Page 149 of Cursed Shadows 4
I hobble a mere step before the ground is swiped out from under me, and I’m draped over his shoulder again.
Daxeel carries me out of the clearing and deeper into the wispy woods. We are some distance away from the small camp when he ducks under the drape of a lilac tree, then lowers me to my feet.
He draws back with a step and a throwaway gesture to the foliage. “Go.”
My wide eyes cut between him and the ground.
“I can’t go if you are watching,” I hiss at him, cheeks aflame.
He folds his arms over his chest and cocks an eyebrow. “Then you must not really need to relieve yourself. Another ploy? They are becoming weaker, Nari.”
“It’s not a ploy,” I sigh. I reach for the buttons of my leather trousers, fastened along my hipbone. “Can you turn around, at least?”
He is unmoving, entirely unflinching. “No.”
For a beat, we are locked. Gazes hooked.
I suck my lips inwards, then drag my teeth over them with a sharp bite, a bite I itch to chomp right into his small dancing smile.
Ugh, to the gods with it.
I must relieve myself. Better here than at the summit.
At least hidden behind the shield of curtained leaves, I might be hidden from the eyes of Comlar. I cannot know that forcertain, but I do hope. I hope they cannot see me as I unfasten my trousers and boldly squat under Daxeel’s gaze.
A groan tangles in my chest. It thrums like an ache, a brewing cough, under the siege of my thigh.
I loosen a steadying breath—and let the relief come.
Daxeel does not stray his gaze from mine.
But where my cheeks are crimson, his are beige, smooth and sanded. He does not mirror my shame in this.
Easy for him to not be ashamed, though.
He isn’t the one squatted, tilted to the side to relieve the weight from her bad leg, and peeing in front of the male she loved.
It is a long moment.
Too long.
And by the time I am finished, my whole face is crimson.
I fasten the buttons, then, with a withering look at him, extend my hand. “Waterskin,” is all I say.
He unhooks the string from his shoulder and passes it to me. Still, his unwavering stare traces my every move, watches as I gulp down the springwater, then rinse off my hands, then splash more onto my face to wash away as much of the grime as I can.
Daxeel draws closer.
His hand reaches out, and I think at first he means to take the waterskin from me, then lead me back to camp, but his reach passes the leather bottle in my hand, and moves for my cheek.
His fingertips graze the blush of my prickling flesh. “There you are.”
I look up at him.
His voice is as soft as the breeze that rustles through the leaves, “I yearn for the moment I no longer revere the mere sight of you.”
The waterskin crumples in my grip. My fingers tighten around the leather, creaking in my fists.
