Page 99 of The Silversmith

My eyes narrowed, and I was too heated and scared to ask which of the gods’ power he had expected.

He saw me and stopped, following my gaze to his sliced-up torso. “Ah, yes.” He had the audacity to laugh at his own wound. My chest splintered when he began to walk toward me with a slight limp. I hated his pain. “I had a plan, you know. I was only letting it think it won.”

Rage and disbelief twisted in my chest. His nonchalance was flippant and irresponsible.

He frowned at the sight of my concern. “It only smarts a little,” he assured me.

“You could have died.”

The corners of his mouth twitched again, but he repressed his smirk, sensing my anger. He wiped the blood off his hands on the front of his black pants and nodded in the direction of the beast’s corpse. “Do you know how many of those ugly fuckers I’ve killed over the years?”

“I don’t care,” I uttered through angry, horrified tears. “You could have died.”

With a sigh, he closed the distance between us, his limp improving with each step. “Don’t cry for me, Aryella.” He stroked my chin with one thumb and my cheek with the other. “I’m not worth your tears.”

Huffing, I grabbed his wrist in my thin fingers, not caring how small or weak I looked or felt to him. From the same depths that stowed Rainar’s choking waves, I felt anger rise, equal in strength and measure. Felt it burn in my eyes. Prayed he saw it too.

“Yes. You. Are!” I gritted out.

Awe and surprise flashed through him. But Gavin showed no fear.

“I may not get to decide what role I play in this world or who I have to marry to raise up an army, but I will decide who I cry for!”

After a moment of contemplation, he leaned down, brushed his lips against my temple, and he—knowing precisely what would both irritate me and rouse me—muttered, “That’s my girl.”

Fuming, fists clenched, I growled, “You—”

“Need to eat and clean up,” he finished for me, hoisting both our bags over his shoulders with a subtle grunt before turning to the mare—the horse who had remained oddly unruffled during the violent encounter. “And I would imagine you’re equally famished after that impressive display.” He grabbed the mare’s reins and moved toward the village. “Let’s go.”

I groaned, rushing after him. But even with his slight limp and wounded torso—which was still dripping blood—he moved faster than me.

***

The innkeeper was afraid of Gavin the moment he gruffly tossed a bag of coins on the counter and demanded a room with two beds. Shuddering, the poor man stared at his feet and confessed all rooms only had one. I had quickly become accustomed to others’ fear, despite not feeling it myself. For better or worse, I’d never been afraid of my protector.

Of course, the blood that covered him did no favors.

We climbed a set of thin, rickety stairs lit by oil lanterns. Scenic paintings lined the walls of the hall, but it was too dark to admire any details.

I could see why no rooms with two beds were available. The room was so small, it could only fit one. But it was cozy and warm, lit by one oil lamp on a table beside the bed. Enough light to cast a soft glow over the tiny space.

Gavin had paid extra to request our meals be made fresh and delivered to our room. While he cleaned up in the small attached bathroom, he insisted I eat. Beef roast, sweet peas and carrots, baked beans, sourdough bread, and milk—it was hot, delicious, and I devoured it all.

While I ate, I tried to fend off thoughts of him on the other side of the door. Tried not to wonder if he was naked in the bath just a few paces away. Other than the quick, terrible glimpse of my red-haired attacker in Tovick, I had never seen a man’s… well, I struggled to imagine a full image of him bare beneath the bath water.

When he emerged from the bathroom, I was nibbling on my thumbnail with my knees tucked into my chest, empty supper plate beside me on the bed.

He wore dark pants and a clean white shirt. Unbuttoned, to allow his wounds to breathe. He was barefoot, and his dark hair was damp and loose.

Even with the open wounds on his skin, he was a sight I’d never tire of. Relaxed. Unbound. Content. And so big. His sculpted torso glistened beneath the moonlight streaming in from the window. Muscles in places I didn’t know existed. I bit my lip. My breathing accelerated into quick, tiny pants when I saw the carved vee above his belt and realized it led to—

A tiny whimper escaped my throat before I could stop it. Before I knew it was there. I inhaled sharply, horrified at myself.

He heard the sound leave my throat. He saw my chest shudder. He kept his eyes on me, tension in those brown eyes, jaw clenched. I braced for a retort without knowing what to expect. But he did not tease me about or acknowledge my humiliating slip of desire. His chest rose and fell with a sigh as he leveled me with his stare.

I didn’t look away, despite my embarrassment. After the fear of truly losing him, I decided to drink him in, memorize him—whatever he gave me—until I no longer could.

“Bath is all yours,” he finally said, voice solid. Unaffected.