Page 60 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

I hesitate, then let the words slip out. “You were incredible earlier.”

Roan lets out a soft huff of laughter, the sound rough and quiet in the dim room. “Incredible?” she echoes, her voice still edged with exhaustion.

I nod, even though she can’t see it. “I had no idea you could fight like that.” I turn my head slightly, daring to glance at her. “It was like watching a goddess.”

That gets a real laugh out of her this time, low and throaty. “A goddess? Hell of a title for a mercenary.”

I smile despite myself. “I mean it.”

Roan doesn’t answer right away. She’s staring at the ceiling, her expression unreadable. Then, after a pause, she murmurs, “I just did what I had to.”

I chew my lip, considering that. “It was more than that.”

Roan shifts again, rolling onto her side to look at me. The room is dark, but in the slivers of moonlight filtering through the window, I can see the way her brow furrows slightly, the way she studies me like she’s trying to figure something out.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” she finally says, her voice softer now. “That was a damn good trick with the dagger.”

I snort, shaking my head. “I panicked.”

She smirks. “Panic or not, you still got the bastard.”

A flicker of pride sparks in my chest, but I don’t say anything. The silence stretches again, thick with something unspoken.

Roan exhales, rubbing a hand over her face. When she speaks next, her voice is quieter. “You really thought I looked like a goddess?”

I blink, heat creeping up my neck. “I—” I clear my throat. “I was just—”

She chuckles again, this time deeper, almost teasing. “That flustered, Mouse?”

Groaning, I bury my face in the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts. “Maybe,” she says, softer now. “But you’re the one who called me a goddess. Can’t just expect me to ignore that.”

I glance over at her, trying to glare. The smirk on her lips makes it impossible to hold onto my indignation. “I said youfoughtlike one. Not that youwereone.”

Roan hums, as if weighing my words. “Mm. Pretty much the same thing.”

I scoff, shaking my head, but the warmth in my chest lingers. The teasing melts into something quieter, something I can’t quite put a name to.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The only sounds are the faint murmur of voices from downstairs, the occasional creak of the inn settling.

I exhale, voice soft. “Well. Thank you.”

Roan shifts slightly beside me. “For what?”

“For everything,” I murmur. “You didn’t have to…”

She turns her head, and I feel the faintest brush of breath against my ear. My breath stutters.

“I wanted to,” she says simply. “Look, I’m not great at this—whatever this is—but you deserve some peace.”

The words sink deep, settling like a weight in my chest. Heavy. Steady. Warm.

I want to say something more—to confess thatshe’sthe reason I’m still holding it together. That her presence, her steadiness, her hands on mine when we danced, are the only things keeping the shadows at bay.

But the words tangle on my tongue.

So instead, I settle for resting my hand on the blanket between us, close enough that our fingers nearly touch.

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