The man needs body warmth. He’s slipped into dangerous sleep. The only way to get his body back to a safe temperature is skin-to-skin contact.
I reach for his trousers. But shock at the sight of his well-muscled chest stills my hands. The modest fire’s flicker gives shape to his flat, toned stomach and strong arms. I push my new awareness of Aodren to the back of my mind and remember that this means his survival.
I don’t look. I don’t look anywhere lower than his chest as I tug his trousers down his legs. My arm smarts from the awkward chaotic maneuvering required to push his chilled body into the bedroll. Once he’s under the layers, I climb inside and lie on top of the man, drawing the bedroll snug over us.
I don’t think about what he’s not wearing. All my focus is on warming his skin. Creating friction. I run my hands up and down his arms and over his chest. I wrap my body around his, hoping my warmth will seep through my thin chemise.
But he’s so cold. Winter-lake cold.
I rub more vigorously, scrubbing his body with my own, ignoring the burn of my wound.
He groans. The sound nearly inspires tears.
Eyes closed, he turns his nose toward the fire. I take the small movement as a good sign and continue to run my hands along the strong lines of his face and plunge my fingers into his hair.
“Wake up, Aodren,” I plead, full of hope. “Please, wake up.”
I massage his torso, arms, shoulders, neck, and head, noticing tiny details I hadn’t seen before. Like a small scar dissecting his right eyebrow. The stubble on his chin is a shade darker than his golden locks. The space between his shoulder and neck is . . . I slam my eyes closed. Stick to the task of warming him up.
Frigid hands find my waist and I yelp. Aodren’s green eyes slide slowly open, piercing me with their intensity.
“Hello, Britta,” he drawls.
It sounds wrong. It doesn’t have Cohen’s gravelly tenor. It makes me question what the hell I’m doing.
Chapter
37
Aodren
I ’M NAKED.
“Hello, Britta,” comes out a little slower and a lot more raspy than usual.
Britta’s little feet find mine and start sliding vigorously over and under them. I think she’s trying to warm my soles, but the movement only brings bouts of pinpricks.
“You have to get warm,” I hear her say, but it’s coming through a tunnel. And I’m so tired.
I yawn and fall deeper into this lovely, insane dream.
When I wake sometime later, it feels like the entire fire has been moved into the bedroll beside me. It’s so wonderfully cozy. I blink, seeing Brita’s face close to mine and wondering if I’m still asleep.
Why is Britta sleeping beside me?
Only, she’s not sleeping. She keeps moving around, the lace of her dress scratching my stomach. Except, it’s not a dress she’s wearing. It’s her underthings. And I’m . . . I’m naked. A vague recollection of already knowing this comes to mind.
Bewildered, I stare at her creamy shoulders, where freckles cascade over her curves like constellations. Gods, I could live beneath these stars forever.
She squirms on top of me. Her body heat scorches my skin, a sensation that would turn any man into an addict. I want to remind her of the fact that I’m currently without clothes. At the very least, I should have her stop moving. That’s what a gentleman would do. But then I remember she must already know I’m naked since she must’ve been the one who stripped me down.
We’re in a cave. I remember now coming inside with her, the chills turning my body heavy and sluggish, but I must’ve dozed off shortly after. Near the entrance of the cave, Gale stands with his head down. His saddle is propped against the curved wall. A small fire crackles an arm span from us.
Instead of thinking about how we’re in a bedroll together and that Britta’s lying on top of me, I focus on the fact that she took care of everything. Gratitude helps warm my core.
“Are you getting warm?” she whispers, her breath on my collarbone.
My head is stuffed with cotton. I don’t trust myself to say anything so I nod.
She slides more to my side so her chest isn’t resting on mine. Our legs are crossed, her feet still sliding lazily against mine. Despite the pricks of pain waking up my limbs, this is the best kind of agony.
She yawns, but I’m fully awake now.
“Can I ask you something?” She turns her hand into a fist where it rests on my chest. “Have you thought of me differently since you found out my mother is Phelia?”
I peel open her fingers. “No.”
She looks down at me with wide, hopeful eyes.
“We are what we make of ourselves. You aren’t your mother. Nor am I my father.”
The interest on her face encourages me to continue. At the very least, it helps me forget the state of undress I’m in. “We don’t have to live their sins or walk the terrible paths they carved before us. Every choice I make, every action, is mine. Whether I succeed or fail, it will be because I chose that path. I’ll never judge you for anything other than your choices. And I hope you’ll do the same for me.”
Her lips slacken into soft curves.
“You know, you’re not the man I thought you were. I—I’m ashamed to say I misjudged you. Can we start again?”
I grin at her. And when her gaze catches on my mouth, I nearly shove her away before I do something that will ruin this moment. She’s not ready to know I’m falling for her. The way she reacted when I kissed her forehead tells me as much. Even if I wish that weren’t the case.
“Name’s Aodren.” I lift my hand for her to shake. “I live just outside Brentyn.”
She chuckles, her warm body vibrating torturously against my chest. “Britta.” She moves so she can lift her good arm, sliding her palm into mine. At the touch, when she realizes my hand is still so cold that it lacks mobility, a small frown forms on her face. “What a coincidence, I live just outside Brentyn too. Seems we have much in common.”
I hold her hand a tad too long before I let it slide from my grasp.
Chapter
38
Cohen
“WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT NEART?” Leif comes into my room after a sleepless night. Thoughts of the castle under siege, Britta and Finn at risk, have turned my guts to ribbons.
“We need to get out of here as soon as possible.” I push myself to sit up. Agony bursts through my arms. Bloody useless arms.
“And how are you going to do that?” Leif crosses his arms. I want to punch the smart look right off his face.
“We need to find out what happened.”
“I can ride out today,” he says. “I just . . . if what they’re saying is true, I don’t want to charge into Neart alone. It’d be smarter to wait and see what the Guild can do for Captain Omar.”
If it were me, I’d leave this instant, no matter the danger that lies ahead. I tell him this.
“Yeah, well, Britta’s always saying you get yourself into unnecessary trouble. You’re too reckless.”
Mention of Britta hits me in the chest.