Page 45 of Song of the Heart Scale
I set the cloth aside and brushed my fingers along her arm. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She turned to face me fully. Our eyes locked, and something in the space between us shifted. I cupped her face and traced my thumb along the edge of her jaw. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t pull away.
Then she leaned in.
Our lips met, softly at first, a question neither of us needed to ask. She tasted like warmth and fire and defiance. I deepened the kiss, careful not to push, letting her lead.
When we finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine. “Not exactly how I thought today would go,” she whispered.
I smiled. “Same.”
“But I’m glad you came.”
“So am I.”
We didn’t speak again for a while. I wrapped her in the spare blanket and laid beside her on the bed, our hands tangled between us.
She fell asleep with her head resting on my shoulder, her breath even and soft. I stayed awake, watching the last rays of sunlight fade from the window and promising myself I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.
Even if it meant becoming the shadow the world feared.
I must have dozedoff at some point, because when I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in moonlight. The fire had died down to embers, tossing shadows that flickered across the walls. Cat had shifted in her sleep and was curled on her side now, her hair spilling across the pillow like ink on parchment.
I should have moved—gone to my own room or at least to the chair to give her space—but I couldn't bring myself to leave. There was something mesmerizing about watching her breathe, seeing the hard edges of her face softened by sleep. The woman who fought like a demon by day looked almost peaceful now.
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She stared at me for a moment, disoriented, before awareness crept in. “You're still here,” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.
“I am.” I didn't offer excuses or explanations. It wasn’t as if we hadn’t slept together before.
She pushed up onto one elbow, wincing slightly as the movement stretched the skin on her injured side. “Were you watching me sleep?”
I didn't bother denying it. “Maybe.”
“That's...” she paused, searching for the word, “unsettling.”
“Would you prefer I lied about it?” I asked, my voice low and cryptic in the darkness.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “No. Your honesty is... refreshing.”
“I was making sure you were still breathing,” I said, my voice rougher than intended.
“Is that what you tell all the women who wake up in your bed?”
“You're the only one who’s ever been in my bed.” The words hung between us, heavy with implication.
She reached out and brushed her fingers against the stubble on my jaw. I caught her hand, meaning to push it away, but instead held it there against my face.
The moonlight caught her eyes and turned them to liquid gold. I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face before I could stop myself. Her breath hitched at the contact.
“Your wounds need checking,” I said, my fingers lingering near her cheek.
“Is that what you're doing?” she asked, challenge in her voice despite its softness.
“No.”
She held my gaze, unflinching.
Silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring. I felt her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips, or maybe it was my own heart hammering against my ribs. She was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with her skill in fighting.
