Page 63 of Twist of Fate

He retrieved his backpack and placed it beside the bed, then removed his shoes and lay down on top of the covers. A careful stretch of space remained between them.

Connal disliked it immediately.

He stayed where he was.

Luke rolled onto his side, facing him. Exhaustion had softened the hard lines of his expression, but his gaze remained alert.

“Your king is really going to wait until tomorrow?”

“He is waiting for evidence from the warehouse. Not for us.”

“Good.”

“You expected otherwise?”

“I don’t know what to expect from any of this yet.” Luke glanced toward the wall separating them from Gomez. “I’m trying.”

Connal turned onto his side. “So am I.”

Luke’s gaze returned to his. “I noticed.”

The words settled between them, warmer than praise had any right to be.

Neither spoke again. Gradually, Luke’s breathing deepened. The tension left his face, then his shoulders, until sleep finally pulled him under.

Connal watched him for another moment before closing his eyes.

The mattress shifted sometime later. Luke moved closer without waking, seeking Connal through the space between them. Connal lifted his arm, and Luke settled against his chest as naturally as if they had slept that way a hundred times.

The restless pull of the bond quieted.

With his mate safe in his arms and Luke’s friend protected on the other side of the wall, Connal allowed himself to sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Luke woke slowly, aware first of warmth and then of the heavy arm around his waist.

Memory returned in pieces. The warehouse. Connal injured. Gomez brought into the Unseelie with two broken legs and healed by magic. Pixies taking over the neighboring chamber. Luke agreeing to sleep in Connal’s bed because the alternative was an oversized chair and even he wasn’t stubborn enough to pretend that sounded comfortable.

He remembered leaving space between them.

That space was gone.

Luke had somehow ended up half on top of Connal, one leg caught between his and his head resting against the broad span of his chest. Connal’s arm held him securely in place, his hand spread across Luke’s lower back.

Okay. That was new.

Luke lay still while he took stock of the situation. His bruises protested when he breathed too deeply, and his injured hand throbbed beneath its bandage, but nothing felt worse than it had the night before.

Beneath his cheek, Connal’s heartbeat was slow and steady.

Luke lifted his head enough to study him.

Sleep had eased the severity from Connal’s face. His hair had come loose during the night, and the collar of his tunic had fallen open, revealing more of his chest than Luke had seen before. Apparently even asleep, Luke had been curious enough to put one hand there.

His palm rested against warm skin.

Luke should move it.