Page 178 of War

She gives me a look that says,I wasn’t born yesterday. “I can think of one activity youmightprefer over me …”

The two of us break into laughter, and I give her a playful shove. “Zara!”

“What? Don’t act like it’s not true.”

We snicker a little longer.

Eventually, Zara’s face smooths. “Seriously though, Miriam, get better. And one piece of friendly relationship advice: if you truly like the guy, try not to kill him again.”

I don’t endup seeing War until later that evening. He comes striding into the tent, looking just as imposing as he’s always been. My heart speeds. I still haven’t gotten used to being around him again.

His gaze immediately finds mine. “Wife.” His eyes heat. “I cannot tell you what it does to me, seeing you in our tent. It drove me mad, living here without you.”

I set aside the arrow I’ve nearly completed, when War closes the distance and captures my face, taking my mouth in his. He kisses me with his usual ferocity, and I melt into the embrace.

His hands skim down my sides, and yes, yes, yes. I’ve wanted to feel War against me every single day since we’ve been apart. Even when my anger burned red hot.

My hands go to his shirt, fumbling to get it off. His own hands slide under the hem of mine, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts.

It’s all happening just as I hoped it would, when suddenly, he stops. His hands withdraw, and I want to cry out.

“You’re sick.” He says it like he’s just now remembering himself. He doesn’t, however, mention finding me a doctor again. I’d bet my romance book that thereisno doctor, at least not here at camp.

I shake my head, even though Idofeel a little nauseous. With each touch of his, desire is eclipsing my sickness.

“If you aren’t inside me in the next five minutes, I’m going to be threatening you with another sword,” I say.

War’s violent eyes crinkle with mirth, and he kisses me again—albeit, a bit hesitantly.

“There is something you should know, wife,” he says, pulling away. “In all my years, there’s only one aspect of love—”

My breath catches on that word.

“—that I’ve ever really known,” he continues. “And that’slonging. That’s all that the battlefield has to offer—a longing so deep it has a presence of its own. Love is a hope that carries men through dark nights, but it’s nothing more than that.”

My brows furrow. “Why are you telling me this?”

“When we were apart, that’s what I felt. Longing. It was as familiar a sensation to me as swinging my sword,” he says. “I hated my empty bed and my lonely tent, but it’s what I’ve always known. It’s being with you that’s something new, something I want but don’t understand.”

I think this is an apology and an explanation for why he stayed away, though I can’t be sure. War’s words make my stomach churn uncomfortably and my breaths come faster and faster.

“Love is more than longing,” I say quietly.

It’s far, far more than that.

His hand tightens against me. “I am not a man of words, wife. I am a man of action.”

I wait for him to continue, still not sure where he’s going with this.

“If you want me to believe you—then show me.”

Oh.

Well, shit.

How am I supposed to show War what love is when I don’t even know what it is Idofeel for him?

But then I remember what prompted this entire exchange—the fact that I wanted to get in his pants despite being sick. I’m definitely well enough for a bit of sex, and if showing him love is his one stipulation …