Page 89 of The Garnet Daughter
“Yes,” he answers quickly.
“Can I say something about it now?”
“Anything.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. But I think you deserve better.”
“Alright, anything but that,” he teases, but I know he’s serious.
“I—Too many things keep happening, a lot of them my fault. Doesn’t it seem foolish to be distracted by . . . it?” My words come out all wrong.
“Things are always happening or going terribly. But—” His tone changes so abruptly, a chill runs over every part of my skin exposed to the air. “If you were mine, we could face it all together, comfort each other better than we can now.”
“August . . .” I can feel my eyes almost drop out of their sockets. His voice is clearer, like he has turned toward me.
“Deeper. Without having to hold back. Without the wall you put between us.” His fingertips graze my shoulder, sliding a water-drenched strand of hair into place. “And I have put very little thought into what I deserve, only what I want.”
I stare at the shoreline, dumbfounded. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak like this. I have definitely never heard his voice sound like that before. If this were my first impression of him, I would never guess he had a lighthearted side, only this low baritone version that is making my heart pound so hard it’s likely making more ripples in the surface than the waterfall.
“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” he says so close, I swear it’s right in my ear. If I leaned backward, would I feel his chest against me?
“No,” I reply meekly. “I, um, think that covers it.”
This is not how I expected this conversation was going to go.
“Good.” He sounds pleased with himself at my reaction.
And then the current around me churns in small rapids, sloshing against my shoulders from quick movement. He stands without announcing his departure and walks to the shoreline. His corded back flexes and the sheen from the water highlights everything in annoying detail. The water level gets lower and lower on him until his perfectly sculpted backside is visible.
I yelp and turn toward the cliffside, but my eyes move on their own, locking onto his glistening form and betraying me.
He smirks over his shoulder. “You said you wanted privacy, not me.”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Iwait until August disappears, holding his clothing in hand to change privately behind a group of dense trees. I swim as close as I can to the boulder I left mine on and bolt out of the water. With an ungraceful scoop, I collect all my items, using them as a ridiculous shield before finding a place to dress out of his view among the small forest.
I hang the slightly damp fabric on the twiggy branches of a bush and out of the way as I gently wring my hair, rolling the curls between my fingers, then plaiting it in a low braid.
August hasn’t said a word since he left me speechless in the watering hole, not just from the view as he walked away, but from the way he spoke in my ear, how deeply I felt it, stirring emotions I’m finding it almost impossible to smother.
The rustling of foliage pulls my attention toward the direction he headed to. I can faintly see his bare back through the crisscrossing branches. I tuck myself farther behind a large tree trunk and focus on dressing.
I pull my undergarments up my still wet legs, but then a sharp poke in my foot sends a zip of pain, eliciting a shocked gasp. I lean against the tree to inspect it, expecting the worst, a stinger or some sort of venomous insect like we have on Frith. Apunishment for walking into the brush barefoot, but the thought of wet boots clouded my judgement.
With a sigh of relief, I see a skinny piece of dry wood sticking out of the heel. I remove the splinter and flick it off to the side. It’s minor, barely broke the skin, and nothing to worry about. But for some reason, I can’t shake the uneasiness washing over me. Eerie silence falls on the oasis, making my ears pop and confirming the shift in atmosphere. The birds and small mammals in the area notice it too. They are frozen and silent, as if a predator is approaching.
I straighten slowly and peek through the brush to where I saw August changing, but I can no longer spot him.
A single twig snaps before he is on me.
August covers my mouth, smothering my yelp of surprise and pushing me back against the rough bark of the tree.
My eyes meet his as I try to understand why he would be doing this. His are dilated with worry in a way that makes my stomach turn.
“Quiet,” he whispers, covering my body completely with his. “I heard something.”
