Page 94 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

I rested a hand on her thigh, moving it upward till my fingers grazed the fabric of my briefs.

She gasped a little and I could feel her pulse chase quicker than before. “Any higher and I will cut it.”

“Any higher and I would lose my mind.”

With a sigh, she continued shaving my face. Her touch was so gentle one would think she could never hurt a fly. She was good at that—pretending.

I couldn’t help it. I opened my eyes. She was concentrating so hard, her tongue peeked between her lips and her eyes narrowed on my jaw while she carefully worked the blade.

When my smile couldn’t be contained, she became aware I was watching her and blinked ahead at a wall for a moment while a little rosy flush rose to her cheeks.

The fact that I could still make her blush made me mad with happiness. With a finger on her chin, I turned her face to me again. “My blushing bride, eyes on me.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Why won’t you speak to me?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“You always have something to say.” Joke with me. Joke with me like you once did. I wanted my jester back. “I miss your jokes.”

Her thumb grazed the little scar from when she accidentally cut me with her dagger. “You were going to kiss me that day. How about that for a joke?”

“It’s a good one because I was going to damn all and do more than kiss you that day.” Unable to help it, I leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. Then I brushed the tiny spot I’d kissed with a finger, and she scrunched up her nose all cute and adorable. “Shouldn’t have done that when you’re holding a weapon.”

“Odd that you think I’d need a weapon to kill you.”

“It isn’t killing you enjoy. It's the hurting. And you can do it better with a weapon.”

She ran a finger over my pulse then up my jaw, over my face till it stopped on my forehead. “Where did you get that?” she asked, trailing a gentle touch over the old gash that ran further into my scalp.

I was not sensitive, but that touch made shivers run through my back. “In one of the training courts when I was younger. Back then I wouldn’t know better than to injure my head.”

She slipped her hands back down to my face, smoothing her fingers over my jaw and neck and my eyes shut at the lightness. Fuck, I was in heaven.

Her touch descended to my collar over another scar. “And that?”

“Dagger.”

“It's close to your neck.”

“It was aimed there.”

“By whom?”

“Some people who wanted to do very bad things to me. Rhyming with shrill and mill.”

“Who would do that to you, Night King?”

“Someone who was afraid of what someone like me could become. A Crafter, right after father died. They snuck in my chambers, but I had been awake arranging his funeral. They found me tired but not an idiot. After that no one got close enough to kill me. Except you.”

Her golden stare lifted to me, and like a man who’d gotten a taste for excruciating pain, I stared back into it, torturing myself to agony by remembering how it had once shone for me. “I haven’t injured you anywhere vital.”

Grabbing her hand, I rested it on top of my heart. “Felt pretty vital to me.”

Her fingers curled on my chest for a moment and her breathing picked up each time my heart pounded under her touch.

She pulled her hand away and wet a towel, washing the shaving cream away. “I think it’s all done.” She inspected every inch of my face one last time. The more she looked at me the darker that look got. And when she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, I almost lost it. “Stop looking at me like that.”