Page 48 of Aryn

He snatches the chain and closes his eyes, squeezing the ring that hangs from it tightly in his palm. “Thank you.”

“That’s important to you.”

It isn’t really a question, but he nods anyway as he slips it back over his head. “It’s the only thing I have left of my family. It’s… what got me through everything that happened.”

Whatever that ring means to him, it’s obvious he isn’t ready to share the full story. My gaze drifts down his bare torso again, catching on those piercings. Tiny goosebumps rise across his skin while his nipples tighten in the cold. Something hot and entirely unwelcome coils low in my gut.

“Can you put a shirt on?” I blurt.

His brows draw together as he looks back at me. “Sorry?”

Heat floods my face, and for once I’m grateful for the biting cold that already has my skin flushed. I force my tone lighter and nod toward his chest. “It’s freezing out here. If you catch pneumonia because you’re determined to stand around half-naked, you’re only going to slow the rest of us down. Again.”

“Damn, that sympathy didn’t last long, did it?” he says as he shoots me an exasperated glance, then digs through his pack for clean shirts. He tugs on an undershirt and thicker sweater over it, but winces as his shoulder shifts. When I lift his coat and hold it out for him, he wrinkles his nose, obviously frustrated at needing the help.

“Stop being so stubborn,” I mutter, guiding his injured arm carefully into the sleeve.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” he replies. His tail snakes up my leg again and wraps around my wrist before he yanks it back with an embarrassed grunt. “Sorry, it—”

“Has a mind of its own,” I finish with a wink. “And apparently it likes me.”

“Gods,” he groans, turning toward the fire.

“It’s alright, darlin’. I’m a pretty likeable guy.”

“You’re an infuriating guy,” he corrects.

“Why don’t we ask your tail what it thinks about me?”

He decides ignoring me is the wiser choice and doesn’t respond. He fishes a leather band from his coat pocket and tries to gather his hair, but another pained wince crosses his face as he lifts his arms.

I catch his wrists gently and pull them down. “Sit,” I say, nodding at the nearby rock.

“Why?”

I let out an impatient breath. “Would you sit down and let me do it?”

He reluctantly obeys, watching me warily as I move behind him and peel off my gloves. My fingers slide through his hair, and he releases a quiet, indulgent sound as I work the strands back. Some knots resist, but I separate them as carefully as I can without pulling too hard.

Once I have his hair gathered into a decent ponytail, I give it a light tug. Instead of handing me the tie, he tilts his face up toward me. Those once-alien eyes are familiar now, and when he blinks, his long lashes cast soft shadows across his cheekbones. My gaze drops unbidden to his mouth, wondering how those prominent fangs would feel against my tongue.

When the hell did I start wondering that?

“Cato?”

I nearly fumble with the hair I’ve gathered as his voice snaps me out of it. “Can you, uh… pass me the hair tie?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he says before pressing it into my hand.

I force myself back into the moment as I loop it around his thick raven strands. We just survived something traumatic together. It’s natural to feel this close right now.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Footsteps crunch through the snow, and we both look over to see Ronan approaching. His gaze tracks along my arm, lingering on the way I’m still holding Aryn’s hair. I drop it like it burned me.

Ronan’s brows rise slightly, but his voice stays even. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better, thank you,” Aryn says before he pushes to his feet. I hover close, ready to catch him if needed. “Did you really slap me, or was that a fever dream?”