Page 59 of Soulgazer

“Well, sure, you…” His gaze rests on my throat, the flesh tender and undoubtedly pink. “You’re not serious.”

My laugh is quieter now, tapering off as I hug my legs to my chest and look across the deck. The others have gathered beneath a lamp, tension easing with every curl of steam from their bowls. For the first time…I want to join them. And I think maybe they’d like me to as well.

“You’re becoming a wolf, you know.”

I twist round to see Faolan staring at me, eyes glinting like beetle wings in the dark. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’ll have a harder time pretending to be a lamb.” His teeth flash on a smile. “Though how you ever had anyone convinced of that is beyond me.”

“I’ve never pretended to be a lamb.”

“No?” He chuckles. “With all your docile manners and sweetwords. Perhaps I ought to start calling you Mutton Chop as well as Wolf Tamer—”

“Don’t you dare!” I catch his hand when he reaches for my eye, laughing in spite of myself as I trap it flat against my cheek. It’s like fire against my chilled skin, his pulse running a quick rhythm to match my own. Faolan meets my gaze unflinching, just as he’s done from that very first night—looking too close, seeing too much.

My smile fades.

I don’t know what I want from this yet. My husband who’s not a husband, this body that yearns in a way I still can’t understand. Irritation and hurt mingle with hope and desire, and I’m lost in the throes of it all every time Faolan speaks. Sayingjustthe right things, which are all so horribly wrong.

He parts his lips, unable to stand the silence for long, and I lean forward on instinct.

Stop myself only a breath away.

Frown.

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Faolan—gods.” I tug his arm farther into the lamplight, revealing the bite wound that should’ve stopped bleeding hours ago. Twelve tiny punctures gape in a crescent, golden threads seeping at the edges of every bright red mark.

“I know. It’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine.”

“You can’t know that.” I try to hold on, but he pulls free of my grip. “You’re not a surgeon!”

“Neither are you.”

“We need to wash it out. Bandage it, but I should probably—”

“I told you, it’s fine. I’ve dealt with far worse.” Faolan shoves tohis feet, and I don’t miss the way he lurches for the railing above my head. But whatever strength he has, I’ve only a fraction left. “Let me get us some food and rest, and I’ll be just grand. Stop your worrying, Trouble.”

He staggers toward the crew and stops. Grins.

“Though it’s sweet of you to start now.”

Twenty-Two

“…wide in the…broad…ocean eyes.”

Faolan’s breath tickles my ear and I try to bat the sensation away, but my arms are pinned to my chest beneath the weight of his hold. I shift, and his sweat-slicked skin slides against mine—bare chest pressed to my back, arms round my torso where my shirt’s drawn up, one leg tossed over mine.

My eyes fly open and I glance down at the hand spread out over my ribs just below my breasts, confusion warring with the heat he puts off—gods, is his flesh made of fire?

“Faolan?” I wriggle one arm free and shove his hand off my stomach, twisting in the process. This doesn’t make sense. He always falls asleep on his stomach and spends the night tossing while I keep to myself on the opposite side. Not once has he tried to touch me like this on purpose. “What—”

His fingers slide over my lips and I taste salt as he pats my face clumsily, nuzzling my shoulder. “Shh. I’m tryin’ to get it right.”

He carries on humming for a second and I’m too shocked to do much more than lie beside him, staring hard at the window and the faint light showing through from the sliver of moon, because his finger is tracing my bottom lip in tiny sweeps that I feel throughmy entire body. Yet the emotions slipping beneath my skin, repelled by the caipín baís tattoo, are as wild and impossible to comprehend as my husband. I’m about to roll off the bed to escape the confusion—or perhaps roll closer—when he lets out a “Ha!” and turns me onto my back himself.