Page 50 of Aryn

I blink out of the haze and realize the rest of the group is staring at us. “Aryn, are you alright?” Cato asks more forcefully.

“Yeah,” I say, pulling myself together. “Yes. I can make it another couple of hours.”

“You’re sure?” Ronan presses.

Another bead of sweat slips down my spine. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Night has nearly fallen by the time Ronan spots a cave carved into the rocky hillside. We have to climb a short distance to reach it, and it’s barely tall enough to stand inside, but it offers solid protection from the elements and wind. It sits far enough off the main path that passing travelers or animals shouldn’t easily spot us. Ronan and Lillith venture to the back to make sure we aren’t disturbing any dangerous residents. The cave is only about seventy feet deep, and while they find a few old nests and tufts of shed fur, it seems harmless enough.

“Watch rotations tonight?” I ask as I roll out my sleeping bag and stretch out. My spine straightens with a groan as I sink into the thick hide.

Cato drops cross-legged beside me. “We’ll split it into three shifts. You’re in no shape to stand guard tonight.”

“I’m fine,” I argue, even as my eyes drift shut.

“There was a place to refill our water a little further down the cliff,” Lillith says. “Looks like a stream coming from higher up. We should take advantage while we can.”

I start to push myself up, but Cato’s hand presses against my chest and shoves me back down. “You stay. I’ll take care of yours.”

“I’m fine,” I stress again, huffing in frustration. “Why does no one believe me?”

“Because,” Cato drawls, patting my chest, “you’re a horrible fucking liar.”

I grumble under my breath, but don’t fight him any further, and Cato seems satisfied I’ll stay put. He gathers both our canteens and heads out of the cave with Lillith. The two of them make several trips to refill everyone’s water, while Cameron and Taryn prepare plates of leftover khraelyx meat and dried fruit. The group chats with more energy than they’ve had in the last few nights, thanks to our shorter day of travel.

Once my belly is full, my eyes grow heavy. There’s no point fighting the exhaustion anymore. Taryn has me slide my jacket down just enough for her to check the bandage, then decides it’s fine until morning. I choke down a cold cup of the lichen tea, then after a quick trip outside to relieve myself, I crawl into my sleeping bag and fall into a deep, heavy sleep.

Warmth surrounds me like a cocoon when I wake. It’s pitch black outside, and I have no idea how many hours have passed. Even in my half-asleep state, I feel far more rested, and the pain in my shoulder has dulled to a manageable throb. My mouth is dry, though, so I reach for my canteen.

A soft grunt sounds near my ear, and a rush of that now-familiar scent washes over me as I register the heavy arm looped across my middle. Cato is sound asleep, his breath falling in steady puffs against the base of my neck while he hauls me closer. Even through the thick layers of bedding and clothing, I’m aware of every inch of his body touching mine.

My heart kicks hard at the proximity. I haven’t been this physically close to someone in… decades. An entire lifetime, it feels like. It’s a choice I made, one that helped me maintain all this damned control.

I don’t regret it.

I pride myself on control, but beyond the strict rules I’ve set for myself sits a deeper, baser need that’s been unsatisfied for so very long. The desire for touch—for affection—has always been there. Others find satisfaction in their independence or their ability to go through life with no attachments, but not me. I crave connection.

Most nights I manage it, but some nights it sits heavier than it should. Other nights, it feels like the solitude might shred my insides to pieces, but I’ve never let myself give in to it. One-night stands and fleeting flings never held any appeal. Temporary moments of pleasure would’ve been easy enough to manage, but I have no interest in them. I have no desire to be someone’s plaything, and if I know one thing about myself with absolute certainty, it’s that I don’t do casual.

I was never meant to be alone, but now I don’t know how to exist any other way.

No one at Ljómur caught my interest, and even if they had, it was no place to build anything real. Not when our fates could shift in a single day, and especially not after I watched what being together cost Xeni and Bash.

Cato draws in a deeper breath, pressing closer than anyone has been in so long. The contact stirs some deep, aching thing inside me. His hand splays across my stomach, and I let it stay there. Then his nose nudges into my hair, and I let that happen too.

I shouldn’t encourage it. I shouldn’t allow it. But I’m warm and safe in a way I haven’t felt in years, so I silence the cautious voice in my head. Comfort like this is a rare luxury, and tonight I let myself sink into it. Tomorrow might feel different, but for now, I allow myself to be held.

Cato

Morning light spills across my face, and as I stir awake, I feel more rested than I have in days. Gods, I needed that sleep. Something tickles my nose, and as I crack my eyes open, I take a second to process what I’m seeing.

Aryn is curled against my chest, his head tucked into the crook of my neck, while my arm loops around his waist. And thank fuck for these thick sleeping bags, because I could drive a nail straight between the worlds with this morning wood. I search my memory, trying to figure out how the hell I ended up here.

Cuddling.

I’d taken an extra-long watch last night and was dead on my feet by the time I crawled into my bag. Sure, I was lying next to Aryn, but I wasn’t… groping him. We must’ve gotten cold during the night and gravitated toward each other for warmth.

That has to be it.