Page 121 of Lana Pecherczyk

The silence stretched between them, broken only by rolling wheels crunching against dirt and trotting hooves. Finally, he cradled her face, his touch tender but resolute. “I told you that wouldn’t happen.”

“There’s more than one way to create distance.”

He exhaled sharply. “I don’t sleep well, Blake. When I do … I have nightmares. You might hear things, feel things you won’t like.”

She took his large hand and tugged him back to the bed nook.

“Okay,” she said, “so tell me what to do if you’re having a nightmare. Do I wake you up, tuck you in tighter? What do I do?”

He stared at her as if she’d spoken in tongues. Confusion, disbelief, and something like wonder crossed into her through their bond. “You should be running in the opposite direction.”

“Not going to happen. Tell me how to help.” She pulled him down beside her, the mattress dipping beneath their combined weight.

“I don’t know.”

She tugged him down beside her and settled into the soft covers. “What did your other partners do?”

“I’ve slept beside no others,” he confessed. Pain flickered across his shadowed features. “Unless I was on a mission, out in the wilderness or something. I rarely had nightmares then.”

“Why do you think that was?” She nestled close.

He lay back stiffly, muscles coiled against her. “Maybe I was too exhausted from killing monsters and entitled floaters who defied the Well.”

She drew the blanket higher over them and rested her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. “Or maybe it was because you were with people you trusted.”

He stilled.

“You trust me, though, right?” she asked.

“Of course.” No hesitation.

She traced a faint scar along his torso. “But Cloud broke your trust,” she murmured. “And that piece of you … it’s still missing.”

He caught her hand. “If only it were that simple. I had trouble sleeping long before he attacked me.”

“Then maybe there’s no easy answer.” She rolled on top of him. “Or maybe I should find a way to exhaust you.”

Earlier, he’d made her come with his tongue. They hadn’t had sex, and she desperately wanted to.

“Sparkles—” His warning was cut short when she parted her naked thighs and pressed down, letting him feel how wet she was.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered near his ear. “So don’t. Just … take me instead.”

“Blake…”

“Use me, River. Like you need me.”

His palm flew to her sternum, pressing just enough to remind her who held control. But he didn’t push her away. His gaze darkened as his thumb traced the hollow of her throat. He trembled with restrained hunger. She felt it simmering beneath his sadness, growing with each passing second.

They remained like that for a long moment, his hand on her collarbone, thumb swiping, testing. She idly traced the web of scars on his torso, feeling out the raised striations in the blue-washed shadows.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it.

“Of course.”

“Earlier, you said my scars were sexy.”

“Yes.”