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“Did you?”
He shakes his head, not enthralled with the direction of the conversation. Instead of lecturing me on the importance of harnesses or pressing further about my welfare, he asks, “Have you eaten?”
I shake my head.
He composes himself, and his gaze drops to my clothing. His lip quirks, and I know the fear has abated. “You look like a trollis in that.”
I glance down at my vest and weapons belt. “As close as I’ll get, I suppose.”
He takes up the end of my braid and curls it around his hand. His gaze travels to my bandaged palm. I turn my hand to clasp his fingers, slipping by him to bolt the door. I know how easy it can be to eavesdropthrough those things. I take him to the opposite wall, before releasing him and rummaging through my belt.
“I know it’s not the same.” I feel a little silly now, but I’ve already started, and it’s really the gesture that counts. I pull the stone from my belt. Its bluish hue glimmers in the firelight, not nearly as smooth or multifaceted as Azmar’s, but it’s the best I can do. “This broke off during the attack, and, well, it’s what I have to give.” Taking his hand, I press it into his palm. “So we’ll pretend it’s something lovely.”
I don’t need to explain what I mean. The way Azmar turns the stone over, so reverently, I know he knows.
I should ask howhisday went, ifhe’seaten, whathe’sthinking, but I don’t, because after hanging over death by the strength of a few fingers today, I understand so much more the life I want. The person I want.
I slide my hands around his waist, letting my thumbs dip beneath the hem of his shirt. The touch of his firm skin sends feathers of heat up my arms. Looking into his eyes, I whisper, “I’m not hungry.”
His free hand wraps behind my head, fingers burrowing into my hair. I rise onto my toes to kiss him, hearing a soft tap as he gently sets my stone on the mantel. I relearn his mouth, tasting it inside and out, pressing onto the tips of my shoes to get closer to him. He’s so damnably tall—
He has the same frustration, for he jerks away, only to bend down and grab my thighs, picking me off the floor, bringing me to his level. A slip of a laugh escapes me as my shoes topple to the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist and snake my arms around his neck. He traces my tongue, and a restrained groan from deep inside his throat lights me on fire. Every part of me feels too warm and too tight, especially where his fingertips press into my legs.
We turn until my back meets the blissfully cool stone wall. Azmar etches his lips down my neck, my collar, and I am undone, grasping fistfuls of his hair to keep me present. My legs squeeze him of their own volition. He presses into me with a ready response. My breath quickens, and that deep, sacred place inside me burns brighter than the noondaysun. It makes me selfish, and I bite and pull, demanding more. He gives eagerly. With the support of the wall, he frees one hand and presses it into my waist. His fingers climb the grommets of my vest, one by one, until they settle on the ties between my breasts. No farther. An unspoken question.
In answer, my toe slips beneath his waistband, and I pull the ties free myself.
We make it to the bed, but we cannot simply give in to our passions. Humans and trollis are compatible, yes, but Azmar is a large man, and I’ve never opened that part of myself to anyone. But I want all of him, however slow, however painful. And Azmar is everything I know him to be—tender, patient, fervent. I know from the moment we come together that I am changed forever. That I will never again be the woman I was.
Yet neither do I want to be.
Chapter 21
The room is bathed in predawn light when I open my eyes. I lie on my side, facing Azmar, who lies on his, facing me. His arm is tucked under my head, my ear pressed to his bicep. A fur haphazardly covers our hips and legs. My breasts are fully exposed, but I can’t find it in me to be embarrassed, even by the fading pink marks left over from the night’s ardor. I study Azmar’s sleeping form. His face looks younger, relaxed like it is. There’s a slight bump to his nose, right below where it connects to his brow. His eyelashes splay darkly with the slightest viridian tint. He has high cheekbones and a strong jaw, emphasized by the slight bony protrusions running along it. A few cords of hair waterfall over his neck and across his chest.
A hand’s breadth below them stretches that silvery scar, the one I first saw when I witnessed him coming out of the bath. I trace the length of it, from just below his ribs to about four inches to the left of his navel. The muscle beneath it feels leaner than the rest of him, likely from the way it healed.
The story behind that scar reminds me what day it is. I’m supposed to meet Tayler this evening. I’ve worked out my shifts for the last week and a half to make sure I’d be free, but with the extra scouts, keeping my promise will be difficult, though not impossible. I wonder if Tayler will bring Baten.
At the thought, my fingers skim over my abdomen. I know the trollis struggle to conceive—it’s one of the main reasons my ancestors wereable to dominate theirs before the drought. I wonder if that struggle is the same with trollis-human pairings. Would a half-human babe gestate for nine months, or twenty-three?
I wonder what Unach and the council would do if I gave birth to a child like Baten. Like Perg. Nerves flutter beneath my skin. They make me want to talk to Tayler and Baten that much more. I need to know what my—our—options are, just in case.
I want to tell Azmar about the rendezvous, but I’m sure he’ll insist I not go, though with some persuasion, he may agree to come with me. Yet I promised Tayler I would come alone. I want so badly to know about him and his mysterious township. If he or one of his friends spy a trollis with me, he may run, and I’ll never have another opportunity to talk with him. That, and I fear being seen together with Azmar more than ever. I am his sister’s servant now, but Azmar is no longer tied to their apartment. I will not implicate him in any way. I have to keep that promise as well. But I will not lie to him, and the only way to do that is to keep Tayler to myself and confess later tonight, after I return.
I only hope I find Tayler before any Cagmar scouts do.
My knuckle runs back up Azmar’s scar. His breathing changes, and a second later his hand moves to encapsulate mine. He shifts; I imagine the weight of my head has cut off the blood flow in his arm. He leans onto his back and pulls me close, lining me up with his side.
I nuzzle into his pectoral muscle and resume tracing his scar. “When is your ticket up? For the scouting parties. Unach said hers will be soon.”
His fingers caress the small of my back, raising gooseflesh in their wake. “Not for a while.” His voice sounds lower at this early hour. “It isn’t based strictly on caste. More on utility. Engineers, school teachers, those on the ... task force”—a slip of chagrin emphasizes that last one—“will be the last ones assigned. But if there aren’t any human parties or attacks reported, the city will calm down within a few weeks. Are you worried?”
My fingers glide down the scar. “Not too worried.”
I know I need to leave soon, to change and take care of Unach and her apartment, but everything here is too perfect. Every minute is a gift. I let my hands roam over Azmar’s chest, his stomach, his hips, laughing at how quickly his body responds. The hour is early enough for us to engage in our affections one more time, and it’s easier the second time, even more tantalizing, and in truth I could lose myself to him all the day long. But we both have responsibilities that tether us: Azmar to the city, and me to Tayler.
When I finally pull myself away, I wish so badly that I could wear his bloodstone proudly. It’s a fanciful dream, and I tuck it away quietly. Once I’m home—as much as I can call my dark quarters home—I press a kiss to the stone before tucking it away again, change my clothes, and hurry upstairs to set water boiling on Unach’s fire. I notice a new rug and cushion in the main room; Kesta must have moved in.
