Page 115 of Kingdoms of Night

But...

The pressure of his arm over her waist, his hand cupping her breast, the planes of his body pressed against hers.

She smoothed the loose strands of hair back over her head and shook her head. Heat through her chest, and she struggled to keep it from breaking out across her cheeks. No. No! Deep breaths. Calm breaths. Control. She was Unato. And she just needed to stop thinking about intimacy and love. Maybe he wasn’t a father or married, but he had said he wanted to be alone.

The wolves raced on ahead. They barked happily, tails wagging. Feron picked up his pace a little, managing to get a step or so ahead. He could have easily outrun her or added more distance, but he stopped and simply walked.

She rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling cold despite the hot sun beating down upon her. Couldn’t get warm at all. Not just because her black shawl was gone. No.

No matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, she wanted to be close to someone. There was something good and healing about being held. Touch was powerful. Nothing like a little reminder of how much it could mean to make loneliness somehow feel even lonelier.

And it hadn’t even meant anything to him. The only reason he was flustered and flushing was because he thought she’d done something to him.

Though she’d seen Feron naked, he had definitely seen her, too. The way he’d looked at her… She drew in a deep breath. It had been nothing like that time so long ago, when Naatos had seen her naked once. There had been only a slow frowning question of whether she had a purpose in doing so, followed by whether she needed finding her clothes. It had been that vague bit of concern in his voice that had suggested she might’ve taken leave of her senses that had actually pushed the memory right over the edge of an embarrassing event into an utter nightmare.

Despite that cold reaction so long ago, she knew she had a decent body. And when Feron had seen her, that fact had only been confirmed. His eyes had widened, touring the curves of her body in a once-over that had taken its time. When their eyes had met once more, he’d looked away, of course. But there had been more sidelong glances since then.

Whatever he’d seen must have stuck with him. With his ash-blond hair pushed to the side, she could see that flush of color still along his neck. Probably still over his cheeks and forehead as well. Such an obvious tell. She’d never be that obvious.

He glanced over at her. A light airiness tumbled in her stomach, and she pressed another strand of hair behind her ear. Great plagues. If she hadn’t practiced at keeping her composure so much, she might have blushed, too.

He slowed half a step, then gestured toward her necklace. His finger nearly grazed the center reed.

“Is that a common weapon in your homeland?” The words came out bluntly, quickly.

Her breath caught in her throat. Then a smile pulled at her lips. She slipped the reed free from the prongs and passed it to him. “It’s very small compared to most. We call themacatlos. Or ‘blowpipes,’ if that’s easier for you. Not all reeds like this can be blowpipes—they have to be unbroken, straight. Otherwise there’s no point in them. But they’re fairly delicate.”

He took it between his thumb and forefinger, frowning as he studied it. “It does look very breakable.”

It was even harder to hide her smile. Ducking her head, she adjusted what remained of the necklace. “It is.”

“Do you make darts for it as well?” He returned it. His fingers brushed over hers.

A spark jolted her. She shivered.

By the plagues, she was a lonely eagle. No, not even an eagle. A cricket. A very lonely cricket. Just sleeping near him with his arm around her had sent her into such a cold spiral. What was wrong with her? Heat coiled in her belly, her shoulders tightening as well. She should be ashamed of herself.

“I just grew them.”

“Yeah... I’ve noticed you do that.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Is that common where you come from?”

With an inward laugh, she arched her eyebrow. “Is it common for people to become wolves and only wolves where you’re from?”

“It’s not unheard of,” he said with a lengthy inhale, “but not really common either.”

“And you call it being a—a werewolf. And you were human.” That was remarkable.

He cocked his head, his pace now matched with hers so that he was just half a pace ahead. “You keep saying ‘human,’ as if you’re not.”

“I’m not.” She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from smiling further. His brilliant green eyes widened, as if he’d realized he’d just seen something rare. “I’m an Unato.”

“Oh. And that means you make plants grow with...”

“Words, energy, my feet or my palms on the earth.”

“So...” He weighed this and tilted his head. His long ash-blond hair swung over his broad shoulder. “Does that mean you’re a witch? Or a mage?”

She frowned. “What would you say a witch or a mage is?”

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