The Beastkeeper's Bride

11: The Patience of a Beastkeeper

11: The Patience of a Beastkeeper

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The face close to hers was achingly beautiful.

Crisp morning light almost emblazoned his skin with a golden sheen as it filtered through the panes of a window near to their heads. It caught the tones of gold and copper in his trimmed beard and long hair, illuminated them with light and varying shades of deep browns and golds that shifted and changed with each steady inhale of his chest.

Millie was not surprised that she had woken up beside Blayne on the narrow pallet. It was blistering cold the previous evening, and her dreams had been fraught and dark, and she had been roused from her slumber when he had stoked the hearth before her. When he had completed this task and begun to leave, without thinking she had snaked her arm out- the very same one that had been magically branded the day before- and grasped his fingers, urging him to her. A silent appeal opened her lips as she stared up at him and that was all it took for Blayne Leowyn to climb into the furs behind her, pull her close to the heat of his body so that she could nestle into him, and hold her until she fell back into her fitful sleep.

She had slept for almost two solid days and yet she was averse to move. The heavy toll of her grief had lessened to a mild throb of recognition, but she felt more inclined to peruse her new surroundings and situation today than she had yesterday. However, the warm, heavy arm draped across her waist and the male face so close to hers the tips of their noses almost touched was more comforting than she would have ever conceived it to be. She had never shared a bed with a man before, let alone a faeborn, but Blayne... she thought she could sink into the bulge of muscle pressed against her cheek and while away a few more hours abed yet.

He was without a shirt and turned to her on his side, his tailed wrapped almost possessively about her calf and ankle in their sleep. How peculiar that she was married to a man with a tail... and more so that she hardly seemed to care? A reluctant smile pulled at her lips and with it an excited nattering from behind him emerged. Startled, Millie watched as a tiny figure ricocheted into the air, fluttering about her head so fast she could scarcely make heads or tails of it. Whatever it was, its brightly coloured, moth-like wings disturbed the air in its frenzy. Two more rose, one entangled in Blayne's locks and clumsily tripping over itself mid-flight to land on his bearded cheek gracelessly.

The warmth of his arm disappeared, though the tail about her leg tightened, and he swatted at the creature with an annoyed expression creasing his brow. "Fucking pixies," he mumbled, his voice thick and heavy with sleep.

Lord, why did the sound of him freshly awakened make something in her flutter and tighten with heat in response?

The muscle substituting as a pillow flexed gently and if he hadn't been aware of her presence, he certainly became aware of it then as his eyes opened and found her gaze immediately.

Millie swore she witnessed them change colour, shift and morph into a different spectrum of light entirely, but the change was almost imperceptible and fleeting as his amber gaze studied her impassively for a long moment.

Then suddenly his nostrils flared and he reared away from her, frowning. "Tell me, my heart, can you swim?" he asked huskily. His hair was unbound and as he sat up on one elbow, it fell to the side in an endearing, tousled mess. She only just resisted the urge to reach her fingers into the soft strands, and only because she recognised too late what his posture was insinuating.

She narrowed her eyes, offended, but nodded her head. It had been a while since she last bathed, and she was caked in dried blood and spillage from the awfully sweet wine she had found in his larder. No doubt she offended more than just his nose this morning though he had no qualms telling her so apparently.