When I wake again,it’s deep into the morning. The bed is empty beside me, but still warm, still bearing the indent of his body. I roll into it, bathing myself in his oaky scent, the feel of him around me. My heart sinks, and I can’t help the small pang of doubt that creeps in. So I can’t leave him, but he can leave me? It feels like the theme of our entire relationship. I sit up, drawing the blankets around me, remembering the fervourwith which Rylan had insisted that I was his, and what that means for us now. He may think that I’m his. But he never said he was mine.
But before I can get too far into my own head, my bedroom door creaks open, and there he is, carrying a silver tray, looking effortlessly, breathtakingly handsome with his tousled hair, shirtless torso, and beautiful grin. My heart does a somersault at the mere sight of him.
“Oh good, you’re up. Hungry?” he asks as he sets the tray down on the bed in front of me.
I shuffle into a sitting position, pulling the blanket up to cover my bare chest. “I was wondering where you were.”
He thirstily downs a glass of pomegranate juice, then picks up the other one and hands it to me before sliding onto the bed. “I thought I might need to replace some of the energy I’ve had you spend with me.”
“You’re spoiling me,” I tease, raising an eyebrow at the array of food on the tray. “If this is what you’re like after one night, I could get used to it.”
“You should,” he replies. “Besides, you need to eat. We need to keep your energy levels up for all the training you’re about to have to do. Among other things…” He buries his face against my neck, and deeply inhales. “Fuck, you always smell so good.”
I giggle and press a kiss to his shoulder. “You smell… sweaty! What were you doing?”
He grins. “I was carrying this heavy tray and rushing to get back to you, silly woman.” He puts on a mock sad face. “I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known I’d be insulted when I came back!” He nudges the tray closer, and I see it’s filled with some of my favourite breakfast foods—fresh bread, fruits, cheeses, all laid out beautifully. “Now eat. Don’t think I didn’tnotice that you haven’t been eating and sleeping as much leading to the trial. Was it just nerves?”
My stomach growls, and I realise just how much I’ve needed this. “You know,” I say as I copy him and empty my glass of juice, “you’re worse than a mother hen. You might as well be feeding me by hand.”
“I would, if I weren’t afraid of you biting it off,” he quips, as he watches me grab a bunch of grapes in one hand, a sweet roll in the other, barely waiting before I shove both in my mouth. But his tone shifts as he watches me eat. “What were you thinking about when I came back? You looked… worried.”
I shrug, pointing to my full mouth as an excuse for not answering. But I should’ve known that wouldn’t work. I take my time chewing, swallowing, but when I lift my half-eaten roll back to my mouth, he pushes my hand down.
“Answer, then eat.”
I roll my eyes. “It was nothing.”
“Then you won’t mind telling me.”
My face screws up. Admitting to my insecurity isn’t really something I feel like doing. “I told you, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he pulls the tray to the far end of the bed, extracts what’s left of the roll in my hand, throws it over his shoulder, and then grabs my shoulders, pulling me up onto my knees to face him.
“Okay, you stubborn woman. Let’s try this one more time. When I ask you a question, you answer. And let me decide whether or not it’s something I should worry about or not.”
“Rylan…”
“Start. Talking.”
I hiss through my teeth at his bossiness, and then remember that this has always been who he is, from the first moment I met him. “I was just wondering… about where we go from here.”
There’s an almost imperceptible raise of his eyebrows, but he just leans back and folds his arms, his face giving me nothing as he scrutinises me. Finally, he opens his mouth and I think he’s going to tell me what’s on his mind, but he just says, “Elaborate.”
I pull a face. “Well, firstly, let’s not go back to Sir Single Word Sentences.” The corners of his mouth twitch before the flat mask slides back over his face. I roll my eyes. “Or Earl of the Emotionless.”
The mask breaks and he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Eira… how about we keep it to one argument a morning?”
“What? You told me to elaborate about where we’re going, and I just told you where I don’t want to go. That’s better than anything you have told me!”
He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, they’re softer, but still unreadable. “By elaborate, I meant, what do you mean ‘where do we go from here?’”
“Oh. Well, I meant… just that. What’s next for us?”
He nods. “Well, the final Keeper trial is in two months. And as we’ve seen, Selene isn’t going to be easy to beat.”
“Not that.” Gods, men are dumb.
“Then, what, Eirabella? Help me out here. I don’t speak ‘convoluted female.’”
