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He snorted and shrugged. “You cared. Usually I have a cock in my mouth and whoever it is doesn’t care who I am. They’re only interested in the pleasure, not me.”
“How do you know I cared when you had a knife at my throat?”
“Your eyes.” He circled a finger at my face. “You have honest eyes, when I know what to look for.”
He looked now, looked deep inside me. “You were,” I admitted. “I suppose you’re glad of it? The first to tup the Prince of Love?”
“You must admit, it’s quite an accomplishment.”
Laughing harder, I knocked my knee into his and he snorted a laugh back. Our chuckling faded and the soft quiet returned. I opened my mouth to say something like I was glad I wasn’t alone, when he said, “If you didn’t want to die without having experienced the delights of penetrative coital engagement, I’d usually offer to help, but as we’re in a desert and my every inch is covered in sand, I fear we lack the necessary lubricant to facilitate such a thing.”
“Gods.” I buried my face in my hands. “Will you sayanything?”
“Unless, of course, Draven has already given you that pleasure?”
Eyeing him sideways revealed an edge to his inquiring face. He really didn’t like the thought of Draven and I. He watched me curiously, waiting for my reply, but this wasn’t a game. He wanted to know if Draven had fucked me. Why did it matter, if he didn’t care, if we werenothing? “No,” I said. “Draven and I didn’t fuck likethat.” I rolled my hand, trying to grasp the right words. “I was angry atyou, actually. I’d just heard who you were,Zayan,and I felt betrayed. Honestly, I was furious. I felt used, and Draven was there, kind, and willing—”
“So you fucked him as revenge?”
Had I done that? It sounded like an awful thing, and I perhaps had. Draven had wanted to, and he’d been convenient, as my soon-to-be husband.
“Not everything is about you, Lark.”
He inhaled, held the breath and sighed hard. “Draven knows.”
“Knows what?”
“He knows you care for me. It is a good thing you stayed. If he’d taken you, he would not have sent help back otherwise.”
No, Draven wasn’t spiteful, not like that. “You’re wrong. You don’t know him. He wouldn’t leave anyone here to die, and certainly not you. He’s kind.”
“Hm, yes, very kind. He’s also painfully handsome and hung like a horse. His cock must have been quite the widening experience for you.”
The laugh shot free. “Why do you care when you’ve done worse with him?”
Lark gasped dramatically and pressed a hand to his chest. “Are you implying I’m promiscuous?”
My heart swelled. “Oh no, you’re the epitome of virtue. It’s not as though you’ve dipped your cock in more ink wells than a writer’s quill.”
The sound of his genuine laugh was a cooling salve on the wounds of everything we’d endured. He was about to say something more when the warmth in my chest surged through my veins, and without thinking, I touched his dusty cheek, turned his face, and pressed my lips to his, silencing whatever sharp quip he’d been about to unleash.
The kiss wasn’t as soft as I’d hoped—our cracked lips grated—but my heart was in it. I tried to ease my hand into his hair but my fingers snagged in a nest of knots.
“Gah,” he mumbled against my mouth.
“Sorry.” I tried again, fumbled it, and surrendered as Lark snorted a laugh. I buried my nose against his neck instead. “I’m sure you’ve had much better than this.”
He eased back, slipped his fingers into my hair, and pressed his forehead to mine. All the good things crackled in his eyes: humor, mischief, delight. “Nothing is better than this. If we survive, we’ll come back to this moment, and I’m going to make sure you are worshipped in all the ways you deserve, Prince of Hearts.” He blinked, and it was all I could do not to fall into his promise, my beautiful lie.
If we survive.What if we didn’t? What if these were our final hours? I had to tell him, he had to know he was loved, he had to knowIloved him. Hated him too, but mostly loved him. “I—”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “Save it for a better day.”
Save it? I sighed and slumped against his side. The mood in our cave cooled and all our earlier humor waned with the passing of the stars.
I shuffled closer, tucked against his side, and watched the moon descend behind distant dunes. “What do you think happens after we die?” I asked, my mind half asleep and wandering.
“Justice believe the pieces inside of us that make our souls whole must return to a great well that harbors all our passion and fervor. Inside the well, our souls are weighed on a set of scales with four pans. If we’re found to be lacking or missing pieces due to indiscretions, we’re cast out, never to be remade. But if the weighing scales are balanced, we’re remade anew. Balance is all.”
