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“No!”
He ran his hands through his stubble, up his scalp until his fingers were in his hair. “Myself to Moriel—you are so fucking stubborn.”
“And you’re not? Rhyan, look at you. You were in Elyria overnight, a whole other country, hunting akadim. You were beaten up in the habibellum, and now you’re forced to have me here. The least I can do is let you sleep in your own bed.”
“I’ve told you.” His neck was turning red. “I’ll worry about me. You worry about you.”
“So only you get to do the caring part?” I snapped.
“When you let me!” His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring with a sigh of exasperation. “I’m not changing my mind. You can decide. Either we both get some sleep tonight, or neither of us do. But I am not sleeping in my bed.”
“Fine!” I grabbed my bag and marched into his room, slamming the door behind me. I changed out of my practice clothes and into the nightshift he’d packed for me. I let the door fly open as I went to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
I sat on top of his blankets, noting his bed was made, unslept in from the night before, and tried to think of something else to say to him, some way to relieve the tension between us. I felt guilty taking his bed, and yet, the day had left me exhausted, too. And I knew how stubborn he was—how seriously he took his word once he’d given it. His word was his promise, his promise was his oath, and his oath was his soul.
I stood and grabbed the edge of the covers, about to pull them back, when suddenly, I was back in my room again, seeing the baby seraphim’s head, the blood and the black feathers—
I jumped back, letting go of the covers like they’d bitten me.
“What’s wrong?” Rhyan’s frame appeared in the doorway.
“Um, nothing,” I said, embarrassed. Fuck. It was just a blanket. There wasn’t even a bulge in it—the cover had been smoothed perfectly against his mattress and sheets, the edges tucked with perfect precision into the corners. There was nothing here. No message from the Emartis, no threats. Just Rhyan’s soft, warm bed.
His gaze narrowed on me. “Partner, if this is some attempt to get me to—”
I backed away from the bedframe, and his expression softened.
“Oh. It’s all right. I’ll pull the blankets back.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my palms against my temples. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid.”
He stood before me. His hands wrapped gently around my fists, pulling my hands down to my sides. My heart pounded, and my stomach clenched as he continued to touch me, his palms turning to press against my palms until our fingers twined together.
“No, it’s not. Not stupid at all,” he said. “What just happened, that was all kinds of fucked up. I don’t know what kind of monster could….” He sighed. “That would have shaken anybody. Don’t be embarrassed. You didn’t deserve to have that happen to you. You deserve to feel safe in your home, in your bed. I’m sorry they took that from you.”
“You deserve that, too,” I said.
Rhyan’s eyes darkened, hooded with desire. And suddenly I could feel it. I was alone with him, in his room. His scent was everywhere, all musk and pine. In his bedsheets, on him…and I wanted him. He bit his lip, his breathing slowing as his gaze dipped down my body, taking in the nightshift that barely covered my chest and fell to mid-thigh. His fingers tightened around mine, his thumbs rubbing circles against my skin.
He coughed, releasing my hands. “I’ve got it,” he said, pulling the covers back for me. “All clear. You’re safe. Get some rest.”
Then he stormed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
My breath hitched. Fuck. My desire for him…it was always there, lurking under the surface. But we’d become so practiced during training at ignoring it, keeping our flirtation down to a minimum. For two long months, we’d done everything we could to maintain the unspoken boundary between us. Almost like we were actors playing roles in a performance. The teacher and student, the apprentice and novice, the bodyguard and his charge. Rhyan and Lyr ceased to exist as we put on the masks of two people who had a job to complete and nothing else. But the closeness, the bond between us—it was always just under the surface, ready to bubble up at a moment’s notice, only for us to take turns squashing it back down.
I climbed into his bed, inhaling his scent, letting it cocoon me alongside his blankets as I snuggled deeper into the pillows. I turned on my side, blowing out the candle he’d lit on his nightstand, and pulled the covers over my shoulders as I stared at the door, hoping he was all right out there. I hoped he’d get the rest and peace he so desperately needed and deserved. I wished I could give it to him. And…I wished that his arms were wrapped tightly around me, holding me, pulling me closer, instead of just his blanket.
I listened to his footsteps on the other side of the door and watched the tiny lights and dancing flames from the candles flickering beneath the edge of the doorframe. I followed their sinuous movements until all the lights were vanquished, and there was only silence, save for the bells ringing out the midnight hour. I fell asleep.
Cold. I was so cold. I was wandering in the woods, lost, calling out for help. My limbs ached; my entire body was freezing. I had to get out of here, find help, find shelter, find warmth before I froze to death. Snow fell upon my head.
I opened my eyes. I’d been dreaming, but the freezing cold of my dream had been real. My teeth chattered, and I drew the blankets up higher around me, looking to see if the window had been left open. I huddled down, deeper into the blankets. Winter was weeks away, but it never got this cold in Bamaria—even in the dead of the wintry season. There was a gust of wind blowing, howling ferociously. But not against the window—the sound was beating against the bedroom door. I threw the blanket off and hugged my arms across my chest. My entire body shook as I got out of bed. Something icy and wet pushed through the door against my bare feet.
Snow. It was snowing inside Rhyan’s apartment.
I opened the door and rushed into the living room. Snow fell from the ceiling, and wind pulled the snowflakes into a cyclone. The force of the gusts increased, rushing toward me. A glass of water that had been left on the coffee table had frozen into a glass of ice. And lying deep in the center of the storm was Rhyan.
He sat on the couch, his head fallen back onto the cushion like he’d been stubbornly trying not to sleep but had passed out anyway. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he were in pain, and he thrashed, his body jerking.
