Page 43

AN AWKWARD AWAKENING

S he lay drifting in the place between sleep and full wakefulness, the world slowly seeping in through a marshmallow-y layer of wellbeing.

Everything was warm and infinitely comfortable.

After several mindless minutes, she became aware that she was being held.

A long body pressed against her spine, an arm wrapped around her waist, and a slight confusion of limbs tangled with her legs.

Tail, her mind supplied sleepily. It’s a tail draped over your thigh.

Malediction. I’m in Mal’s bed. The thought came with a frisson of further wakefulness that she resisted.

Everything was likely going to become awkward soon, and her nice, sleepy bubble was keeping her comfortably insulated from that.

It felt so good to be held, to luxuriate in the firm heat of another person, skin-to-skin, a flame holding back the loneliness of the dark.

The bond hummed with mellow contentment, doubling back on itself.

Her thoughts inevitably began pushing at the insulation. Was Mal asleep? Was he lying here in the same feigned sleep as her, trying to draw out the moment and put off embarrassment? What did it mean, that he’d asked her to stay last night? What did it mean, that she’d agreed?

That I’m a fool .

She didn’t regret it. She couldn’t currently regret anything that had led to this warm contentment, even if it was only temporary. The intimacy was feeding a part of her that had been too hungry for too long.

Breath curled against her shoulder, tickling her skin.

The firm heat behind her was… increasingly firm and pressing against her buttocks.

The nature of the bond between them shifted, a thread of something hotter ruffling its serenity.

Mal murmured, and his arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer.

She gasped, and with a jumble of emotions, the bond came flaring to full life.

It was far more open than usual, rapid-fire bursts of colour shoving her to wakefulness.

Mal froze, every hard, intimate line of him.

A long, drawn-out pause followed, in which they were both not only awake and pressed against each other but excruciatingly aware that the other one knew all that too.

Dreams of possibility hung in the air. And then Mal shattered them, withdrawing in a fluster of limbs and thrown-back bedclothes.

She made an undignified squeak of protest as he launched himself out of the bed, graceless in his urgency.

His emotions were cymbal crashes, disorienting in their strength.

Confusion and panic clashed with desire, and Mal tripped over his slippers and fell awkwardly against his bedside table, knocking bits of clutter off.

With a muttered apology, he leapt back, aiming for the robe flung over a chair.

His naked back disappeared under the fabric.

“You needn’t act like a scandalised maiden,” she grumbled, wincing at the chaos of his emotions, almost none of which were what one might hope for in the circumstances. “ You’re the one who asked me to stay.”

He froze. After struggling to tie the robe, he turned, eyes wide. “I… did,” he said slowly. “I remember that. I don’t remember— What happened? Are you all right?”

She sat up, refusing to be embarrassed. There was an empty hollow in the duvet that said Zingiber had left at some point during the day.

“Nothing happened between us, if that’s what you’re asking.

Your virtue is safe.” Was that really his major concern, after nearly being eaten by a gold-encrusted monster?

“I’m not concerned about my virtue!” he snapped back, eyes flashing.

“Well, you needn’t be concerned about mine. I haven’t any.”

“You are under a powerful spell drawing you towards me,” he said tightly.

She hadn’t had enough sleep to be diplomatic. “So are you, aren’t you? I didn’t make you do anything in those dreams, my Malediction. Don’t pretend you’re indifferent.” She nodded meaningfully towards the very not -indifferent part of him that his robe was ineffectually hiding.

He flushed. “That’s irrelevant.” He sank down on the chair and crossed his legs, both distancing and disguising himself. A hint of swirling golden tattoo showed in the deep V of the robe. “I meant— The pull you feel is externally imposed, artificial.”

And he knew he didn’t want her, even with magic telling him otherwise. Fantastic. Amazingly good for her ego. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to fling myself at you. I’m not that lacking in self-control, whatever you might think of me.”

He stared at her with first blankness and then dawning incredulity. The corner of his mouth began to twitch. It wasn’t how one hoped to be looked at by a handsome man when one was currently in said handsome man’s bed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She pulled the bedclothes higher.

“I know your ego might have difficultly believing a woman could choose not to throw herself at you, but it’s not against the laws of physics.

I’m only in this bed because I felt sorry for you last night.

I was being nice . Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m not!” he protested.

“I can feel you laughing on the inside!” Bubbles of what could only be described as amusement verging on hysteria kept fizzing through the bond.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes for the longest time, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, with a hint of gravel. “It’s merelythe notion that the issue might be your self-control, rather than mine! ”

“Oh.” She stared at him. “Really?”

