wanted, it wouldn’t matter if—just once—they got it.
When, not if.
Fie took Tavin’s face in her hands and kissed him.
At first he hardly stirred, and for a horrid moment she thought she’d made a mistake, that she’d misjudged it all, that he’d think her a fool—she pulled back—
Then a strange, slight shiver passed through him, and a breath later, she found that meant the last of his restraint had snapped.
He didn’t kiss her back so much as drown himself in her. His fingers wound themselves in her hair, mapped out the bones and planes of her back by touch, fitted her hips against his; his mouth sought hers like a cure, starving and fierce, only to wander down her throat until she could scarce breathe.
A light scrape pricked at her collarbone—and then her head flooded with heat, with need, with dizzying awe and fear and desire, all anchored to thoughts of—her?
Oh. She drew Tavin back to her mouth. “Mind your teeth.”
“Yes, chief,” he murmured, and set about doing just that.
She didn’t mean to slide her hands below his shirt, yet she found them there, roaming along scar and muscle and rib and finding her hunger only growing, a fire that sparked from skin striking skin and burned without mercy. Soon the shirts were an afterthought. One rasped question and granted permission later, the rest of their clothing followed suit, forgotten even faster in the crash of thunder and the fire driving them both.
Before, when she’d lain with Hangdog, it had been matters of urgency, a hasty exchange of services. Needs met and dismissed with one eye still at watch, one ear still pressed to the ground, ready to flee.
Now Fie didn’t know if she could tear herself away, caught in a way that felt like binds breaking, lost in a way that felt like being found. Tavin too moved with urgency, but it was a curious kind, a need to discover every place that made her shiver or gasp or bite her fist to keep from crying out. And then he found them again, and again, and again; Fie knew only the fire arching through her, through him, again and again, until it finally left them both trembling and tangled in the dark.
After, as she lay in his arms under their ragged cloaks and stolen furs, she told him: “You know this won’t be easy.”
In answer, he pulled her closer and kissed her one more time. Then he told her: “You make me believe I can do something better with my life than die.”
“Oh.” She did not know what else to say besides “Well. You should.” Then she wriggled farther away from the cold of the passing storm. “Wake me for second watch.”
It was a strange thing, to fall asleep feeling safer for the warmth at her back. To fall asleep feeling safe at all.
Where her dreams went that night, no Vultures followed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE FOOL
Tavin did not wake her for second watch.
Fie roused on her own anyhow. The humming did it, quieter than before, and somehow familiar by now. She pushed her head out from the pelts and found him sitting up beside her, eyes on the dark valley below.
“What’s that song?” she mumbled, resting her chin on his stomach.
He smiled down at her in a fashion Fie would have called revolting a moon earlier. Damn him, making a foolish sap of her. “It’s an old watch-hymn my mother used to sing. It’s supposed to help you keep awake.”
“Seems like it works.”
“Well enough.” He threaded a lock of her hair through his fingers. “How … how are you feeling?”
She knew a question behind a question when she heard one, sleepy as she was. “You surprised me. Figured you’d know all there was to tumbling, but…”
He tensed. “It’s … complicated,” he said, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “Gender’s never mattered to me, but I—I didn’t want to get anyone with child. So if that was a possibility, we just did other, er, activities. Was it—were you—”
“Aye. You did right.” She relented and gave him a crooked grin, and was secretly tickled when he relaxed, his breath settling into an easy rise and fall. “But I won’t mind if you want more practice.”
He huffed a laugh at that, one that rumbled through her, too. His fingers curled tighter in her hair, his thumb resting just below her ear. “I wish I could do it all right. Flowers, poetry, awkward conversations with your parents. You know … courtship.”