Page 126 of A Thief Among Fae

I could cut the tension between us with my knives.

The campfire’s amber light flickers over the worried lines of his face. He looks away, his jaw tightening as he stares into the flames. A quiet longing pulses from him, a wish that he could let himself be closer to me. Heat crawls up my neck, and I’m glad the red glow of the campfire will hide it. I’m surprised by how badly I wish for that, too.

“Fine,” he says. Then he sits on his roll. He braces his elbows against his knees, his shoulders taut beneath his black tunic. “You should sleep first,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse.

“And give you a chance to stay awake all night? Not a chance.”

“I’m not sleeping.” He frowns at me. “Not with you here.”

My first instinct is to roll my eyes, but I pause instead. He’s not trying to be dramatic. He’s really worried about me.

I sit down on my roll, watching him from across the dancing fire. “Would you feel better if I tied you down?” It’s an honest question, lacking the heat of our banter only a moment ago.

He considers it. “Bind my wrists.”

My pulse flutters as I crawl to his side. If only we were doing this under different circumstances, a night where we share a bed instead of having six feet between our rolls. That distance might as well be a chasm.

Desmond lowers his head as he holds his wrists together, supplicating to me. We’re silent as I grab a thick leather cord from his pack and wrap it around his wrists. My fingers brush against the crescent moon inked on his skin, and he inhales like the touch has shocked him. Then he stills, as if ashamed that his body betrayed him.

“Tighter,” he quietly says.

I hesitate. “Tighter might hurt.”

“Please, Cynthia.” His voice roughens. He meets my gaze, his expression tired and mournful, as if he’s already committed an unforgivable sin.

My throat feels too thick to speak. I nod, pulling the cord so tight that it strains against him. Then I knot it.

I expect him to protest as I sit beside him, but he doesn’t move. He just stares through the logs shifting and crackling as the flames devour them, as though his mind is on another fire—one that painted the sky red and gray with smoke.

“Gashil showed me something. From the past, I think,” I tell him.

“Your past?”

“No. Yours.”

He stiffens. As if he fears the answer, he slowly asks, “And what did you see?”

“You were with Auri on a battlefield, overlooking a human fort around a faery door. There were two moons, and fire raged. There was so much death.” I wince, remembering the screams. The acrid scent of burning flesh as the humans tossed body after body of their own into the flames. “Why did they burn their dead?” I ask myself aloud, puzzled by it.

Desmond is so still that I’m not sure if he’s breathing. “They feared what lay beyond death,” he whispers.

I crawl toward him, then rest my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He flinches.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” I murmur. If he’s reacting this strongly, that vision must’ve been a real memory, plucked by Gashil out of his head. He doesn’t want to relive it, and I was a careless fool for mentioning it. “Are you thirsty?”

Nodding, he reaches for his flask, then opens it with his teeth. He drinks for so long that there can’t possibly be a drop left, but he hands it to me. Steam curls from the opening.

I blink. “Tea?”

“It can fill itself with anything that was poured into it once.”

“Hag magic?” I ask, impressed.

“Something like that.” Finally, a smile curves his full lips. “It was a rare Gift from an unseelie court.”

Taking it from him, I sip the tea. It’s a perfect blend of honey and an earthy, bitter herb I’ve never tasted before. This would be a dangerous present for someone who often imbibes, but also extremely useful. Then I remember what Auri said about Desmond being lost in the bottom of a bottle. Sadness pulls at me.

Desmond’s gaze lingers on my mouth, then my throat as I swallow.