Page 43

Then she looked away, bouncing in place on the bed. It creaked ominously.

“Still holding up,” Briar said happily. “Told you it wouldn’t break.”

Wick nodded. He didn’t dare move. Every shift made the bed whine in protest.

“Still. Suppose we shouldn’t make too much trouble,” Briar continued thoughtfully. She bit her lip, as if she were thinking hard. Then she turned to him with a smile that almost reached her eyes, her mouth opening in a yawn that turned genuine halfway through.

“I guess Iamtired,” she admitted, rubbing her eyes. “Another big, strange day with the gentleman Skullstalker will tire anyone out.”

“Yes,” Wick agreed mindlessly. He settled carefully into the bed, the wood creaking with every small movement, and gathered Briar into his arms.

Briar hesitated, as she always did. Then she leaned into him.

Moonlight streamed into the room. It was colder here, near the mountains. Briar was rubbing her arms more than usual.

“Wick?” she whispered.

Wick looked down at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something about another blanket, or that he should cover her more thoroughly.

Briar bit her lip. “Can I try something?”

“Of course,” Wick said.

She pushed herself up on his chest and leaned over him. She smelled sour, like she was worried about something.

Wick frowned. “Briar?”

Briar leaned down and kissed him.

Wick’s eyes stayed open. He could see her perfectly, even though the moonlight did not reach her face: her sweet blonde brow, furrowed with concentration. Her pale lashes brushed his cheek. So close and so small and perfect, her lips parting on a sigh as he kissed her back cautiously.

He was clumsy. He knew it. But Briar’s lips were slow and gentle, and soon Wick’s eyes drifted shut.

The sour scent faded from the bedroom air. Another scent replaced it, soft and contented, which usually only occurred when she was falling asleep in his arms.

She touched his face. Her thumb brushed the place where bone became skin, trailing down to touch a scar dimpling his cheek. Her touch felt bigger than the blow that had given him the scar in the first place.

Wick made a noise in her mouth. Not a growl, a lost animal moan.

Briar pulled back. At first, Wick thought she was startled. Then he saw her face; there was no shock on it. He could not actually tell what was on it, and her scent was a jumble once more.

“What was that for?” Wick managed.

“I just wanted…” Briar cleared her throat, giving him an odd smile. “I wanted to see what it was like. Not everybody gets the chance to kiss a Skullstalker.”

Wick waited. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I did.” Briar ducked her head, flustered. “Gods, that was your first kiss, wasn’t it?”

“It was wonderful,” Wick assured her.

Briar flushed. It was strange to see her be so affected over a kiss after all the things they had done together.

“Good. You deserve…” She stopped, biting her lip. “Goodnight, big boy.”

She lay down in his arms and hid her face from him. Wick stroked her back through her sleep shirt, listened to the waterfall pour, and did something he had not done before—he prayed. He did not pledge himself to any deity in particular; Skullstalkers were not a religious bunch, and most gods would not hear them anyway. But he sent his thoughts out across the voids, hoping against hope they would be heard.

Please, he prayed.Let me keep this peace. I would give anything.