Arlet shifts slightly, the furs rustling as she moves, and a new pang of guilt twists in my gut as my charcoal traces the rise and dip of her form. One bare foot has snuck out from under the blanket to cross over her covered shin.
I keep thinking of last night. When the curse takes hold, when the hungry, foreign thing claws through her veins, it is my voice that calls her back. My hands that keep her tethered to herself.
Suddenly, heat blazes over my skin, and I remember her lips against my flesh. There had been no thought behind it, no calculation, just instinct. A desperate attempt to heal what she had broken.
She should’ve let me kiss her. I would’ve returned her sweetness with passion.
I could imagine her enjoying herself. I could picture moaning at the onslaught of kisses I’d gift her in gratitude.
If she wanted release, I would be there for her. I would draw her out of her head. Make her forget her sadness.
She would give herself to me in trust, and it would be my job to ensure every twisted fantasy in her head was completed to her satisfaction.Icould give her what she needs.
Heat snakes through me, oblivious to how cold I’d been throughout the years. The adrenaline rushes to my cock, and my fingers twitch, eager to stroke her flesh. She could have been soft and well-fucked right now. But she’d rejected my advance.
Likely, because I am a bastard.
Arlet shifts under the blankets, her lashes fluttering before her gaze meets mine. I close the sketch book, and cast it to the side where my blankets are strewn. Then I adjust my pants.
Awareness dawns slowly, her breath catching as the space between us seems to shrink.
She swallows, her throat bobbing. The lamp light paints her in warm hues, and I wonder if she’s ever looked at herself the way I do.
“Good morning,” she murmurs, sitting up, her back arching slightly as she stretches the remnants of sleep away. “Are they here?”
They? Ah, yes.
Morning. Breakfast. Theren.
Time moves differently in this room, expanding and folding over itself.
“Not yet,” I say softly.
She reaches up, trying to comb through her locks, before giving up and falling back onto the bed.
So tired, little human.
“Would you like me to help you with your hair?” I ask, surprising myself.
She looks up at me, blinking rapidly.
“I—wouldn’t that be inappropriate?”
I shrug. “I’ve already seen your hair down. I only do it for your sore arms.”
She shifts on the bed, then reaches for her pack, wincing as she fishes out a stone comb. When her hand extends, holding it out to me, I smile.
Reallysmile. Perhaps she isn’t so mad after last night.
She looks unsure. “It’s simple. Just?—”
“I know how to do such things,” I murmur.
Silence falls over us as I untie the band around her locks, and let the red spill out over her shoulders. Gently, I work my way through the tangled tresses.
They are soft and carry her fragrance.
“Did… Adra teach you about these things?” Arlet asks.