Page 28 of Gunnar

Gunnar’s expression stays serious. He’s watching me with a strange intensity, his pupils dilated; his chest rising and falling.

Abruptly, he tears his attention away and his gaze moves from Orson to Torin and back again.

“Alexandria is under our roof.”

The words land heavy.

“Which means she’s under our protection.”

He gives Orson a hard look.

“Remember that.”

Torin nods immediately.

Orson mutters something but doesn’t argue.

Gunnar turns back to me. “You should get some sleep.” His tone is softer now.

I get up right away. “I’ll just clear the plates first⁠—”

“No.” His hand closes lightly around my wrist.

“Leave them.”

My skin tingles where he’s touching me.

I want him to let go.

I want him to keep holding on.

“You’re a guest here,” he adds.

“Oh…” I blink. I have no idea of safehouse-guest protocol. And honestly, I’m about to sleep on my feet.

He releases my wrist.

Then his brow furrows. “The bed,” he mutters. “I’ll help you put the sheets on.”

“I can do it,” I say automatically.

He shakes his head. “That bed’s big. You’ll need two people to get them on straight.”

He pushes his chair back and stands.

“Come on.”

For a second I think about protesting again. But my limbs feel heavy and the idea of wrestling with a pile of sheets seems overwhelming.

“Fine,” I mutter.

Torin lifts his beer in a silent toast as we leave the room.

Orson doesn’t look up.

The hallway is completely dark now. Gunnar walks ahead of me, his broad figure barely visible.

The lamp is still burning, illuminating the gigantic bed.