Sam touched my hand. Snow began to fall, tapping the tent in a soft rhythm until all outside sound was smothered. “We did have a small breakthrough about the phoenix song,” he told the others.
“Maybe.” I didn’t want to get their hopes up in case we were wrong. “We still need more information. I keep hoping the books will help.” I glanced at the pile, but sleepiness tugged at the back of my thoughts. The books hadn’t provided any new information during the time we’d been snowbound, and it was unlikely we’d find anything else before Soul Night.
While we ate, Sam repeated our conversation about birdsong and our guesses about the nature of the phoenix song.
“What’s the next step?” Whit asked.
“I’m going to listen to as much of Sam’s music as possible,” I said.
“Oh no.” Whit clutched his chest. “How will you manage?”
I grinned. “I know, but to save the world, I’ll do it. I’m also going to look at the scores on my SED if I can figure out how to do that and walk at the same time. I want to make note about any trends in style or instrumentation. All trends, really.”
“So you’ll need a volunteer to carry you back to Range, hmm?” Whit glanced at Sam. “You’re looking a little scrawny lately. I’ll carry Ana.”
Sam snorted. “If anyone’s carrying Ana—”
“I’m walking.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll manage just fine. Thank you.”
“I’m not burdened with youthful pride.” Stef leaned back on her sleeping bag. “Feel free to carry me.”
Whit chuckled and winked at me. “No, Stef, you may not have youthful pride anymore, but you certainly have every other kind of pride there is.”
She threw a mitten at his head and for a few minutes, smiles and laughter filled our tent.
When the lanterns dimmed and Stef and Whit climbed into their sleeping bags, Sam crouched beside me.
“Ana, I was hoping . . .”
I bit my lip and nodded. “I was hoping, too.”
The tension in his shoulders melted like ice in spring, and he arranged our sleeping bags so they were on top of each other, an extra layer of softness underneath as we both shimmied into the top one. I pressed my back against his chest.
“Are you comfortable?” His body curled around mine, solid and warm, and our legs tangled together. Our fingers knotted, his hand over both of mine.
“Yes.” I closed my eyes and listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, the way he tried not to breathe too hard, like breathing might ruin the moment. “Sam.”
He kissed the back of my head.
“Sam.” I wanted to turn around and press my body against his. I wanted to feel his skin beneath his clothes and push my fingers through his hair. I wanted things I could only imagine. But not unless we were alone. “I’m sorry about these last weeks. About the secrets I kept. About my wild ideas. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.” He squeezed my hands, and our knuckles dug against my chest. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, either. I got so lost in my own guilt and misery that I forgot what’s most important.”
“What’s that?”
“Living. Loving. Making the most of our time together, no matter how short or long it will be.”
I tugged my hands from his and pressed his palm flat against my heartbeat. After he’d saved me from Rangedge Lake, I’d awakened to find him like this, holding me close, warming me, though he didn’t know who I was. What I was.
Now I traced the back of his splayed-out hand, feeling bones and knuckles and muscle, and when I released his hand, he didn’t ask if I was sure. We both knew I was, or I wouldn’t have invited him. He lingered over my heart a moment longer, breathing hard into my hair, and then slid his hand over the curves of my body, awakening in me a deep and wonderful ache.
Heavy layers of cloth muffled our breathing, his whispered love. We were cautious and quiet, but fires ignited within me and I’d never wished so hard that we were alone. I wanted to turn over and map out the lines of muscle on his body, too, but if I did, I never think about sleep again. And Sam seemed content—more than content—drawing patterns on my stomach, smoothing his palm over the slope of my hip, and turning my body into liquid. I’d never wanted anything so much as I wanted him to keep touching me.
When his movements shifted from sensual to sweet, and his breath turned soft and even behind me, warm on the back of my neck, I finally began to drift. Though I wasn’t nearly ready to stop, sleep dragged at me, and this wasn’t our only night. There were still a few more nights to fall asleep with his hands on my bare skin.
Halfway into a dream of sitting at the piano with Sam, thunder snapped me awake.
And a shrill ringing surged through my head.
22
FLIGHT
“DRAGONS!”
I struggled around Sam’s arms and legs, shouting. He jerked awake, and on the other side of the tent, Stef and Whit were already out of their sleeping bags and lighting lanterns and finding pistols. Sylph poured from the tent, shrieking.