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Rook brings me back to the tower of thorns. He puts me down and finds the blanket I left before. I take it from him before he can tuck me in again, since I’m a grown woman and I’ve spent years sleeping on the stone floor of my cave.
And yet, he’s tempting enough for me to ask, “Will you be my pillow?”
His eyebrows shoot skyward. “I’m a demon, not a pillow.”
But he starts unbuckling his armor. Piece by piece, it all falls away. He strips off his shirt and tosses it aside. I let my gaze linger on the contours of his muscular chest.
“Much better,” I say. “Even though you’re only halfway naked.”
“What a travesty.” He has a straight face when he says it.
He lies down in the fallen rose petals, on his back, and braces himself on his elbows. I drop to my knees and crawl over to him. He’s watching me through his eyelashes. They glint silver like his hair and the hint of a beard on his face.
“I like you with stubble.” I run my hand along his cheekbone, enjoying the prickle under my skin. “Will you shave?”
“Eventually.”
I curl against him, fitting in the crook of his arm. “Do you shave with a dagger?”
He snorts. “I enjoy my face too much. I use a cutthroat razor.”
“Does it double as a weapon?” I tease.
“I wouldn’t. The steel is too brittle.”
I lay my head on his chest. “You have a promising future as a pillow, though you’re harder than I expected.”
“And you haven’t even found my cock.”
I smirk. “Should I?”
“Not while you need to sleep. We have a long road ahead of us.”
“Long and hard?”
“You’re terrible,” he says, his hand a gentle touch behind my back.
Fatigue weighs down my bones. An ember of happiness warms my chest. When my eyes drift shut, a single thought lingers.
I wish I could have this forever.
* * *
I’m home.Not my cave by the lake with no name, but the village called Quickmire. This became my home after my mother died.
After…
That memory scuttles away into the dark corners of my mind.
I’m standing on the outskirts of Quickmire. I walk down the path through the meadow, where bluebells glitter with raindrops along the green river, and woodsmoke unravels into the violet evening sky.
Beautiful. Why don’t I live here anymore?
The answer flows like an undercurrent beneath my thoughts. Just out of reach.
Ahead, the shepherd’s collie barks at me. The dog bounds over to me, jams his cold, wet nose into my hand, and snuffles my scent. I must smell like a dragon shifter with a hint of fire, but he keeps my secret.
I pat the collie on the head and keep walking.
