Page 41

Fate

Before

The sensation of beingwatched draws me from a restless sleep only to find Nash awake, still lying across from me, staring. I don't move, loving this moment of waking up with him. After what I shared last night, pouring out the festering nastiness of my hard heart, a new comfortableness and warmth has fallen between us. Well, at least it has for me. And damn, I want more. More of knowing him, more of him knowing me.

The morning sun heats my bare cheek, making me smile. My eyes shutter closed at the delicious sensation of... oh hell.

I forgot to flip the veil back last night before falling asleep.

"Um, hi?" I whisper. Shit. Shit. Bye, comfortableness. Nice knowing you. It was fun while it lasted.

"Hi." He smiles back.

"Stop being weird. That’s my job."

"Your hair. It's blonde."

"That's what you're looking at?" A bite of disappointment dips my tone. For a second there, I thought.... Right, stop being the stupid girl, Fate. You’re you and he’s the sexy military Greek god who somehow pulled more from you than any person has. Ever. "Why are you here? Why did you come back? Tell me the truth, no jokes."

Brown eyes stare into mine, searching. "How could any man leave behind the woman who gave up her own freedom for the freedom of others? Where's the pink hair you love?"

"I changed it for this... journey. And I know a lot of guys who would’ve walked away."

"Then you know guys, not men."

I snort a harsh laugh, and the corners of his lips spread farther across his bearded cheeks. "You couldn't be more right there."

"I need to tell you something."

"Okay," I whisper, bracing myself, but he doesn't get a chance as the too-familiar grind of metal against metal snaps us back to the real world. The reality our strange conversation somehow helped me forget for a brief moment in time.

By the time my door opens, the veil is situated and I'm on my feet. Halfway across camp, the same sensation from this morning creeps up my neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end. I don't dare turn to verify my suspicions, but the electricity and heat flowing through every vein tells me it’s him, Nash, watching. Protecting.

And just like that, a small part of me wishes I was that girl again who believed in fairy tales. The damsel in distress the hero always falls for. But that's all it is, a stupid wish about a happy ending I’ll never see.

At least today it’s cooking instead of laundry. That river creeps me out with its deep, dark water. Who knows what lurks in its depths, ready to snap me off the bank and drag me under. Even if the kitchen feels like Hell’s personal sauna, I’ll take it any day over laundry.

This time when they bring me back, I'm able to stay on my feet. Until I see him, that is. The rattle of the dinner tray sounds behind me but I keep staring, gaping. As soon as the door closes, my knees give out and I fall to the floor.

"Hell, do I look that bad?" he groans from the other side.

"Yeah."

"You don't sugarcoat shit, do ya, Pops. Stop staring. It's weird."

A bit of relief settles my thundering heart at his joke. The tray rattles in my shaking hands as I make my way to the dividing wall. "Here, drink something."

Today he doesn't refuse. Instead he drags himself over, falling to the dirt in front of where I sit. It takes a couple of tries, but we figure out a system to get more water into his mouth than on the ground.

"Now food," I urge.

It doesn't take either of us long to figure out the best way for him to get the beans is to eat them off me. Off my two pale fingers, to be exact. It starts out a bit awkwardly, trying to find the best angle, and one time I jam my fingers so far down his throat he gags. Then... it’s not. At some point I forget about the food, forget about Africa, and keep dipping my fingers just to feel his lips against my skin again.

We don't talk. No jokes.

When it's all gone and there’s nothing left for him to suck off, I'm staring, breaths short and fast, the heat between my thighs unbearable. He doesn't move either, eyes—well eye, as the other is swelled shut, locked with mine. And damn it if I hate this veil more than ever right now.

"Well that was a first," he tries to joke, but it falls flat.