Page 103 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Lush shades of gray locks fanned across the sheets near her arm. So close, a mere drift of a delicate breeze could tickle them against her. She couldn’t see his face because it was buried in the center of his forearms. Caged in by mountainous biceps and broad shoulders under a black tunic.

In the forest, she’d mistaken Kyr for him. There was no mistaking him this time.

Garrik was there. Waiting for her.

Alora watched the tension in his back expand and contract. By the rhythm of breaths, he could be sleeping. But she knew it was highly unlikely.

She wanted to reach out. Lace her fingers in his hair to comfort him, knowing the fear and pain he’d been through as a result of her absence and reappearance. He couldn’t mask it in the valley—though he tried, but she knew. Could feel it in every brush of his hands that trembled. And unlike his soldiers, she heard it in his voice. Hidden deep within the orders he commanded. How panic thieved his body.

A pressure pinned her hand onto the silken sheets. Sapphire eyes followed his forearm, and his shackle-scarred wrist, until itconnected with her porcelain skin and those incredible fingers that were laced between hers.

She couldn’t help but marvel at the feeling of it. His rings cold against her knuckles. The calluses resting against them. His hand entirely enveloping the back of hers while that icy chill soothed the bruises there. His knuckles?—

She drew in a sharp, painful breath.

A pallet of colors under split and bleeding skin.

When she pulled her gaze away, hollow bloodshot eyes waited.

“You look so tired,” she whispered, and Garrik blinked a few times.

He softly chuckled with relief and cupped her cheek. “Hello, clever girl.” Those bloodshot eyes briefly glazed over.

Then Garrik shifted in the chair, reached to the bedside table, and placed a cup to her lips.

Alora accepted it, allowing the cold water into her dry throat before she focused on his bloody hand and asked, “What happened?”

A muscle feathered in his cheek. He pulled the cup away and set it on the table. “I lost my temper.”

“Are they”—the words caught in her throat—“I killed them … didn’t I?”

Garrik sighed, stroking her cheek. “No. You gave them one hell of a shock.” He smiled at that. “The null blocked enough of your power that you could not burn them. I killed two. The others are needed for … other purposes.”

“I used my magic.” She turned her eyes down in shame. “If someone saw?—”

“I took care of it.”

“How?”

The chill of his hand drifted away, falling to her forehead. Frowning, Garrik stood as Smokeshadows whirled on top ofthe bedside table overflowing with a vase of pearlseas before dawning away to leave a metal basin behind.

“After the tavern in Alynthia.” He dipped his hand in the water, then rang out a cloth, splashing a steady stream inside. “I sent my shadows to intercept travelers into Galdheir. Anyone they detect, I will know their intentions … if they are seeking an audience with Magnelis.”

She groaned as Garrik carefully laid a freezing cloth against her forehead.

“You are fevered,” he cautioned.

She expected as much.

Garrik turned. Smokeshadows tendriled, producing more cloth as one by one he repeated the steps. Dropping them into the basin. Ringing them out before placing them on her neck, arms, chest.

A wicked shudder pebbled her skin at each touch, though she wouldn’t have protested any of it. It felt incredible. Almost as if his hands were laying on her again.

“Ozrin examined you.” He paused. Something like shame flickered on his features. “I … preserved your modesty and tended to your washing. I could not bear the thought of you awake. Of causing you pain from the wounds under a cloth.” Garrik ran his wet hand through his hair before brushing down the back of his neck.

Her eyes drifted to a bowl of red water on the bedside table, silhouetted by the white glow of her Blazebloom.

Garrik followed her gaze. “Forgive me,” he pleaded, face bleak.

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