Page 221 of The Edge of Darkness

Holy fuck.

I peeled my sweat-slicked body off hers and she rolled onto her back beneath me. When she looked up at me, I had to find my breath. Her cheeks were flushed with color, and her eyes were glazed and shimmering.

I stared down at her, fascinated by her beauty.

What was I supposed to say or do now? I usually never engaged in conversation with anyone after fucking them.

But this? This didn’t feel like just any quick fuck. And she . . .

She would be my undoing.

I finally found my voice, raspy as it was. “Are you warm enough now?”

Her lips tilted at the corner. “Very much so.”

“Good.”

I slid to the side, and she suddenly rose onto her elbows, as if she was afraid I was about to leave her and go back to the rug in front of the fire. It looked as if she’d catch my arm and stop me if I tried.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured her. “I just don’t want to smother you.”

“Oh.” She relaxed again.

Propping an arm behind my head, I settled back on the mattress, letting the sweat dry, and trying to sort through all the thoughts that were spinning through my mind.

Nivelle turned onto her side and watched me. I could feel her gaze as she dragged it down my body, over every muscle and ridge. There was no hint of judgment in her perusal, just an intimate interest that I hadn’t witnessed from her before, or from anyone, for that matter. It wasn’t lusty or ravenous. It was curious, and caring, and it did something strange to my stomach.

I repositioned myself, hoping the movement would temper the fluttering feeling that was taking root in the center of my chest. When I brought my right leg up, and bent it at the knee, Nivelle’s expression tightened. The thick, jagged scar that stretched nearly the entire circumference of my upper thigh, just beneath the crease of my hip, had caught her attention.

“What happened there?” she asked.

“It’s not a very pleasant story.”

“I want to hear it.”

“It was during the battle of Gabbath—the last war with Lyceius. I had a . . . momentary lapse of judgment.” I chuckled, recalling the memory. “I got cocky, and ended up taking a hit to the chin that damn-near knocked me out. One of Lyceius’s creatures went for the kill, and I snapped back into full consciousness just as its talon sliced through my leg. I moved in time for it to not take my leg clean off. But . . .” I glanced down at the crude scar. “Let’s just say it was literally dangling by a thread.”

Nivelle gaped at me. “How did you heal from that?”

“Maeson.”

“Maeson healed you?”

I nodded. “I was ported off the battlefield, and when Niall found me, he told me he had conveniently just met a very powerful healer who had saved him, Aremis, and some others. He tracked her down and brought her to me. The poor thing; she turned deathly white when she saw the damage. My skin kept trying to re-form, but so much of it was severed, and it lacked a constant blood supply, so the effort wasn’t working. I passed out for most of the reconstruction, so I don’t know the specifics on how she got her magic to mend everything into perfect, working order again, but when I awoke a couple of days later, my leg was reattached. I’ll always bear this mark to remind me not to underestimate my enemies.”

I had never told that story to a female before. None of them had ever bothered to ask. Then again, no one had ever taken the time to really study me with genuine interest the way Nivelle had.

She reached out with a delicate finger, hesitating only a moment before she pressed it against the blemish and traced it to where it ended . . . near where my cock now rested. She flicked her eyes to mine, and I knew the exact words she was thinking: It came dangerously close to⁠—

“My cock—gods-blessed—was miraculously unharmed,” I said, tossing her a grin.

Instead of an eye-roll, or a scoff, like I fully anticipated from her, she blushed and let out a breathy laugh.

There had to be something else coming—a sarcastic remark, a jest aimed at the thing that had just brought her so much pleasure. But she remained quiet, looking at me through the dim firelight.

I blinked, taken aback by her response.

For weeks, I’d weathered every judgmental stare from her, so much so, that I’d grown accustomed to her fiery countenance.