He looked up. His eyes were dark, a feral hunger in them. A narrow sliver of heat shivered through the bond at a temperature hot enough to melt metal, and her heart jerked with something between thrill and nerves.

He raised an eyebrow as the too-vivid bond-sense between them cut off, leaving her abruptly cold. “Yes, really ,” he growled.

“Then what is the problem , exactly?”

His eyes flashed. “I’m not going to take advantage of you!”

Her arousal was being rapidly buried under a strong desire to strangle the man.

“Take advantage? Whose advantage, exactly? Didn’t we just establish we were both being affected?

In which case, why the need for all this moral panic?

I wasn’t proposing a deep emotional complication; it’s only a physical thing, after all. ”

He went utterly still, and a discordant emotion flared in the bond, there and gone before she could identify it.

“I don’t think it’s wise to let an unstable magical connection control our actions.

I promised to see you free of the bond between us, after all, and we don’t know if…

indulging might increase the side effects. ”

There might as well have been icicles frosting each syllable, jarring after the intensity of the desire she’d felt from him only seconds earlier. She frowned, puzzled and irrationally hurt by the rejection.

He might be magically drawn to you, but he hates that fact. Remember, he has good reason to be wary of magical bindings. The thought hit like ice.

“Of course,” she agreed, ironing any hint of wayward emotion out of her own voice. “We shouldn’t let it control us.”

His eyes searched her face, and a spike of—frustration?—flickered through her before he damped it. “Of course,” he echoed, his tone strangely hollow.

She wriggled over to the dismae, which she’d placed on his bedside table last night, and shrugged as she put them on.

Let him believe her entirely unaffected, she willed.

“I don’t know how the bond could get worse, since we’re already stuck together, but foolish to chance it for something so trivial in any case. ”

“Right.” His agreement somehow sounded like its opposite. She still had that faint sense of dissatisfaction from him, even through the dismae and with all his shields up. Maybe she was imagining it.

She smiled to show there were no hard feelings, needing desperately to lighten the tension. Gesturing, she said, “This is a little awkward, but I’m sure we’re both sufficiently grown-up to cope. What’s a night of platonic bed-sharing between friends, after all?”

He gave a huff of amusement, but there was an odd light in his mismatched eyes. “Are we friends, princess?”

“Well, we’re not enemies, are we? What else would you call us? Forced acquaintances? I think we’re somewhat beyond that.” Self-consciousness prickled. Were they friends? They must be, surely?

“Yes,” he agreed softly. His tail swished. “I do not deserve your friendship, but I am honoured by it. Thank you for staying with me, last night. I had no right to ask, but thank you.”

She paused, once again unsure. “It was only sensible for someone to stay; you weren’t in a good state.”

He grimaced. “Flattering. What happened? Er, before that.”

“A solshant woke up in the orchard and drained your magic. What do you remember?”

A low horror shadowed his eyes. “A solshant… I remember strengthening the wards and turning in afterwards. I woke, and there was a voice urging me down to the orchard, and I knew something was wrong and yet I couldn’t break free of it.

” He shivered. “It controlled me. And then… I remember your voice, and magic.” His eyes widened. “The wards! They’re gone! How?”

“That’s how it got you, according to Apfela. She said you’d worn your own defenses down to power the wards, but since it was already inside, that couldn’t stop it. I did something with my magic to kill the solshant, but the power for it came from the wards,” Gisele summarised.

Fear flitted across his mismatched gaze, and he stared blindly into the distance. “I’ll never be able to rebuild them in time. It took me years, last time, to accumulate enough power.”

“Would you rather I’d left the thing to eat you?”

His focus abruptly returned to the bedchamber. “Of course not. I owe you my life.” There remained a strange look in his eyes. “Why did you save me? Why didn’t you run?”

“Haven’t we just established that we’re friends? One doesn’t abandon one’s friends to be eaten by terrifying monsters.”

He held her gaze, oddly solemn, and her heart began to pound, as if afraid he would see through her words, see… what, exactly? Something too foolish to admit even to herself.

His eyes abruptly flew wide. “You’re connected to Skymallow. You always were a bit before, through me, but now… you have your own connection—I can feel it. Your defending me must have made the difference to the house. I’m so sorry; I am once again doing a terrible job at untangling us.”

She ought to be alarmed at discovering yet more magical entanglements, but her heart lifted at the thought of being connected to Skymallow. At least the house wanted her.

“Mal—” she began, but at that moment a familiar shrieking echoed through the house. They looked at each other. “Elsterfae.”