Page 61 of The Crown of Moonlight
Chyr looks up where he’s crouched by the fire, his eyes gleaming like stars.He steals my breath, and his attention feels like a living force that pulls me towards him with such intensity it’s like a hook sunk into my chest.
His gaze shifts back to the fire, and the pull eases.My breath still comes too fast and shallow, and I concentrate on removing clean clothing from my pack.
“I’ll check your wound when you’re finished bathing,” I warn.“Don’t try to remove the dressing yourself.”
A muscle twitches in his cheek, and he studies me, his jaw clenched, his mouth a harsh slash bracketed by the small silver scar at one corner.But Great Mother, he is beautiful.
His lips part and the sharp line of his jaw softens as if he means to say something, then he shakes his head and turns his back.Moving with practised efficiency, he strips off the various swords and knives he has strapped to himself and then unpins the plaid from his shoulder and peels off the buff coat and the shirt beneath.
He’s left in nothing but the kilted plaid and the thin bandage wrapped around his chest.The wide expanse of his back tapers from broad shoulders to his narrow waist.My fingers twitch, wanting to trace the long groove of his spine between the ridges of muscle.He turns and snatches up a spare plaid in one hand and his sword in the other.
Heat flares in his eyes as they meet mine.An answering burn spikes somewhere deep inside me.
Six feet separate us.My throat is dry, and I swallow slowly.Chyr’s chest rises and falls.His attention drops to my lips, and he takes a step.
Then he stills and curses beneath his breath.Striding past me, he leaves the cavern.
My hands shake.I sink cross-legged to the ground, my knees unsteady and the damp plaid puddled around me.I will my heart to slow down, my breath to calm.
Relief and disappointment tangle into a knot beneath my ribs.
I’ve known what Chyr is.I’ve felt the attraction—I’d have needed to be dead not to feel it.Still, it has grown deeper, become more, and when I’m pressed beside him, wrapped in his heat and the hard strength of his arms, I can’t keep pretending that all I want is warmth and comfort.
He comes back faster than I expected, and I’ve made no effort to change my clothes.I’m still slumped on the ground wrapped in nothing but the damp plaid, my hair dripping, and my feet numbed from cold.
If I’m honest with myself, that’s by choice, not neglect.
Chyr crosses the cavern in a rush, then he crouches and tips my chin up.“Are you hurt?What happened?”
I shake my head, the roughened pads of his fingers scraping against my skin.“I was making a decision.”
He rocks back on his heels.“Thank fuck.I don’t think I can take you depleting yourself again.”
His hair is damp and tousled, falling loose around his face.The fire has burned low, turning his eyes to bottomless honey-gold.They linger on mine, pinning me in place.
The edge of his thumb brushes my bottom lip, skims over my cheek.I can’t—I don’t—look away.
He groans and pulls me to my feet.His hand slides to the back of my neck.I push forward as he leans closer, and our lips crash together.His teeth nip until my mouth opens, and he dips his tongue inside, coaxing mine to dance.I run my finger down the hollow of his spine, and he shudders and pulls me closer.
Then just as quickly, he pulls back.“We can’t,” he rasps.“You don’t want this.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
He sets his jaw and shakes his head.I stare at him, but he gives nothing away, and finally I raise my chin and stalk back to retrieve my dagger.He’s standing where I left him, his head bowed.
“I still need to change your dressing,” I remind him.
I’m gentle as I slice through the knot that holds the bandage in place and unwind the layers of cloth—more gentle than I feel.I can’t even say why I’m angry, because he was right to stop me.
Wasn’t he?
I’m not naïve.I’ve heard women talk as they work together, sharing their burdens and turning their complaints into sly jokes about their husbands.I’m aware that once I’m married, I’ll be lucky if my husband gives a damn about what I want.Or gives me the option to say no to whathewants.
Chyr watches me unwind the strips of linen bound around his chest.There’s a dark hush between breaths when my fingers brush his skin, but bit by bit I’m more certain of my feelings as I touch him.
The final bit of bandage strips away, and I see the wound for the first time since I healed it yesterday.After his pain earlier and the battle with the Ravenhounds, I expected it to be reopened.Instead, new red skin stretches the full length of the wound, indented deeply over the worst of the injury.It’s fully sealed, though, and lower, where the wound was shallower, most of it has faded from pink to silver so that it’s barely visible.
My throat clogs, and my lungs squeeze.
