Page 145 of Ravenrose

Tempting, but I shake my head, inching further to the edge of the bed while bracing myself for the pain I know getting up is going to earn me. “No, I want to help.”

Ayer places a hand on my shoulder before I can stand. Gentle—but firm. “It’s the middle of the night. There’s nothing you can do right now except rest.”

Irritation flames through me, and the urge to fight him rises for half a beat before exhaustion shoots it back down. I release a heavy sigh before sinking back into the bed.

“Fine.”

Ayer nods once, satisfied, before turning back toward the door.

Panic whirls. “Are you leaving?” The words spill out before I can stop them.

He freezes, looking back over his shoulder at me. “I thought you might like some privacy…” He trails off, gesturing with a hand toward the door.

I look around the little room again. The dark shadows in the corners seem to grow darker, looming ominously. “You can’t…” I don’t even know what I’m asking him. “I…” I drop my gaze. “I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper. My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment.

Ayer stands frozen, silent as stone. My heart sinks as he moves toward the door. For one horrible second, I think he’s leaving anyway, but he doesn’t. He stops in front of the door instead. The lock clicks as he slowly slides it into place.

Ayer undoes the leather strap of his sword belt, removing the weapon from his body and leaning it carefully against the wall.

I just sit there, watching in rapt silence as he strips off his leathers piece by piece, laying everything neatly across the table.

When he’s down to only his blood-soaked tunic, he pauses. His fingers curl around the hem, hesitating for the briefest moment before he pulls it over his head, leaving him in nothing but his breeches.

My breath stutters, and something deep within me twists.

His tanned skin is golden in the dim candlelight. The dark ink of his rune tattoos ripple over the defined muscles of his arm and chest, and my fingers twitch with the sudden urge to trace them.

I don’t dare breathe as he comes back toward me, moving to the other side of the bed, carefully pulling back the blankets before slipping in beside me. I lie back, keeping my eyes firmly on the ceiling when the mattress dips with his weight as he makes himself comfortable beside me.

When he’s finally still, I exhale slowly, releasing the breath I’ve been holding until I’ve mustered up enough courage to glance beside me, finding Ayer on his side. He’s got one arm slung over his head, eyes closed.

I roll slowly to my side, giving him my back and a few more inches of space. My eyes stay open, my throat tight, and I’m far too aware of every breath we both take as I try to lie as still as possible.

Several minutes pass with neither of us moving.

A deep sigh, laced with frustration, is my only warning before the bed shifts and Ayer’s arm snakes around my middle, carefully avoiding the bandaged area, before dragging me backward against his chest.

I gasp, attempting to scoot away, only for him to pull me right back. My body fits perfectly against his, and I feel him curl protectively around me. His arm relaxes, draping over me casually while keeping me pressed firmly against him. Warm breath brushes lightly against my ear, and I think I stop breathing entirely when he whispers, “Stay, Rowan.”

The way he says my name, in that deep, lilting accent of his, is dangerous. Something heats low in my abdomen. Ayer’s hand moves to mine, his fingers tracing over my knuckles far more gently than I would have ever thought him capable.

I have half a mind to shove him away, but instead of pushing his hand off mine, I curl my fingers around it instead.

His body is warm and familiar, and I feel safe—protected. The dark room with its shadowy corners is barely a thought with his arm holding me.

Sleep beckons, and I concede, giving into it, giving into… him. And somewhere between one breath and the next, I fall asleep.

Chapter 60

AYER

The little Rose Princess is curled against my chest. Long, dark hair cascades down her back in tangled waves. I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest. My gaze trails up, lingering on those delicately pointed ears of hers while a muscle ticks in my jaw.

I shouldn’t be doing this—shouldn’t have taken her into my bed last night, a faerie. A Sitari faerie of all things.

It was my intention to leave last night, to leave the little Rose Princess to lick her wounds in peace—the wounds she has because of me—but the fear in her voice when she asked me not to go...

Carefully, I shift, trying to ease out from underneath her without waking her. But just as soon as I’m free from her touch, her eyes fly open.