Page 27 of At The End There Was You

He stepped closer to her. Closer than he’d ever been to her. He rested his forehead on hers, and breathed out, “So many reasons, Winter. So many reasons.”

“Exactly. Reasons. You have them,” she whispered back. She didn’t want to share that moment and those words with anyone but him, not even the wind.

He stepped back first, and Winter refused to look at him after that moment. She didn’t know if she could without never wanting to look away.

After retrieving a blanket from her wardrobe, she pulled onto Azriel’s hand and tugged until both were heading towards the back gardens where no one usually perused, afraid of the forest that was too close to it. Winter had never been afraid of it. Not because she thought herself above bears and wolves, but because she’d read over a dozen books specifying that the forest housed no such fauna. Convincing the others was no concern of hers, and besides, she liked the company of no more than one. Just not today. Today she liked the thought of bringing Azriel to her sanctuary.

The man in question glanced around the area as if it was above the ordinary, his eyes jumping to some of the most random details. An odd dandelion half blown by the wind, a distant coo of an owl, the dried maple leaves that had not been cleared by the gardener yet because Miriam wanted all the trees to shed before calling on their services. But what seemed to impress him more was the fact that she laid the blanket on the grassy floor and sat down on it. Impressed was not the right word for it, he looked baffled, stunned at the prospect of sitting on the ground.

Winter patted the space next to her, and he immediately sat down as if he’d not judged her for it not even a second ago.

“Are all Mages allergic to the sun?”

Azriel squinted when he turned to give her a look. “They should be. It is hideous.” His hand shot forward and tangled in her hair, and she froze still as he studied her locks, ignoring the trail of goosebumps that chased down her neck the caress caused. “It changes colour in the sun.” But he was not done like Winter thought. His other hand moved to cup her face and titled it up to him. His skin was icy against hers. “And you have freckles. More than I thought.” He stopped for a moment, gazing straight into her eyes as if he was seeing them for the first time. “You’re a stunning creature, Winter.”

Her face heated at the words and his touch and his attention that she held like a compass pointing north. “You’re cold.”

Azriel let go of her face and hair, and stared at his palms for a moment. “And you’re too warm. Are all human beings this warm?”

Winter couldn’t help it. She laughed. And he stared this time—at her, at her eyes, her mouth, mostly there. Clearing her throat, she gathered her knees to her chest and returned her attention to the book she’d picked. “You can read now, I won’t disturb.”

“What if I want to disturb you?”

Her pulse went on a run again. “I cannot allow you to do that. The lives of many rely on you solving this.”

“I’ll save them all if you pay attention to me.”

She turned and offered him a coy smile. “Oh, so now the realm’s fate lies at my fingertips?”

“Not exactly.” He took her hand and put it to his cheek. “Now it does.”

“You’re cold.” She didn’t know why she kept repeating that phrase, not that it mattered at all because she liked his touch, she liked the chill it sent over her, she liked that she burned less.

“So you keep saying.” He nuzzled her palm and pressed a kiss at the edge before he let go of her. “Will you let me disturb you then?”

Winter’s heart leaped along with her breath, still feeling his lips on her skin, and that burn grew intense again. “I do as you say.”

His eyes gleamed. “Come here then.”

“Where?”

“Close to me.”

“Why?”

His mouth titled into a smirk. “Because you do as I say.”

She got on her knees and crawled close to his side, something that he liked because he followed her movement closely and with too much relish.

Azriel took his jacket off and her eyes glued on him when he rolled his sleeves to reveal lines and lines of dark tattoos marking his skin.

“What do they mean?” she asked. “The markings. I can’t recognise the language.”

“It is the oldest one there is.”

“Maloori?” No longer spoken, only used by a few very powerful Mages to cast their magic with. Said to have been brought from Asphodel.

“Older.”