Page 123 of Forged in Fading

It was as if the world didn’t want Alvara to forget Boden, even for a few hours. But she did, desperately. So she ignored Pyry’s good intentions, instead drowning the night in mead and letting it dissolve into endless dancing, atrocious singing, and a delightfully dizzy head, light for the first time in gods knew how long. Her stomach ached from endless laughter shared with Kat over fumbled steps and scaring away would-be suitors with magic and weapons. She relished the familiar warmth coursing through her body that relaxed her limbs and granted her a new perspective on the world.

Alvara felt good for the first time in a long time. This is what life was meant to be—living freely and damning the consequences. Why had she stopped drinking years ago? She couldn’t remember, not even as her legs wobbled and she steadied herself on a nearby table.

A fresh deluge of heat soaked into her skin when Boden slipped through the doorway, accompanied by Rav who was dressed in…purple? He must’ve already started drinking if he had chosen something to wear other than black. Meanwhile, Lilja, ale in hand, jumped at the sight of her brother and quickly disappeared into the crowd of humans dancing.

Boden had changed into a tighter powder blue tunic, the color a perfect complement to those intoxicating tattoos hugging his forearms. Why did he wear boring brown and beige when he looked so good like this? He had freshly trimmed his short beard and swept his chestnut hair to the side, though a few stray strands had already fallen onto his forehead. She wanted nothing more than to drag her fingers through it.

His amber eyes seemed darker today, almost dangerous. It was the kind of danger her body craved, a dance with a desire so hot she could feel herself burning from the inside out.

Boden’s gaze traveled achingly slowly from her toes to her flushed face, and a grin grew on his lips. She wanted to taste them one more time, wanted him to claim her as his own.

Mead. She needed more mead.

Alvara swigged as much alcohol as she could without sending it back out and stared intently at the shifting floor. Think of anything. Anything else. Something horrible. Rotten fish, war, running—oh, but she would have loved to watch Boden run…see his muscles shift and flex, glistening with sweat⁠—

“I see you wasted no time in joining the festivities.”

The cup slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Her eyes had a will of their own and found his in a single, deafening heartbeat. Her mouth went dry.

More mead.

She lifted her hand, and her stomach dropped. Her drink was gone.

“You look…” He shook his head and took a step forward. “Absolutely beautiful. Even better than I imagined.”

If she didn’t steer this conversation in another direction, she would dissolve into a puddle in mere moments. “I’m mad at you.” The words came out slow and garbled, sticking to her teeth like soft candy.

“Are you now?”

Wait, what was she mad about? Her gaze followed the strong line of his jaw, his coarse beard, the skin she had touched only hours ago. “Can’t remember. You’re too pretty.”

She reached for another mug of mead, but her hand met with his arm.

“How much have you had?” Boden dipped his head and brought his eyes level with hers. The edges of his face blurred a little, but it did nothing to hide how godsdamned handsome he was.

Maybe…maybe she was finally seeing and thinking clearly. Yes. This was what she wanted. No, what she needed. She should get drunk every night. “Only a…” What were they talking about? The feel of his muscles tightening underneath her touch swallowed her mind. She trailed her fingers up his skin, tracing the animals and symbols one by one.

“Would you care to tell me why you’re stroking my arm?” Gods, she loved it when his voice roughened around the edges and curled her toes.

“Your tattoos. What…they mean?” Alvara studied the outline of a fawn, the very first tattoo of his she had ever seen. She stumbled closer, leaning in near enough that she could have touched her lips to his skin. Kiss every drawing, every detail that taunted her.

“They represent…uh…the ones I wasn’t able to save. The fawn was the first.” They should have depicted the lives he had saved. But explaining that would require more words than her mouth was capable of right now. His arm disappeared, and she almost squashed her nose into the table. “Maybe we should find you some food. Or even better, a bed.”

A bed. She had shared one with him months ago and had thoroughly squandered the opportunity.

Alvara righted herself after a few tries and guided his hands to her waist. She tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging his face close enough that she could feel each hot breath on her skin. His hands sank into her hips, her core molten under his touch. She closed her eyes and leaned in to brush her mouth against his and…collided with nothing but air.

Boden stood a few arm’s lengths away, repeatedly running his fingers through his hair. She was supposed to be the one doing that.

“You’re drunk.”

Obviously. “And?”

“You need food. Stay here and try your best to not caress other males’ arms.”

She pouted at his receding back. He was gone. Which meant…Alvara hummed and grabbed a nearby cup of what she hoped was some form of alcohol.

Another hand appeared on top of hers, and she tipped her head back to look into the gray eyes of an elven male.