Page 12 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)
Chapter Eight– Rude Awakenings
Maeve lay still, eyes firmly shut. She didn’t want to wake up, not just yet. She just needed a minute, to gather herself, to sort dream from reality. Yesterday had been strange. The café, the beach, the Chain. Him.
It was a dream, wasn’t it?
She was probably back in her flat in London.
The faint smell of bleach, the leaky ceiling and that distinct, sour fear clinging to the air, waiting for the next attack.
But no... she was in Lisbon. Maybe she’d hit her head, maybe the whole thing was a fever dream, born from stress, fatigue, and heatstroke.
"You know, love," came a deep, amused voice from her left, "it’s really fucking rude to feign sleep when someone’s carried you home from the beach, cradled you like precious treasure, and then spent the night in the world’s most rickety, minuscule armchair."
Maeve shot upright with a gasp. Her heart launched into her throat, then dropped again into a slow, stunned thud.
He was real, Eiran was real.
He sat slouched in the corner of the room, hair tousled, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed like he was resisting the urge to smirk.
His long legs were folded awkwardly under him, and the ancient armchair looked one loud exhale away from total collapse.
Relief hit her like a wave, dizzying and warm.
"Fuck," she said, pressing her palms to her face. "You’re real. That wasn’t… I didn’t make you up. "
"You must have a very detailed and wildly flattering imagination," Eiran said, unfolding himself with a theatrical groan. "I’m honoured."
She watched him stretch, shirt riding up just enough to make her look away quickly, heat blooming in her cheeks.
"Next time you plan on collapsing into unconsciousness," he continued, wandering over with that maddening, easy grace, "maybe pick somewhere closer to civilisation, or at least bring a blanket."
"You could have just woke me, rather than kidnap me," she muttered, swinging her legs off the bed.
"I prefer the term heroically relocated, love. "
She grinned despite herself. "You really slept in that chair all night?"
"Didn’t want to impose. Figured you’ve had enough of that for one lifetime."
Maeve looked at him properly then. He was tired around the eyes, shadows just visible beneath them, but still handsome and so fucking infuriating. "Thanks," she said quietly.
"Anytime, love."
Love.
He kept calling her that. Maeve didn’t know how to feel about it.
Scratch that, she did, she loved it. Which was much worse.
It sounded too close, too familiar and too soft.
She wasn’t love, she was guarded and bruised.
She was complicated and yet... hearing it in his voice, deep and warm, like it meant something, made something in her ache.
She stood slowly, blinking sleep from her eyes.
Stretching as her hand brushed her hip, and froze.
Frowning, she reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the velvet pouch, the drawstring still tied.
She turned to him, utterly bewildered. "I gave this to you. "
Eiran was already rising, somehow fluid despite the murder that chair had done to his back. He strolled towards her, close, heart-thuddingly close. "I slipped it back."
"Why?"
"Because it belongs with you, love. I wasn’t about to fuck off with it like some prize wanker."
Maeve blinked. "You are so full of shit."
"Oh, absolutely," he agreed. "But not about that."
He wasn’t teasing now, not entirely. His gaze dipped, lingered just a moment too long on her legs, her hips, the curve of her waist beneath the dress, her freckles, her eyes and then back to her mouth. Her heart thundered.
Eiran’s voice dropped, low and molten. "I just..."
“Hmm?” She leaned in slightly, breath brushing his.
His eyes locked on hers, fierce and unflinching. "Every second I don’t kiss you is torture, and you, Maeve, you’re absolutely ruining me. "
She didn’t answer with words. She just tilted her chin, breathing him in, and closed the sliver of space between them. The kiss was slow at first, a brush of mouths, a held breath.
A question.
His hand slid over her waist, steadying himself.
Her fingers curled into his hair and a soft, helpless sound escaped her, and that was it, the kiss deepened.
Hungry, slow and very real and a ripple of energy burst between them, like static crawling across skin.
They broke apart, breathing hard, eyes wide.
"Well." Eiran said, slightly breathless.
"Well, what?" she asked, face twisting in immediate horror.
"Oh, just the gods beginning the mate-bond," he grinned. "Happens to the best of us. Might hurt like a bastard to be separated now, unless we seal it properly, or you tell me to fuck off."
She didn’t get the chance to punch him, shout, or kiss him again, because the world cracked, a thunderous boom split the air, a brilliant flash of light blinded her, and a shockwave slammed through the room.
Eiran was thrown across the flat and Maeve had just enough time to gasp, before everything went black.