Page 200 of The Sun He Buried

“Very.” His eye’s crinkle.

“I’m still angry with you.”

“You should be.”

That opens my eyes. He means it.

The answer hurts less than an apology would.

“Good.”

Snowpetal pushes closer. Her horns rest against my arm. Eirik lifts one hand and brushes snow from my eyelashes with his thumb.

“Sleep.”

“I’m watching.”

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I can do both.”

“A rare skill.”

The storm turns above us. His coat scratches my cheek. Snowpetal purrs against my ribs. Eirik’s hand stays in my hair.

Warm. My eyes close again.

After that, I keep only pieces.

The storm. Black wool beneath my face. One arm sliding under my knees. The ground falling away.

Then warmth. Safe.

Gone.

Chapter Twenty

The performance is ready before she wakes.

It requires no words.

Dawn has put a grey edge around the shutters. The storm keeps working at them, one hard breath after another, while Solveih sleeps in my bed across the room.

She’s stolen most of the furs.

Snowpetal’s taken the rest.

The Sanguir lies across Solveih’s feet with her white belly turned toward the ceiling, both horns buried in black wool. One rear paw twitches whenever the wind hits the glass. Her club-tail hangs over the side of the bed and has struck the frame every few minutes since she arrived.

I’ve stopped considering murder.

The creature has decided that I’m safe. She climbed across my shoulders in the kitchen, slept against me in the snow, and came into my quarters sometime after midnight without bothering with an invitation.

Now she owns the bed.

Progress comes quickly when nobody opposes her.

Solveih turns her face deeper into my pillow.