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“It’s–”
“Unbuttoned?”
His hand moved, then, sliding from the top of her head to her shoulder as he knelt before her with a pained breath. Though it was dark, her eyes had adjusted some, and she could make out the outline of his shadow, the slope of his shoulders. She reached out for his shirt and met his hands when he reached for the buttons at the same time. Their fingers tangled, and Tarley’s heart hitched in her chest, twisting, but she didn’t move, didn’t apologize. She waited, and when he didn’t move away or push her away, she found a button. Ollie’s hand tangled with hers and helped her release a button. Finally, he let her hand go, and started on a different button, until together they’d unbuttoned them all.
She pinched the front placket of his shirt and slid her fingers up to the collar, careful not to touch his skin, afraid for some reason that if she did, something would happen she wasn’t sure she wanted. Though the quickness of her breath told her that was exactly what she wanted.
She didn’t trust him, she reminded herself. She didn’t know him.
She pushed the fabric open, sliding it to his shoulders, the warmth of his skin finally grazing her palm—a relief considering where he’d been only a day ago—and she leaned forward, pushing the shirt down his arms.
“Thank you,” Ollie said.
“Need help lying down?”
“No,” he grunted.
She listened to his sounds, as he gingerly worked his way into the now fresh bedding, the shift of the blankets. Once he was settled, she laid next to him, her shoulder pressed against him, her bare thigh to his. She knew she could roll away, but she didn’t.
Relative silence, besides the normal night sounds in the forest, drifted around them. She listened to him breathing and felt the slight shift of his body as he sighed, wondering what he would do if she rolled toward him and touched him. She didn’t dare, annoyed with her trail of thoughts. It wasn’t hours ago she was afraid he was a collector, and now she imagined touching him. Her skin heated with shame, at her weakness.
She rolled away from him, closed her eyes, and tried to go to sleep.
8
Why had he gone outside? Now he’d screwed himself. She wasn’t just some person who’d saved him. She had a story. She had a family who loved her. She had fears and hopes. As he laid next to her in the dark tent, knowing he knew he wasn’t ever going to find sleep, not after the feel of her hands undressing him. Not after imagining it was leading somewhere else and chastising himself for wanting it to. They were strangers.
So to distract himself, he said, “I think I finally have a story.”
The night cracked around them at the intrusive quality of his voice, but that was what he needed.
Tarley shivered next to him.
That he didn’t need. It reminded him she was lying next to him. He could feel the knobby fabric of her tunic against his arm, and since she’d rolled away, recalled the silky feel of her leg against his.
He swallowed. “Cold?”
She reached down and pulled another blanket over them. “I’ll be fine. The story?”
Maybe she needed the distraction as much as he did.
“So, the prince–”
“Of Jast.”
“Yes? Who else?”
“Just clarifying.”
“The prince of Jast, on the day he was to enter the woods to meet The Great, um–”
“The Great Blood Walker?” she asked.
“Yes. The Great Blood Walker,” he said and smiled in the dark. “He decided that if he was going to defeat the vampire king, he would need a secret weapon.”
“A secret weapon?” Though he couldn’t see her, he felt her turn back toward him. “What kind of secret weapon could be used against a vampire?”
Lachlan rolled his head to face her. “The great royal advisers had done some research in the royal archives for years, studying the compiled tales of the horrible menace that stalked their land. And for centuries, they hadn’t been able to stop the horrible Vampire King. According to the advisers, the creature had no weaknesses. The prince, however, knew this couldn’t be true. Everything has a weakness, and after much meditation–”
