Page 33 of When the Wicked Sing (The Leruna Sea #1)

By the time they reached Dax’s cabin, rain had soaked them to the bone, leaving them dripping and shivering as they stepped inside.

He turned on a light in the corner of the room, illuminating the small cabin.

Dax swept his eyes across the dark space.

Everything was still right where he’d left it all those years ago—a large bed in the corner covered in furs, shelves lined with books, hunting gear stashed to the side, and a large, thickly woven blanket draped over the back of a leather couch—except it looked liked someone had dusted.

Mari hesitated near the door, hugging herself tightly as water dripped from her hair and clothes onto the wooden floor. Her teeth chattered, and she rubbed her arms briskly in an attempt to warm up.

“This isn’t the clinic,” she said, her voice sharp with suspicion as she glanced around.

“No,” Dax replied, shrugging off his soaked coat and tossing it onto a nearby hook. “It’s my cabin. You’re staying here with me. ”

Mari’s brow furrowed. “Why? Don’t tell me it’s because you’re worried about me.”

Dax crouched by the hearth, coaxing the embers to life. “In case someone else needs the clinic to heal.”

Mari scoffed softly, folding her arms as she leaned against the door frame. “You’re telling me no one else in the village has a spare room? Or is this just your excuse to keep me where you can see me?”

Dax glanced over his shoulder, the flickering firelight casting restless shadows over Mari’s features. “Maybe I don’t trust you to stay out of trouble.”

Her mouth opened to retort, but the cold finally got the better of her, and she shivered hard. He stood and motioned her toward the fire.

“Stand here,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll get you something to wear.”

Mari stared at him for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line, before stepping closer to the hearth.

“Now would be a great time for my power to come back so I could expel all this water,” she muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with frustration but softened by the slight tremor in her words.

Dax quickly grabbed a dry towel from the washroom, then a shirt and pants from his dresser before walking back to Mari.

“They’ll be big on you, but they’re dry—”

His words were cut off when he saw her standing shirtless in front of the fireplace, holding up her top toward the heat of the flames .

Her long, wet hair draped over her chest, barely concealing the shadowed curve beneath.

He swallowed hard. “What are you doing?” The words came out lower than he intended, his throat tight.

She glanced over at him, and his chest seized. Gods, she is beautiful. Dangerous, but beautiful.

Mari looked over her shoulder, her expression bemused. “Drying my top.” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if this wasn’t at all unusual. “It’s freezing.” Then she went back to staring at the top, willing it to dry faster.

Dax cursed under his breath and moved toward her, lifting the dark fabric of the shirt he brought like a curtain in front of her. “Put this on. Now.”

Mari arched a brow but didn’t argue. “You Fae are such prudes,” she muttered, then stepped out of her wet boots and pants.

Turning down his gaze, he focused on his boots while trying hard to forget what he’d just seen. “We’re not prudes, we’re—” He juggled for the right word. “Respectful.”

Mari snorted and put on the shirt. It hung just above her knees.

He held out the pants, but she only lifted an eyebrow at him.

“You’re just as bad as mortals. I don’t get what the big deal is. Our bodies are something to be proud of,” she said, ignoring the pants. He dropped them on the couch.

Dax scrubbed a hand over his head and chuckled. “You’re right, how could we ever think that being nude in the dead of winter would be a bad idea? ”

He peered down at her. The firelight danced across her face, catching the faint blush on her cheeks.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her breath hitched when he stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her scarred temple.

His fingers lingered for a moment too long, and he noticed how her breathing stilled.

“What are you doing?” she murmured.

The question lingered. What in the blazes was he doing? It was like his feet and hands had moved without his consent.

Taking a step back, he cleared his throat. “You take the bed—I’ll sleep here.” He collapsed onto the leather couch with a sigh.

The crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of rain on the roof filled the silence between them. Dax let his eyes drift shut, exhaustion seeping into his bones. But he could feel her gaze on him, a warmth prickling his skin.

“How old are you?” Mari blurted.

Dax glanced at her through hooded eyes and saw her cheeks blush pink. A slow smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it. “How old do you think I am?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, but it’s more fun this way,” he said as he draped an arm over the back of the couch and smirked up at her.

She squinted, tapping her fingers against her lips as if in deep thought. “Hmm … over a century?”

That startled a laugh out of him, deep and genuine. The innocence in her blush and the way she crossed her arms made him want to stand up and kiss her .

“Okay,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “So definitely older than me.”

“Definitely,” he said softly, and regarded her with an amused tilt of his head. “Why so curious?”

She shifted awkwardly. “I just wasn’t sure if it would be, you know … respectful to take the bed from someone so …” She gestured vaguely. “Mature.”

Dax’s brows lifted, and he sat forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Mature? Really?”

Mari shrugged, biting back a smile. “I was trying to be polite.”

He stood, shaking his head with an amused huff. “Look, I’m not ancient. And if I wanted the bed, I’d take it.”

She gestured toward the inviting pile of blankets with a sweep of her hand. “Then take it. It’s plenty big enough for the both of us. Besides, this is your cabin.”

Dax’s jaw tightened as he glanced at the bed, then back at her. His shirt hung loose around her frame, her hair still damp and curling at the ends. He could imagine the feel of her warmth beside him, her weight against his chest.

No. Absolutely not.

He cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away. “Not necessary,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re my guest. Take the bed.”

Mari opened her mouth to protest, but Dax rubbed at the ache in his neck, dismissing her. “Get some rest. We’ve got a long day ahead.”

There was a moment of silence before she sighed and padded to the bed, slipping beneath the mound of blankets without another word .

Dax waited until she settled before removing his boots and lying on the couch. The cushions were lumpy, and his pants were still damp, but he didn’t care. He stared at the ceiling, cursing himself.

A slave doesn’t get to go home.

Why had he said that? He scrubbed his face, suppressing a groan of frustration when he heard something beyond the rain.

The sound of shifting blankets drew his attention. Mari kept shifting around, like she couldn’t get comfortable.

“You okay over there?”

“It’s so cold,” her small voice answered in return.

The fire crackled steadily, but the heat hadn’t yet reached the corners of the room, especially with the wind howling outside, freezing gusts seeping through the tiniest of cracks.

He sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. He couldn’t ignore it—the soft whimpers, the way her teeth chattered like the wind rattling the windows. This was madness, but he stood anyway, crossing the room before he could talk himself out of it.

He pulled back the blankets to slide in beside her.

Mari stirred, her breath hitching when he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Her body was like ice against his, and he exhaled softly, his lips brushing her damp hair.

“I’m only doing this so you don’t freeze to death,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Mari snuggled closer. “Whatever you say.” Her voice was a sleepy murmur. “I knew you wanted the bed.”