Page 131 of Ravenrose

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I never should have left you down there unprotected.”

Sorry?

He’s… apologizing?

To me?

I don’t have the words. He’s so close; the steady beat of his heart is almost calming, the heat from his body an odd comfort, and I have to fight the urge to lean into him. I wobble on my feet, my knees buckling beneath me. He reaches out to steady me, supporting my weight in his arms and pulling me toward him as he does.

He’s so warm. And that wall of hard muscle seems to soften just for me.

I can’t help it. I melt into him. My body is half-frozen—hungry for his warmth, and starved of comfort.

And Ayer just… He just holds me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, burying my face against his chest. My fingers knot in the fabric of his tunic, as though letting go would send me crashing back into everything I’d barely escaped.

I don’t understand it.

I don’t want to.

But somehow, impossibly, this is the safest I’ve felt since the day my world fell apart.

He lifts me up gently into his arms, carrying me around to the other side of his bed and carefully setting me down atop the soft, thick furs. But when he pulls away, his warmth disappears, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m reaching for him.

The way he held me just now…

Gods, everything is such a mess. My head… My head is a mess.

Ayer freezes when he sees my outstretched hand before searching my eyes. There’s an intensity in them that softens at whatever he finds there.

But he doesn’t take my hand—doesn’t come back. Instead, he turns, disappearing into what I already know, from my earlier search of the room, is his private washroom. He reappears with what looks to be a bowl of water in his hands. The mattress dips under his weight as he takes a seat beside me. His hands are steady when he takes my arm, and I wince when he presses the warm cloth to my skin, which earns me an apologetic look as he cleans the wound.

It stings, but I keep still. Watching him. Watching the way his jaw tightens as he works. Neither of us speaks.

When he’s finished, he smears a mint-scented salve over the cut before wrapping it with a clean white cloth. He looks up at me before his hand moves lower—to my thigh. To a second cut I hadn’t even noticed was dripping blood down my leg.

“Lie back,” he says. I only hesitate a moment before I comply, resting my head on the soft, pillowy furs on his bed while he cleans that wound too.

Ayer keeps his eyes on his task, and I keep my eyes on him. I know he won’t hurt me. It makes little sense, but yet—I know. The fear that has been fueling my adrenaline finally gives way to exhaustion—or maybe it’s the blood loss. My eyes feel heavy, and I blink a few times, trying to keep them open. My head is spinning, an aching pain from where Riggs smashed my skull into stone, pounding harder.

The room blurs in and out of focus, and I lose track of Ayer for a minute. Rising anxiety brings me back, and I find him gone. Quickly, I scan the little room until I feel the mattress dip again, this time behind me. I feel hands on the back of my head, turning it slowly, gentle fingers threading through my hair as he inspects the injury that’s left dried blood there, and I freeze.

“I’m fine,” I mutter softly, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “You can take me back.”

Back to the cell.

My body shivers involuntarily at the mere thought of going back down there, even though it was I who made the suggestion.

But I’m tired, so tired, and I need to sleep. And it’s not like I’m going to do that here. I attempt to sit up. The movement takes considerably more effort than I anticipated. I roll onto my side, attempting to push myself up this time, but my palm lands against bare skin.

Ayer’s chest.

When did he⁠—

I hold my breath just as his hand grips my wrist, careful to avoid the healing wounds from the ropes while preventing me from rising further.

“You’re freezing.”