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He puts the leather down with the lace still through it. “There are graves to keep safe. Things that belonged to my people. I won’t risk them for what you’re offering.”
Graves. I look toward the inner passage, where he takes everything he won’t discuss, but I can only see the first stretch of stone.
“I’m not asking you to give me any of that.”
“Anyone who follows you gets this mountain.” He nods toward the inner passage.
“Nobody followed me the other night.”
“I reached you first.” His lip catches on a fang.
His knee is solid beneath my palm. I draw my hand back and put it in my lap. “Then nobody’s coming, and you can stop getting up every time I come near you.”
When he reaches for the leather, I take his right hand first. The two blunt fingertips rest across my palm. I turn it until his claws point away from both of us.
“You let me ask for what I wanted in the forest.”
His eyes lift to my face.
“Let me give you something back.” I get up, still holding his hand. There’s room between his knees, and when I step into it, he draws a breath through his mouth. He’s hard again, or still. I can see the shape of him from here, and he doesn’t try to hide it.
I let go of his hand and touch the bare skin at his waist with my right. His other hand closes around my wrist at once, keeping it there. His grip is warm all the way around, and I feel it between my legs, which is no help to anyone.
“No.” He doesn’t let go.
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“I heard you.” He lifts my hand away and releases it. I stay between his knees with my fingers against my own stomach.
“Then tell me what you do want.”
His gaze moves over my face and drops to the place where his fingers held my wrist. “Your arm rested.”
“For yourself, Rauk.”
When he gets up, I step aside to give him room, and he bends for the cloak I’ve left on the floor. He spreads it over the furs, putting the worn edge nearest where I sleep. “Sit. You’ve been up most of the day.”
I stay beside his stone.
He lifted my hand off him and told me to sit. Then he went and put the worn edge where my head goes. I could kick the whole thing into the fire.
I still have his warmth on my wrist. He won’t let me do a thing for him.
I growl at his back, low, before I can stop it. He doesn’t turn around.
What the fuck am I supposed to offer?
He feeds the fire and brings my bowl closer to the warmth. When he turns back, I walk past him toward the outer passage.
We reach the opening together, and he’s empty-handed for once.
“I’m not running.”
“Then where are you going?” He stays in the opening.
“I want to look at the thing you’re choosing.”
He lets me pass, following through the bend to the slab. I stop with one palm flat against it. Stone fills the passage from wall to wall. I can fit the tips of two fingers into the seam and get nowhere with them.
