Page 93 of The Sun He Buried

“She’ll hear you.”

“She already did.”

I bite his shoulder.

His hips drive into me.

I forget Asta.

Baldr keeps one hand over my mouth when I come again. His name catches against his palm. He follows three strokes later, face pressed into my neck, and pulls out before the last one.

Heat spills over my stomach.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are our breathing and Snowpetal licking one paw near the fire.

Baldr lifts his head. “The wall survived.”

Two knocks come through it again.

I close my eyes.

“I’m never going home.”

“We have three days.”

I open them. “That was cruel.”

“I learned from my brother.”

“You’re nothing alike.”

I say it too quickly.

Baldr stops smiling. His eyes go toward the wall beyond the bed.

“No,” he agrees. “We are not.”

He gets a cloth and cleans us both. Then he checks the door latch, the windows, and the white predator asleep on the rug.

Snowpetal opens one eye when he comes close.

Baldr stops beyond the reach of her tail. “Still not food.”

She closes it.

Progress.

He climbs back into bed. I tuck the unicorn safely against the wall and settle beside him. His arm comes around my waist. One leg traps both of mine beneath the blanket.

Snowpetal leaves the hearth after the fire burns low. She jumps onto the foot of the bed, circles over Baldr’s ankles, and curls there.

He looks down.

“She likes you.”

“She’s pinning my feet.”

“Affection can be complicated.”