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When had his heart ever beat a rhythm so light and happy against the cage of his ribs? Not since the heat of the Empyrean’s sun cycles had warmed his battle skin and he’d shared a laugh or two with another sort of brother.
Under another sort of sky. Under another sort of circumstances.
The remorse came just as it always did whenever he thought of Malik and the promise Bronze had sworn to uphold as he held his dying friend, but this time, it left just as swiftly as it had arrived, chased away by the hope illuminating Clara’s beauty.
And by the mages, she was beautiful. He could no longer pretend he wasn’t affected by it. The truth of it sat warm and secure between his battle-roughened palms and filled other parts of him with an insistent ache.
“I’ve already told you what I find pleasing, princess.”
There. Right there. That was the money shot. The way his heart bloomed when Clara’s shy smile pinned him to the spot was enough to make him want to craft new compliments in new languages just to see that adorable flush creep up her smooth cheeks whenever he said them.
He shook his head, in awe of all he held for once, and whispered, “You have no idea how much strength you carry in your choices. I’ve seen you choose to let three coyotes live, despite the injuries they caused. I’ve heard the love you have for your people and have seen it shine through in soft words with the loudest message. I’ve seen you square off against your king, only to rotate your fangs at the last moment. Trust me, princess, I could not think of any qualities that I’d want more in a monarch.” Then he lifted her clasped hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her heated skin. “And I’ve never been prouder than to be chosen as your champion.”
The bright mist in her eyes wavered with threads of uncertainty. “You don’t owe me any of those words, you know. That wasn’t part of our arrangement.”
The barb surprised him, and that was perhaps why the sting threw him off course.
Ah. Their arrangement. Yes. She was right to remind him of it, but he was startled to find that he’d lost sight of his primary purpose so easily. The paving stones that guided their short journey had been cemented by his singular focus: get the other half of the relic and return home. Somewhere along the lines, however, the road had altered and swayed from its original course to one that favored frosted hair and shy smiles. Now, when he looked at the angle his boots were pointed toward, it was always decidedly in her direction.
And so far, territorial coyotes notwithstanding, he’d not stumbled over a single step. No, his stride had been surer than ever, emboldened with a purpose that had begun to tip the scales in a direction he hadn’t expected.
Perhaps there was a way to see Clara through this and bring the relic back to his brothers. Was the possibility of two homes so hard to imagine?
It is when there’s someone waiting for you to return. When you made a promise that has yet to be fulfilled.
His jaw tensed, the reminder of his guilt quickly souring his mood.“I’ve got enough debts to last until the stones of this stronghold turn to sand and are swept away by the sea. Believe me, my lady, I’ve learned better than to add a single more debt to the pile. It ain’t happening.”
Without meaning to—or maybe a little bit meaning to—he turned closer toward her, resting more of his thigh on the mattress between them so he could see her more fully. Mages, she truly was stunning, especially how her breasts lifted higher over the collar of her laced-up shirt the longer he held her hand. If he looked close enough, he bet he could make out the flutter of her pulse every time her lips parted on a nervous sigh.
Damn, this was not good. As anyone knew, details fucking mattered, and he sure as shit shouldn’t be homing in on the perfect parts of her that had absolutely zero bearing on whether he could find the?—
“Oh my God, you’re still bleeding! I completely forgot!”
Huh? Bleeding?
Clara ripped her hand from his and, faster than a seagull dive-bombing a french fry-holding beachgoer, had him flat on his back with his legs on the bed. Whatever air rushed out of him had somehow also managed to buffet Clara toward the cabinets on the far wall. When Bronze craned his neck to try and ascertain what she was searching for, he immediately wished he hadn’t. Clara turned toward him sporting a king bed’s worth of gauze, gauze rolls, and some half-filled bottles of dubiously colored liquid.
“Clara, I’m fine. Really. The bites have already started to heal.” But his words were directed to the hollow of her neck and the female’s distracting cleavage that landed him on his back in the first place as she leaned over, nearly smothering him.
Normally, it wouldn’t be a bad way to end an afternoon.
Too bad nothing about their day had been normal.
She yanked his shirt to the side to expose his shoulder wound before shaking her head and letting the fabric fall back to his collar. “How could I have been so careless? Stupid stupid,” she muttered to herself. She pinched at the hem of his shirt. “Off. Take this off.”
Unfortunately, he fumbled too long with the edge that was half tucked in, and the delay cost him. In the absence of anything to care for, her idle eyes widened with shock, as if remembering a lit candle left too close to a curtain.
He knew that look. That was the look of a female realizing there was something far bigger and bloodier that demanded her attention. Something she missed. Something she was about to correct ASAP.
Shit.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he rushed out and stopped her from yanking his khakis down. One swift tug and she’d get an eyeful of far more than some leg lacerations.
Far, far more.
“Clara.” A painful growl rumbled beneath her name. It was enough of a warning to give her pause.
Thank the mages she’d only managed to lift his shirt free of his waistband. At the rate she was going, if she hadn’t paused with her hands where they were, he didn’t put it past her to get him full-ass trauma naked in less time it would take to douse the candles in the room.
