“Honey,” he repeated on another squeeze.
I sighed.
Okay, Lahn could be a dick, a big one, but when you were sick, he didn’t like that and he didn’t f**k around in finding a way to make you better.
Shit.
About five minutes later, my lids got heavy and the quaking turned to mild tremors.
“Okay, Circe, good,” Lahn muttered, drawing me nearer.
I forced my eyes open, tipped my head back, saw his bearded chin was dipped down and his painted eyes were on my face.
“Yes, baby, good,” I mumbled back and fell asleep cradled in a warrior king’s strong arms.
Chapter Eleven
Sweet
“Kah Circe,” I heard Lahn call softly, my eyes drifted open and I saw him looming over me, one arm across my body, hand in the bed, his torso close, his eyes on mine.
“Hey,” I whispered and one side of his mouth twitched.
“Hey,” he replied then he straightened, his hand in the bed slid around my neck and he lifted me up as his other hand came toward me, carrying a cup. He put it to my lips and ordered quietly, “Gingoo, Lahnahsahna.”
I drank the bitter liquid and knew he’d prepared another dose of medicine.
Yeah, damn. He could be sweet.
When I was done, he took the cup away, set it on the ground by the bed and came back to me. His eyes roamed my face and his hand smoothed my hair back, his fingers sifting through it as he did. It felt nice, him doing that, really nice.
Oh shit, yeah. He could be sweet.
And that sucked.
“You know what sucks?” I whispered to him, doing it because I knew he would have no clue as to a word I was saying. “It sucks that you can be sweet and when you’re sweet you’re really sweet. That sucks.”
He didn’t stop tenderly stroking my hair as I spoke but his eyes dropped to my mouth and when I was done, they came back to mine.
Then my heart squeezed when he whispered back, “I don’t understand you, baby.”
There it was again. Sweet.
I lifted a hand and placed it on his chest. He looked down at it but his eyes came back to mine when I spoke.
“Out there, King Lahn is a fierce warrior but in here, my Lahn… kah Lahn is sweet.”
His eyes changed, intensity shifting in when he murmured, “Fierce warrior, sweet.”
I grinned at him. “You’ve sort of got it.”
“Fierce warrior, sweet,” he muttered again.
“Yes,” I replied and his hand came up to mine at his chest, his long fingers curling around, swallowing mine when they did and then they held tight, keeping our hands at his chest.
“Anla na neesoo, anka ta linay et na lapay sahka. Suh Tunak me tunoo et kah Circe me sahka,”* he declared and I laughed softly.
Then I said just as softly, “I don’t understand you, baby.”