Page 143
Brand trailed his hand down a hanging frond of slick greenery, twirling the end around his fingers. “What hope might there be for me, Lunara?”
She jolted at his use of her name, unable to recall the last time she heard it in that gravelly tone. “W-what do you mean?”
He faced her, a picture of pure misery. “Am I to be like this forever? One moment leaving my workshop and heading to bed after a rare afternoon of being left to my own devices, the next waking up to this nightmare? Am I to spend my days walking through the wreckage of my city utterly detached, unable to reconcile what I see with what I know? Is this my life?”
No. No, no, no.
Lunara stopped herself from outwardly reacting by sheer force of will, schooling her features into as bland a mask as she was able.
Less than a day.
It had been less than a single, full day since Lyriat cornered her and very explicitly described Brand’s claim that his most recent memory was of a trip to Kohamaia. Since he insisted Brand was getting worse. Fool that she was, Lunara refused to believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. The pressure was already enough to crush her.
But here it was, staring her in the face, utterly undeniable.
Brand closed some of the distance between them, slowly shaking his head. “My blessed mate stands before me, radiant as the sunstar,” he whispered, “but I do not know her. Cannot even bring myself to simply reach out and touch her. To see if her softness is all I imagine it to be. To be sure that she’s real.”
In complete juxtaposition of his words, he did, in fact, reach out to trace the air around her face. Lunara’s breath hitched when the ghost of his heat sank into her skin. She was tempted to force it, to tilt her head so his palm cupped her cheek, but she refused to make the choice for him.
“I wonder what healing you could visit upon my heart and soul beyond this bloody darkness, were I brave enough to take such a gift for myself.” Brand’s lips peeled back, his teeth clenched like he was in pain, yet he didn’t pull away. “But I’m a fool. A desperate, worthless fool.”
“Never,” she argued, struggling to hold in her tears. “Could you have done this last week?”
Brand considered that, the tiniest bit of tension leaving his shoulders. “No.”
“See?” Even she heard the false lightness in her tone. “You’re already getting better.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” He dropped his hand and Lunara wanted to scream to the sky.
“I—”
“Touch me.”
“What?”
“Please,” Brand rasped. “Touch me.”
The first he requested such a thing since waking. Sisters save her.
“Where? How?”
“Wherever. However.” He somehow drew closer. “Free me, I beg you.”
Lunara’s pulse clamored in her ears as she skimmed her gaze over the feast of his towering form, not wanting to waste such an opportunity. It was silly to be so pleased that his beard was coming back in, stubble shadowing the sharp cut of his jaw, but there was something raw about Brand that wasn’t suited to clean-shaven skin. She already had the privilege of laying a gentle touch there, though.
Instead, Lunara fixed on the heaving plane of his chest. On the marks of her blooding amidst the soft hairs there, perfectly framed by the deep vee of his wrapped sparring tunic. She blinked, and her trembling hand was hovering between them. All she had to do was push forward and…
Brand’s head fell back on contact, somewhere between blissful and tortured as his growl rumbled into a long groan. The sound pooled low in her belly, her own breath shuddering out.
“Does it hurt?”
He huffed something like a laugh. “I’m beginning to think the hurt might be good.”
Emboldened by that stunning admission, Lunara pressed her palm flat, the tips of her nails sinking into his flesh like they might be able to claw their way closer to the steady beat, beat, beat of his heart.
Her heart.
How did they get here? Why now? If she knew, Lunara would recreate the circumstances, repeating them over and over again. She’d gladly survive on sips and tastes, on glimpses of how it used to be, until he was well. Anything was better than the way it had been since they found him.
