed. He moved carefully, but the moment his arms withdrew, Veya caught the front of his shirt.
Her pupils had widened until only a thin ring of green remained.
“Veya.”
She pulled him closer.
He caught her wrists without applying enough pressure to hurt.
“Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
Her voice was unsteady, but the focus in her gaze was stronger than it had been in the library.
“You are still coming down from whatever the tether did to you.”
“I know.”
“Your body may be confusing relief with something else.”
Her expression twisted with frustration.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think neither of us knows enough yet.”
Veya’s fingers tightened in his shirt.
