Page 102 of The Devil May Care

He pauses.

“Yes,” he says at last.

My throat tightens. His fingers trail toward the edge of my shoulder, just below the bone. I feel him hesitate again.

“You can keep going.”

He does, tracing the full arc of the pattern from spine to shoulder, across to the opposite side, and back again. When he nears my neck, something in me pulls taut, breath catching. It is not because of the heat, but him. There’s no pressure in his touch. No demand. Just care. Reverence. Like he’s memorizing me. Or mourning something.

“You don’t have to do all of it,” I say, barely above a whisper. “If you’d rather—”

“I want to.”

The words are so quiet I almost believe I imagined them. He keeps going. Fingertips slow and steady, brushing my bare skin like I might disappear. I don’t know how long we stay like that—his hand moving in careful, reverent lines across my back, and me breathing into the silence, trying not to tremble. It’s not desire. Not exactly. But it’s something more intimate than I’m used to surviving. Something that sinks into the space behind my ribs and settles there.

I could fall asleep like this.

I might have, if not for the way the door crashes open with a bang and a breathless, half-strangled voice calls out, “Kay?”

Caziel jerks back so fast the mattress shifts. I bolt upright without thinking, the blanket tangled somewhere beneath me, the tunic nowhere near where I need it to be. Sarai stands in the doorway, wild-eyed, her hands still braced against the doorframe. She stares. I freeze. Caziel is still sitting beside me, back stiff, one hand halfway extended like he doesn’t know what to do with it now. His face is unreadable, but I can feel the tension radiating off him.

Sarai doesn’t say anything for a full two seconds. And then her face crumples. She lets out a gasping sob and crosses the room in three quick strides, dropping to her knees beside the bed and grabbing both of my hands.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—I didn’t think you’d be—gods, you’re awake—”

I blink, stunned by the sheer emotion in her voice. “Uh. Yeah. Apparently.”

She starts crying in earnest, shoulders shaking, her fingers gripping mine like a lifeline.

“You wouldn’t wake up. I kept coming, and nothing changed. You were so still. I thought—” She breaks off, voice cracking. “I thought you were going to fade.”

My throat goes tight. “Sarai, I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” she sniffs. “You were on fire. I saw what it did to you. I felt it.”

I shift awkwardly, pulling the blanket up over my chest with one hand while patting her shoulder with the other.

“I’m not dead. No ash piles. See? Very un-faded.”

She lets out a wet, half-hysterical laugh. “You’re such aveshka.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “But apparently, I’m a branded brat now.”

She snorts and wipes her eyes, visibly trying to pull herself together. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” I say, too quickly. Then realize how that sounds. “I mean, there was nothing to interrupt, but it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Caziel rises and crosses to the hearth, giving us space without a word.

Sarai sniffles once more and straightens her shoulders.

“I wanted to come say goodbye.”

The word lands hard. I frown. “Goodbye?”

She glances at Caziel.

Caziel nods. “All contenders move once their acceptance is confirmed. You’re officially part of the Rite now. No more palace privileges.”