Page 25 of Held

“I’m not going to wither away in your arms, Wick.” Briar paused, tilting her head consideringly. “Actually, let me try something.”

She knelt up in his lap and looked deep into his eyes.

Wick’s wings spasmed. His whole body had been doing that more since Briar arrived—tail twitching, wings flinching, body reacting for reasons he could not control. His brother Slate liked to tease him for his body giving away his emotions. Apparently, Wick was having more emotions than ever because he constantlyfound himself moving in ways he didn’t even notice until it was over.

Briar leaned up even further. Her eyes were just as stunningly blue as the first night they met. The kind of blue that made him want to dive in.

Briar’s lips parted. She tucked in so close he could feel her chest move with her breath. He waited for her to smile, as she often did when she caught his eye. But she just knelt in his lap, watching him with an unknowable expression.

Wick wondered if she would kiss him. He had seen mortals kiss. It seemed nice. But looking down at her right now, he felt it would be significantly better thannice. He craved it like he craved blood during a frenzy. If she looked at him any longer, he was going to?—

Briar ducked her head, and the smile bloomed, so bright it knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Your eyes are warm,” she explained, looking back up at him.

Wick blinked. Then he remembered the fire in his eyes, a rarity in Skullstalkers that he often forgot about. He did not have a mirror, after all. And his fiery eyes performed no useful function.

Until now, at least.

“You should stay close,” Wick suggested.

“Good idea,” Briar whispered back. She bit her lip. Her gaze fell from him again, and Wick wondered if she feared being so close to him, despite all her time clutched to his chest during their flight.

He sniffed the air. Rain and cold and sweat, but no fear. He couldn’t think of anything else that would make her keep looking away like that.

He tucked away the urge to kiss her. Maybe next time they mated, he would ask for it.

“You must be tired,” Briar said finally. “All this flying.”

“It is nothing.” Wick rolled his shoulders. Theywereprofoundly sore. He had almost been glad to feel that first raindrop that meant they needed to stop and find shelter.

“Still,” Briar said. “I should give you a massage when this storm clears up.”

“Massage,” Wick repeated.

“It’s where I knead your muscles and make them less sore.” Briar held up her hands to form makeshift claws. It was awkward; there was not much room to move around in the safety of his sore wings.

“I’ll show you tomorrow,” she said.

Wick nodded. He looked forward to it. He looked forward to anything that involved her touching him.

Rain battered his wings. A particularly strong gust of wind lashed the cave, and Wick braced himself around Briar.

Briar watched his wing muscles flex with effort.

“My hero,” she said, voice unusually high. She cleared her throat and pulled her smile back into place. “So! Since we’re stuck here until the storm passes, pressed uncomfortably close and now apparently staring at each other for warmth, we should play a game.”

“A game,” Wick repeated. It sounded suspiciously like a mating proposition, which would be difficult with them hiding inside his wings.

“Yes,” Briar said eagerly. “A question game. Each of us asks each other a question, one after another.”

Wick thought about it. “Where do your scars come from?”

Briar’s eyes widened. “Well! Starting out strong.”

Wick waited. Briar cleared her throat, shifting her damp hair out of her eyes. He wanted to follow it with his claw, tuck it behind her ear like she was doing. There was a daintiness to her actions, just as much as there was a roughness. She balanced between the two with a captivating quality.

“Nowhere in particular,” she said. “Just the usual sort of tokens from the life I live.”

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