Winterskin (Book One of Wrath & Winter)

Awake at Last: Part Three

We walked side by side to the outskirts. Elisedd left his people behind to talk maps and boundaries.

I didn't need him to do this. I didn't want him to do this.

And once we met the outskirts, the sun poking its haloed head through the clouds, he stopped. He understood.

And for that, I'd give him something.

This might be my last chance to.

"I'm grateful," I told him, looking out at the forest beyond. At where all of my comrades breathed their last. "For everything that you've done. For us." I cautiously added.

"Don't you miss it?" he cracked a sideways smile, a grin that didn't quite make it, "The way things used to be?"

If that included Horace and my mother—us being a tidy little family of strange people that lived on the edge of town—then...

"No."

He cocked his head, ready to hear my explanation.

"If everything hadn't changed I wouldn't have met you." And I meant it, dammit. Can't change who you love, can't make your heart do what your head wants. Funny, how hate acts the exact same way. Or, if you're lucky, your mind lets you choose.

But never with feelings like these.

Not love. Not love. Never that.

But the way he's looking at me, the way he smiles as he tries to figure out what I'm thinking, it's enough to make me melt. To make winter thaw and summer flowers blossom over every bit of my skin.

But what would ever come of this?

"Would you ever leave Scyllah?" I asked him point blank.

And that smile became a bit more strained. "How about this: would you ever leave Montbereau?" his gaze found the sky, "That housecarl lied, you know. They expect you to die. Then, they'd just forget about your grandmother, your cousins—"

"Sisters." I corrected.

"—right," he scratched the back of his neck, "They sent men to raid your house, Kat. You remember that, don't you?"

Of course I did. "Do we have to?" I asked, "Thank you, Eli, for stepping in. But what will you do if they do not honor their word?"

"What the Scyllah does best."

I didn't like the sound of that. How it came so easily.

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't, okay?" And as I take his hands, the searing heat reminded me of what he is. "Promise you'll take them somewhere else. Somewhere close to her grave."

For a moment, he just blinked. Over and over. Mouth parting as if he wanted to make words, but couldn't. Not with me touching him.

Then: "I promise."

And he pulled me close. I let him, savoring his scent—like a freshly lit fireplace burning with cedar and rosewood. Warm and calm and wild all at once. His face is in my braided hair and he breathed into me. Tightened his grip as he let out a shuddering sigh.

"One more thing," he said, voice husky, "you promise that when you come back you'll change your mind," he lifted his face, looked at me through lowered lashes, "about us."

My heart is a thunderclap.

Powerful. Sudden. Enough to kill a man if he stands too close.

Wordlessly, I nod.

There is nothing more to say. Not now. Not between us.

His fingers linger within mine as he lets me go, arm by arm, finger by finger. Fingertips last of all.

Trekking back into the Black, his eyes burn into my back.