“I do not know exactly what is happening,” he said.
Veya gave a broken laugh.
“That is reassuring.”
“I could invent something mystical and confident if that would help.”
“It would not.”
“I suspected as much.”
She shifted again, and her fingers dug into the sheets.
Dax caught her wrist before her nails broke the skin of her palm.
“You are hurting yourself.”
“I need something, but I do not know what.”
His grip remained firm enough to stop the damage without becoming a restraint.
“What hurts, and what do you want?”
Veya stared at him.
“I do not know the difference anymore.”
“Then we wait until you do.”
Her expression tightened.
“You make that sound simple.”
“It is not simple.” Dax released her wrist. “It is necessary.”
Veya looked away, anger and humiliation moving across her face.
“When you are here, it is better.”
Dax went still.
“That may be because you trust me not to force anything.”
“It is not only that.”
Her fingers found his wrist after he released her. The touch was uncertain at first, but it remained deliberate.
Dax looked down at her hand.
“Veya.”
“I wanted you before the library.”
His gaze lifted.
She swallowed, even though the motion was no longer necessary.
“I wanted you in the garden. I wanted you when you sat beside me and did not treat me like something dangerous or stupid. I wanted you before Rhen gave me his blood.”
