Page 36 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

“Ask me on a better day.” He rolled me onto my side, wrapped an arm around my waist, and molded his body to mine. “For now, sleep.”

Rogue’s muffled annoyance stirred me awake. Bright sunlight poured in through the porthole.

“It’s mid-afternoon, already,” Iaso whispered. “How is she? Is she all right?”

I rolled over and yanked the blanket over my head.

“You’re waking her,” he growled, then shut the door.

I peeked one eye open but saw nothing, courtesy of the blanket, and resigned to sleep.

Until the bed dipped under his weight.

On my side.

This man saw every inch of me, then witnessed me fall apart. The idea of facing him made me want to crawl out of my skin.

Maybe if I just lie still enough ? —

He tugged the blanket down.

I threw an arm over my face.

He removed that, too.

Closing my eyes, I swallowed my pride, rolled onto my back, and glared at him. Glaring was better than bursting into flames of embarrassment or, Goddess forbid, sobbing again.

Though I couldn’t stop the blood from rushing to my cheeks.

His brows furrowed, head cocked. “What’s that for?”

“What?”

He grabbed my chin and tilted my face up, his thumb swiping over my flush. “That.”

The heat in my cheeks deepened. “If you don’t like it, it’s best you don’t point it out on someone.”

“There are times when I revel in this sight—on you, not ‘someone.’ But as I’m not provoking it out of you, now is not one of those times.” He asked again, “Why?”

“Nothing.” I tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go. He simply stared, waiting for another response. Goddess above, the flush crawled down my neck and over my chest. “Last night.”

“What part of last night?”

I barked out a laugh. Surely, he’s not going to make me say it.

I tugged my face again, to no avail. A growl of frustration built in my throat.

“Is this embarrassment? Or anger?” He pulled me an inch closer, eyes flitting between mine. His lips twitched. “Both.”

I ground my teeth.

“You can be angry, but don’t be embarrassed. Never embarrassed. Not with me.” His mouth hovered so close to mine, I almost didn’t catch what he said.

Almost.

I rolled my eyes. “Of course I’m embarrassed. I?—”

The flames in his eyes flared. “Not. With. Me.”

My argument died on my tongue.

“I’m your mate. I’ve seen you in much more compromising positions than last night—much more depraved, messy, wanton positions—and I’ve held you in darker moments. You run to me. Not away.”

No air in my lungs. No thoughts in my head.

“Understood?”

I nodded for some reason, despite the ever-growing blush. At least, he finally released my face to grab his shirt from the bedpost. He pulled it overhead but left the strings unlaced, revealing a deep V on his chest and the bite mark at the base of his throat.

“So, Delphia helped him?” I blurted. “That’s what she did—why she feels guilty.”

He retrieved a knapsack from under the bench and opened the flap. “Where did you hear that?”

I hesitated. If he thought it wasn’t Delphia herself…

He didn’t know she was aboard the ship.

I avoided his question. “Is it true? I don’t…”

“Remember?” he asked, going still.

“No,” I said quietly. “No, I don’t remember that night.”

He braced his hands on either side of the bag, talons digging into the bench.

I stared at the deep gashes he carved in solid wood with ease, waiting for the fear to set in. Rogue Draki was dangerous, powerful, and unpredictable—and he said he loved me. Said I loved him once.

“Yes, she led us to slaughter.”

“But?”

He turned to me then, and my breath caught. Dark scales armored his throat and chest, his teeth sharp. “But…what?”

I tucked my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, resting my chin on one. “It’s not that simple. He forced her, didn’t he?”

He returned to his bag with a clipped, “Yes,” and pulled out a blue blouse and leather trousers, both too small for him.

Is that…for me?

When he revealed a heavy winter coat, I scrambled off the bed, but before I could take it from him, he motioned for me to spin. I turned, and he held it up for me to slip my arms in.

I let out a dramatic moan, my head falling back, eyes closed. “This is?—”

A hand circled my throat, his hard body flush to mine. With my neck still craned, I opened my eyes and peered up at flaming ones.

His thumb skimmed over the teeth marks at the base of my throat. His teeth marks. “That’s a dangerous sound to make.”

I couldn’t nod in this position, nor could I speak, my mouth suddenly too dry.

He slid his hand lower, down my chest, while his other wrapped around my front. My heart pounded, breath shallow, but he only buttoned the coat.

With black leather on the outside and thick fur on the inside, it was the warmest coat I’d ever put on—and the best gift I’d ever received. I blinked away the burn in my eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”

His hand returned to my jaw, fingers splayed over my cheek as he dipped his head lower. “Warm enough?”

I rasped, “Perfect.”

His mouth hovered an inch above mine.

“Good,” he murmured, then he was gone. He stepped away to grab the trousers, and I hardly had time to straighten before he held them out. “Because these are made from the same material.”

My mouth fell open. Sure enough, fur lined the interior of these, too. I clutched them to my chest, a knot in my throat. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.”

“But I appreciate it.” I tossed the trousers on the bed and tugged my current ones off, feeling his heavy gaze on me, but I was too excited to care.

I pulled on the new ones, and they fit perfectly.

After three months in that fucking dress…

“I appreciate them very much.” I ran a hand over the soft leather, my breath hitching. “More than I can say.”

He held out two pairs of new wool socks, and I slapped a hand over my mouth when a choked laugh escaped.

He smoothed the crease between my brows, despite the furrow in his own, so I reached up and did the same for him.

We both stilled.

Realization splashed over me, and I dropped my arm—and my gaze. I pretended to inspect the socks as heat rushed to my cheeks again.

He grabbed my hand and flattened it over his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my palm. “Yours to touch. Any way. Any time. Anywhere.”

I stared at him. Blinked once. Twice.

He let out a low laugh and ran his thumb over my hot cheek. “Now, this one is mine.”

He kissed the lightning scar at my wrist before turning to grab his coat, and I just…stood there.

He pulled it on, throwing another glance in my direction, and chuckled. Before I could react—before I could even gather myself enough to react, his hand slipped around the nape of my neck, and his mouth claimed mine.

My head spun, his lips warm and hungry.

Air. I need air, or space, or…

His other hand flattened over my lower back, molding me to him, and I melted into a string of incoherent thoughts.

He broke the kiss, but his lips brushed over mine as he whispered, “Socks.”

Again, before I had the chance to respond, he lifted me and set me on the edge of the bed. He took the socks, knelt on one knee, and slipped them onto my feet. He grabbed my boots and tugged them on, too, taking his time to lace them up.

When he stood, his hands trailed up my calves to my knees, lighting a fire in my veins. He gave a quick tap to my thighs before extending a hand.

I regarded him for a moment, the scars on his fingers from years with swords and daggers, the tanned skin on his arms, the teeth marks on his neck, half hidden by the dark hair that hung well past his shoulders, and his eyes…

His eyes were maroon, just as the stories foretold, but not like blood—like the darkest roses.

With a deep breath, I took his hand, and his fingers closed around mine.

I had the sudden fear he’d never let go, and I was right.

He didn’t.

Not as we roamed the hallways. Not as he forced me to eat a small breakfast of broth, porridge, and fruit, but denied me coffee, claiming it would upset my “recovering stomach.” Not as he led me to a chamber I hadn’t been to yet, and we walked in to Ewan holding a blade to Calypso’s throat.