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Tarley offered a restrained laugh, a quiet sound of amusement that Lachlan realized he wanted to hear more of. “Oh my stars. The prince believed he was the secret weapon. Figures.”
He imagined she’d rolled her eyes. “Why ‘figures?’”
“The royal arrogance to presume they can fix any problem.”
Lachlan bristled at her criticism, but reined it in. It was a story, and she lived in Kaloma, where the government had failed her.
“How, pray tell, was he the secret weapon?”
“He was the sacrifice,” Lachlan said. “He decided the Great Blood Walker was exhausted and wanted his freedom from his endless walk. So the prince entered the forest and offered himself as a sacrifice to the Walker, provided the Walker would end his torment of the people of Jast.”
“And did he agree to the prince’s plan?”
“Obviously. All that royal hubris can’t be for nothing. But the prince had gotten it all wrong.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the Great Blood Walked wasn’t ahe, but a gorgeous she. So he didn’t have to make a sacrifice at all, becoming her continuous meal.” Lachlan laughed, and Tarley reached out, tapping his shoulder playfully. “And that is how Prince Lachlan Nikolas became a vampire.”
Tarley rolled away from him. “That was a good one,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
He felt as if his chest expanded under that knowledge.
She shuddered.
“You okay?”
“Yes. I think I’m going to have to put my pants back on.” Tarley sat up to find them.
Lachlan hesitated, then said, “Or we could share body heat. For survival purposes.”
He expected her to reject the idea, and perhaps she had planned to. Silence stretched on for several extra beats in the dark.
“It’s a good idea,” she admitted.
He still expected her to say, “but,” only then she moved, and slid in next to him, her body fitting against his perfectly. He tried not to think about how her tunic was only a bit of fabric between his body and hers. Or about how easy it would be to slide his hand underneath to feel her skin.
“For survival purposes,” she echoed, and her fingers closed around his arm. She pulled it around her so her back was flush against his chest, and his arm was wrapped around her ribs.
Lachlan had the disjointed image of laying with her like this before but thought it must be his imagination. He took a deep breath, inhaling her satisfying scent, resigned that sleep was going to be nearly impossible. Before he knew it, however, he found that listening to her breathing, and hearing it slow as she found sleep, allowed him to relax. He was content to be there in that moment, content to accept this, whatever it was, because he understood that this was probably all Tarley would ever allow him that he could claim as his. And just as he fumbled with the exhaustion infiltrating his thoughts, claiming his waking consciousness, he wondered why he’d even thought that?
9
Several days later, a routine with Ollie had found purchase in their little woodland space. He was getting around better, though his ribs were far from healed and would take several more weeks to return to normal. He didn’t let that keep him from helping around camp. He collected firewood and water. He took care of the fire and helped her cook the food—he knew so little—she brought back with her. Every night, they sat around the campfire talking about her life and snippets of what he would share with her, then they’d tell stories. Most of the time, she was fighting laughter. He had a way of charming her into it, and when he succeeded, he always looked so pleased with himself.
But she wouldn’t admit she was worried. Worried she’d let her guard down with him too easily. Worried that Mattias hadn’t arrived to give her the all-clear or to replenish her supplies. Though to be fair, no one knew she had another mouth to feed with her. She could survive in the forest without supplies, if necessary, but it was clear the longer she was with Ollie, he couldn’t. Not indefinitely. The more they were together, the more she realized she needed to get him back to civilization, if not for him then to return to some semblance of what was normal. Ollie was chaos incarnate to her sense of self.
With the bedding spread out over bushes again to air out in the sunshine, she stopped and took a deep breath filling her lungs and reminding herself this was what was real. The woods. The freedom. The truth was Ollie was getting to her, breaking her down, which she found annoying and disconcerting. The ease with which he disarmed her, the cuddling at night to conserve body heat, the laughter. She needed him gone and fast, but even as much as she wanted him out of her hair, she wasn’t sure she could risk returning to Sevens yet. For her own safety. That—to protect her—had to be the reason Mattias hadn’t arrived with the all-clear.
The sounds of the steps made her turn.
Ollie was walking across the camp. His brown hair was unruly and damp. Her breath caught. He was so very appealing, and she hated that she noticed. Hated that for the last three days, she’d anticipated when he’d return from the river looking this way.
“Good bath?” she asked, turning back to the bushes, tugging on the corner of one of the blankets to keep from looking at him. Only, as much as she willed it, she couldn’t unsee him, his image burned into her brain. She ignored the way her body wanted to respond, to lean toward him, to accept any offering of attention he’d give.
Annoying.
She needed some space.
