Page 28 of Ember and Eclipse
When he turned, the wounds the malwolf had given him—lacerations on his side and back—were visible. The rain had washed a lot of the gore away from them both, which meant the remaining crimson was all his. Rel considered offering to tend to him but instead scowled at his back.
He would live, she was certain of it.
Bending over, careful not to put too much weight on her bad ankle, she rummaged through the sack. He had shoved random outfits in there, and there were definitely more pants than tops. She wasn’t sure where her bag was that she’d brought with her, but she was too tired to care. Piecing together a trouser and a thicker top, she began peeling off the wet, cold layers.
“When did you notice I was gone?” she asked finally.
“Couldn’t have been long after, but the watchmen made it more difficult. They left you alone, but I was stopped on several streets. Since I didn’t appear like a drunken reveler, they were suspicious of my intentions at being out so late. Gavenport prides itself on their low crime rate, despite being a large port city. I had to explain half a dozen times that I was looking for my drunken wife, and though they probably saw you, they were of no help pointing out which direction you went in.”
She was fully naked now, and she dried her skin and hair off further with a towel.
“Your scent was more challenging to track in the rain, but that mal reeked. I knew it was already on the hunt if it was in the vicinity. I followed its stench right to you.”
And just in time. She would have been ripped to shreds. Some dark, cold part of her wondered if that would have been better than what waited for her at Romul.
When she was finally dressed in dry clothing, she still didn’t feel any warmer. Minding her ankle, she climbed into bed and, not for the first time, wished the room had a fireplace. She rolled over on her side, her back to the hunter, and listened as he dried off and tended to his wounds. The sound of ripping fabric and splashing water were the only things that let her know he was doing so. Otherwise, he only grunted once with discomfort. When he finished, he tossed the bloody water out the window.
By the time the mattress dipped from his weight, she was shivering under the covers, and her teeth could no longer be stopped from chattering.
She wanted to gohome. She missed the heat of the land, the crocodiles, her porch swing, her bed. The swamplands rarely got this cold, but whenever she was chilled, all she had to do was take a scalding hot bath and load up her fireplace. The cooler nights were some of her favorites, if only because she felt so snug and secure when wrapped in a thick blanket and seated before a blazing fire.
But here, there were only the two thin blankets on the bed. No warm fire, no promise of heat when the sun rose the next day.
“Come here,” he murmured.
“What?” Rel said through clattering teeth.
“Come”—an arm wrapped around her—“here.” He pulled her back, and she made a very embarrassing noise as the short distance between them was closed.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. He removed his arm from around her, but warmthradiatedfrom him. As much as she would hate herself for it, she wanted to nestle into him.
“You can hate me and be cold. Or you can hate me and be warm. As for me, I’d like to get a few hours of sleep not interrupted by your clacking teeth and trembling.”
Silence permeated the room, and she couldn’t bring herself to move away. “How are you always so warm?” she finally asked. She cursed her voice for sounding as breathy as it did.
“Lunae run exceptionally hot.”
She fidgeted, trying to find the best position to get the most out of being pressed against him, when a hand curled around her hip with all the pressure of a warning.
“Stop,” he commanded.
She stiffened, not realizing she’d been wiggling her ass against him. And the hardening mass pressed into her backside was evidence of her unintended torture. The Fates had a cruel sense of humor.
“Stay. Just… stop moving so much.”
She rolled over instead, and his lunar gaze took her in with a hint of surprise.
“If I’m going to use your heat,hunter, then I’m going to use it effectively.”
He smirked wolfishly. “Is this your idea of foreplay?”
She refused to respond to his insinuation. Her ankle was tender, but even so, she wiggled both of her feet between his calves. Showing him her hand, he tracked it as she sought to put it underneath his arm while avoiding any of his injuries. Then, she pressed into him as tightly as she could, every point where they touched immediately beginning to warm. Lastly, she pressed her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was thunderous, and she pretended she was being held by a lover instead of the man who hunted her down.
She was good at that—pretending. There were years when she had only survived due to her unique skill of being able to escape within herself.
“Settled?” he asked, breaking her reverie before it could begin.
“Do you cuddle with all those you hunt?” she mumbled.
