I can’t stand the thought of her looking so down, so I reach for something—anything—to lift her mood.
“Hay heridas demasiado dulces como para borrarse,”I respond, playing her own game.
There are wounds too sweet to be erased.
Her honeyed brown eyes snap to mine, and she smiles—slow and languid. For some reason, it strikes a heat inside me, and guilt twists in my chest.
I wait for the ice to come, for it to crawl up my limbs as it always does, but it doesn’t. Instead, we sit there, staring at each other.
“That might be the first time you’ve ever said a full sentence in my tongue. Your pronunciation is good,” she says, shaking off some of the sadness.
I want to take my lie back, but all the reasons for saying them still stand.
“Thank you for being so open with me,” Arlet says, her voice quiet. “After last night, I don’t think it’s wise to sleep unbound... but we have no rope since I destroyed it.”
"You wish to be tied again?" I ask. I’m not surprised at her bravery, but this time I worry it isn’t just bravery, but more a way to create space between us. Space I am rapidly realizing I don’t want.
She nods, subdued but resolute.
I retrieve a few spare garments from my pack, tearing one into long strips for makeshift bindings. As I approach her, she stands, turning her back to me. She lets me secure the bindings around her wrists, and the feel of her skin under my fingers is like silk. I push the sensation aside, focusing on the task.
“There.” I step back to admire my work. “That should be enough for tonight.”
Arlet turns around, her wrists fidgeting with the bindings, and I notice the room is cold.
As I go to light the fire, guilt for keeping secrets, protectiveness for her well-being, and a growing, dangerous fondness swell inside me. These feelings, I know, are a danger. They collide with memories I can’t outrun, memories that pull me back when I want to keep moving forward.
As the fire crackles, casting shadows across the room, I see worry on her face.
“I’ll be awake if you should turn. You have nothing to worry about.”
The lines between her brows ease, and she breathes out slowly. “Very well. I trust you.”
I blink, realizing that she means it. Truly. And I had to live with the fact I’d already broken that trust by lying to her.
Chapter 27
ARLET’S CURSE
The curse calls me awake once more. It’s a stabbing pain that shoots through me as I realize we are even further from our mark. Much further.
So far I can hardly tell which direction to run.
Fuck.
The room is still. The fire in the hearth burns low, casting flickering shadows along the wooden walls. The air is filled with the scent of smoke and aged timber, and the furs beneath me are soft but cold, unable to hold the heat of my body. I lie on the bed, wrists bound.
"You were so close, little flower. Now I can hardly feel you."
I groan. Irritated, and reluctant to move. But the mark on my ankle burns. The room vanishes. The furs, the firelight, the walls—all gone.
Heat flares, burning through my limbs like wildfire. It spreads like a sickness, an aching, searing hunger. The shadows shift overhead.
"Come back to me."
His voice is velvet and steel, honey dripping over poison. The first voice pulls, wrapping around my thoughts, will, and breath.
I inch upright, chest rising and falling in frantic bursts. The air is thin, my skin is sweaty, and my mouth waters.