Page 58 of Drown Me Gently

Not tonight.

Because the most beautiful creature he had ever known was still learning how to live again. Still healing. And Ulric would not ruin that by being greedy.

So he walked on, beside his not-quite lover, carrying a hunger in his chest as vast as the sea.

And somehow, it felt like joy.

They returned to the cabin under a quiet sky, the air tinged with the warm suggestion of summer. Auren was still smiling as he kicked off his boots by the door; windblown, flushed from laughter, eyes tired but alight with everything he’d seen.

Ulric wasn’t sure if that smile would still remain once the fire was out. He could tell Auren was restless as he wandered the house, trailing fingers along the mantle and window ledges, before poking through the fruit basket and stealing a pear.

He likely fears more nightmares.

And now, with night falling and the fire crackling low, Ulric wasn’t sure where he belonged.

They’d shared the bed out of necessity before—when Auren’s body had been weak and his spirit shattered. When holding him through the shakes was the only way Ulric knew to anchor him.

But now… Auren was healing. He was walking. Breathing. Laughing.

Ulric didn’t want to presume that his presence was still necessary. Or welcome.

So he laid out spare blankets near the hearth, folding them into something vaguely resembling a cot. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but it would suffice. The last thing he wanted was to crowd the prince. Not now. Not when Auren had just begun to stretch his limbs again and smile without flinching.

“You can go to sleep first,” Ulric offered as he sat on the floor by the fireplace. “I’ll read for a while.”

Auren hesitated. “Oh. Okay.”

There was something uncertain in the way he slid under the covers with a hint of reluctance. But he didn’t argue.

Hopefully, he will sleep without a terror waking him.

Ulric would remain awake long enough to ensure Auren was in a deep slumber before retiring himself. He pulled a worn book from the shelf—an old sea-bound journal of arcane tides—and settled before the fire. The cabin was quiet, save for the crackling wood and the faint rustle of sheets.

He’d read only a few pages when a silent hand lowered the book.

Ulric blinked up in surprise.

Auren stood over him. Shirtless. Only the soft cotton of his loose trousers hung from his hips. His hair tumbled over his shoulders as though the fire had leaped from the hearth and made its home atop his head. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips parted as though he might say something, but the words never came.

“Auren,” Ulric said slowly, his heart taking up a frantic rhythm. “What are you doing up? Do you need something?”

Auren stepped closer, eyes half-lidded.

“Are you hungry? I can fetch you⁠—”

Ulric’s words cut off as Auren took the book from his hands and let it fall onto the floor. Then he straddled Ulric’s lap, knees settling to either side and framing his thighs.

Ulric inhaled sharply.

His hands found Auren’s hips without thinking, fingertips brushing the indent of bone, the hard sculpt of trained muscle. This body, born of magic and sea, was strong. Beautiful. Perfect.

“Auren…” he rasped. “You need to rest.”

But his voice lacked conviction.

Auren still hadn’t said a word. Just looked with an intensity that made Ulric forget his name. And then he was leaning in, and Ulric lost himself.

Their mouths met.