Page 81 of To Catch A Rogue
But that was then.
This was now.
She was no longerjusthis friend.
And as she snuggled into the mattress beside him, barely two inches between them, he realized things could never be the way they used to be ever again.
And it was torture, because he himself had set the terms between them. Nothing further would happen between them, unless she met him in the middle.
"We used to do this as children," Lark admitted, dragging the covers up to her chin.
He turned his head to look at her. "We're not children anymore."
Her dark eyes were shadows in the night.No. They weren't. He could read it in her expression, and the soft set of her lips.
"How are you feeling?" She'd practically fled to her room when they returned, missing dinner. He'd paused outside her bedchambers on the way to his own, his hand poised to knock, but for some reason he'd hesitated.
"Fine."
Far from it,said her tone.
"Can't sleep?"
"My feet are cold," she whispered.
It was much more than that. But he flashed her a smile, trying to lure one from her as he sought to gauge what she was thinking. "If you so much as inch those little icicles anywhere near me, it will be war."
Lark smiled, and his heart gave a furious squeeze at the sight of it. "As I recall, I always used to win."
"Perhaps I always used to let you."
"Let me?" she snorted, rolling onto her side, her eyes glittering dangerously.
"Let you," he repeated. "Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong? Or are we going to spend half the night arguing about who won?"
Lark wet her lips.
The humor in her eyes died.
And he desperately wanted to bring it back, because this was the closest she'd let him be in years, but this wasn't about him. Something was hurting her. And curse him for a besotted idiot, but he'd do anything to make it better.
"Who do I have to kill?" he whispered.
"No one."
"I daresay I don't like my chances, but I'll even take on Obsidian if he somehow hurt you. It would be a dramatic death. You can weep over my grave. Or... you could just tell me the truth. Not as much fun, of course, but I'll bear the sacrifice."
"Obsidian and I spoke earlier. He told me he doesn't have themarque du sangof the Grigoriev family," she said in a very small voice.
Resting on his side, Charlie reached out and toyed with a strand of her unbound hair. "I think he hopes he's a Grigoriev, more than he believes it. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to forget all trace of myself. My family."
"I can," she whispered.
He frowned at her. He'd barely heard the words. "But you had Tin Man. And us. And—"
"Charlie." She captured his hand in hers, twining her fingers through his. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out.
He'd only ever asked her about her mother once.
