Page 28 of Held

I will try not to lunge,Wick had replied. It had amused Slate enough that he explained more about their species.

“We live isolated lives,” Wick said, then hesitated. “I did try to make friends.”

Briar winced. “How did that go?”

“How you would imagine.” Wick fell silent, remembering so many creatures fleeing from him. Watching them vanish into the distance became preferable to the alternative.

“I think I told them to hurt me,” Wick continued. “But so far, no one has managed it.”

Briar looked at his body, which was covered in various scars. There were even some in his skull mask, the most prominent one chipping away the bone above his mouth.

“I am glad you have that necklace,” he said.

It was not the first time he had told her, but it had a different effect. Briar looked at him like he had said something very serious. His fiery eyes reflected in hers, and the air hung heavily with anticipation.

Then Briar looked away, laughing breathlessly. “Well,Iam glad we fucked before the storm caught us. It would be pretty impossible to do the deed in time like this.”

Wind howled around the cave. Wick tightened his wings around Briar until he could feel every lift and fall of her breath, her face so close to his that her nose brushed his chin.

He would like it, he realized. Mating like this. Holding her close as she rocked against his lap. His wings tucking her close and shutting out the rest of the world.

Briar shivered.

Wick leaned in closer, trying to force the fire in his eyes to swell. “Are you still cold?”

Briar swallowed. Despite the warmth they offered, she seemed to have a difficult time meeting his eyes.

“I’m getting warmer,” she said softly.

Nine

Briar woke up to the sound of a small explosion.

She lifted her groggy head from her pack.

Wick was sitting in the mouth of the cave they had sheltered in. The sun streamed in behind him, illuminating the damp rocks and a badly constructed campfire.

Wick held up a stick. There was a shattered egg tied to it, patches of shell and yolk dripping down into the fire and baking onto the burning wood.

“It did not cook as it should,” Wick said crossly.

Briar giggled. She sat up, surprised to find that most of her clothes had dried overnight. Her underclothes were still slightly damp, but otherwise she was warm and dry. Thanks to Wick’s protection, of course.

“You need to heat up a stone,” she explained. “And then crack the eggs onto the stone. Or, even more ideal, find a frypan.”

“Oh.” Wick stared down at the exploded egg. The string he’d tied around it was starting to burn, along with the stick. “That is not self-evident.”

“My fault,” Briar said, unable to hold back a grin. “I should have explained. Good thing we still have your fruit!”

She heaved her pack into her lap and pulled out the bag of awful, underripe apples he had picked for her yesterday. After growing up at an orphanage and on the streets, there wasn’t much that could turn her stomach.

Wick stood. He had to stoop, his horns and wingtips scraping the top of the cave. He stamped out the fire and turned to her.

“You will need more than that,” he said, nodding at the apple she was munching on.

Briar forced down a surge of warmth that had risen, unwelcome, in her traitorous chest. He still didn’t know much about mortals, but he was paying attention. Now he knew basic things, like that she needed more than fruit to tide her over.

She swallowed her underripe fruit. “How are your wings?”

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