Page 26 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
Rhyan pushed the vadati stone around my neck out of the way, his hand sliding over the mark. “Here?” He sounded desperate, terrified. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“It’s burning,” I cried, gripping his shoulders, my knees buckling from the pain.
Rhyan’s hand went taut over my skin, his nostrils flaring, anger and fear pulsing in his aura. “Shit. I feel it.” He let out a grunt of pain as if I’d burned him, too, but he held on. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. With a low growl, steam hissed between our skin. His hand against me was no longer warm. He was growing colder against my burning flesh, sending all of the ice of his aura to me.
My chest heaved, my breath short. Rhyan also looked out of breath, but within seconds, the pain stopped. The flames calmed. Rhyan had taken the fire from me.
“Lyr?” It was all he seemed able to say after the effort he’d just used. He looked pale, ready to fall over.
“I’m okay,” I panted, dizzy. “It stopped. It’s not burning anymore.”
He pulled his hand back, and I took it, half afraid I’d branded him with the star, but his skin was untouched, only roughened by his usual callouses.
Now I was shivering, my teeth chattering. Ice prickled over my skin, and every limb shook with cold.
Rhyan pulled the straps of my dress up to cover my exposed breasts. Goosebumps sprung up across my arms. Every inch of me was freezing like I’d stumbled naked into a storm. A sudden wave of nausea hit me in the stomach. I wanted out of this dress. I wanted out of what it meant—the memories I had now from wearing it. I never wanted to wear it, see it, touch it again.
“No,” I sobbed, fighting against him. “No. Get it off. Get it off me.”
Rhyan nodded, his jaw tensed, pulling back down the straps, working quickly at untying my laces, unbuckling my belt, and pushing the remaining skirt past my hips until the entire ensemble pooled on the floor around my legs. I was left only in a pair of underwear and my black leather boots, shivering.
“You’re freezing,” Rhyan said, running his knuckles down my arm. “Your skin’s like ice.”
I hugged myself, as he unstrapped his armor, removed the leather from across his chest, unbuckled his belt, and let his weapons clatter to the floor. De-armored, he was able to unwrap his soturion cloak from around his shoulder and waist and wrap me up in it like a blanket. He pulled me toward him, pressing me flush against him and offering me what body heat he had left through the black tunic he wore beneath his uniform.
He rubbed my back, the cloak wrapped around our shoulders. But it wasn’t enough. “Keep this on,” he said, “and climb into bed. You need to get warm.” He pulled the cloak off of him, draping the remaining material around me.
I started across the room for my bed, crawled on top of the covers, collapsed, and burrowed into the heat clinging to his cloak. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. I was still freezing but soothed by the scent of musk and pine, the scent that was so uniquely Rhyan’s.
There was a popping sound and a hiss as flames crackled in my fireplace.
“Hang on,” Rhyan said.
My closet door scraped against the floor, and I peeked one eye open to find Rhyan searching through my array of dresses.
“Dresser,” I muttered. “Warm clothes are in there.”
He grunted in confirmation and moved to my drawers, opening and closing them until he found a pair of sleeping pants and a long-sleeved shirt made from a heavy cloth.
He sat beside me on the bed and peeled back his cloak. My teeth were still chattering, the cold clinging to me.
“Arms up, partner,” he said then rolled the shirt over my head and pulled my arms through each sleeve. He stood and moved toward the edge of my bed, pulling his cloak back just enough to expose my boots. He unlaced and tugged them off one by one then slipped the sleep pants over my legs, his hands vanishing beneath the cloak that still covered me, fingers scraping my bared thighs and hips.
He checked that the fire was strong in my fireplace then crawled onto the bed. I opened his cloak, motioning for him to join me.
The corner of his mouth tugged up, but he shifted, drawing the cloak over our heads and cradling me against his chest, his hands slipping inside my shirt.
“Sorry,” he whispered, stroking my back. “I went too hard with the cold.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It helped.”
He rested his chin on top of my head and pulled me completely on top of him, arms wrapping tight around me. “Are you feeling any warmer?”
Lying flush against him and feeling my body mold to his was helping. So was the sensation of his arms across my back and the comforting feel of his skin on mine. “Getting there,” I said.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know.”
