Page 138

I couldn't finish. There were no words for that kind of devastation.

Her eyes softened, defenses lowering. “But you didn’t. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” I echoed, the words tasting like a prayer. “Safe.”

She corrected me gently, “We’re safe. For now.”

I sank onto my bedroll. My coat stayed on, my last thin armor. Still, I could feel the heat of her presence, too close, not close enough.

The lantern burned low, spilling amber across her face. She shifted restlessly, the sound of fabric brushing fabric loud in the hush. Outside, night birds called, wind sighed through pines—but in here, the air moved to her rhythm.

“August?”

“Yes?”

“Are you truly going to attempt to sleep like that?” she asked, eyes glinting in the dim light. Her hair spilled like fire across the bedroll. She looked both weary and wickedly curious.

“For propriety’s sake,” I admitted.

Her lips curved. “I think we’re rather past worrying about propriety, don’t you?” A pause, a flicker of vulnerability.

I shrugged out of my coat at last. My hands stilled on the buttons of my torn shirt—this was madness—but the fabric was ruined, blood-stiffened. I stripped it off.

The Weavers had done impressive work. Where the bullet had torn through, only a pink scar remained—tender to the touch, but whole. Magic could knit flesh, but it couldn't erase the memory of pain.

Bare skin in this small space was perilous, a confession in itself. Her gaze lingered for a heartbeat too long.

But when I lay back down, my whole body was aware of her. The lamplight traced her cheekbones, her lashes, the curve of her mouth. I couldn’t look away.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered. “Especially not tonight.”

I reached across the space between us. Her hand met mine halfway, fingers intertwining like they'd been made to fit.

“You won’t be,” I vowed. “Not while I draw breath. Not ever.”

Her eyes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion, but her hand stayed clasped in mine. “What if. . . what if I wanted to stay? Even when this is over?”

The question cut through me, sharp as a blade, sweet as salvation. Stay. With me. Always. The words burned in my throat, but I couldn't speak them—not when I had nothing to offer but a life of running. Not when she deserved so much more.

“Sleep now,” I murmured, watching her eyes flutter closed. “I'll keep watch.”

“You need rest too,” she protested, but her words were already slurred with approaching dreams.

“I will. Later.”

But I didn't sleep. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Hayes—the confusion in his gaze as my blade found his heart, the way he'd looked at me like I was a stranger. The truth is I was. To him. To my father. To the man I'd been yesterday.

So instead, I kept watch over the woman who'd made that stranger possible. Who'd shown me there was something worth becoming beyond my father's weapon.

Instead, I lay there watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. She murmured something soft, already half-dreaming, and shifted closer—just an inch, but enough that her hair brushed my shoulder. I went utterly still, barely breathing, as if any movement might shatter this fragile sanctuary.

In sleep, she looked younger. Unguarded. The fierce Weaver who'd nearly torn herself apart tonight replaced by the woman who'd once quoted history in my study, who'd challenged every certainty I'd built my life upon.

I had been so certain of who I was. What I believed. Then she arrived and unmade me, thread by thread, until I no longer recognized the man I'd been.

And damn me for a fool, I wouldn't go back. Not for anything.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Tonight, though, this fierce, impossible woman had chosen to trust me with her vulnerability—a woman I had once been trained to destroy, who now held my heart more surely than any chain. The irony should have been bitter, but instead it was the most natural thing in the world.