Page 124 of Fear the Flames
“Cayden?” I call out, hating how vulnerable I feel when I don’t get a reply. My throat feels tight and scratchy. Footsteps are coming up the stairs, and I whip my head around the room, spotting my knives on the bedside table. Cayden must have put them there last night before getting into bed. My hand reaches over to grab one, and pain shoots through my ribs as I scramble to my feet. I use one hand to wrap a fleece blanket around me and the other to hold the knife toward the door. It swings open, revealing Cayden. He takes in my crazed state while I take in his calm one. He enters the room, clad in his fighting gear and holding a wooden breakfast tray. He steps forward to kick the door shut with his foot.
“Was the sex that bad?” he arches a brow at me, walking in my direction to set the wooden tray onto the dining table. I toss my knife on the bed as he steps closer.
“Terrible. Absolutely horrendous,” I jest. The relief that he’s still here spreads through me quickly. I hate my brain sometimes.
“Oh yeah?” He licks his lips while cradling my face in his hands. His proximity eases my nerves and ignites something wanton in me. I reach out to grab his belt loop, pulling him closer. I glance at his lips which quirk up at the side.
“Mhmm,” I nod. He tilts my chin higher and presses his lips to mine in a dominating kiss. I press my thighs together as his tongue dips into my mouth, stroking and teasing me. Butterflies erupt low in my belly, and I sink into his hold just as he pulls his mouth from mine and smiles down at me in accomplishment. I’ll challenge him more if healwaysfeels the need to prove me wrong.
He loops an arm around my waist and leads me over to the table. He takes a seat in the chair with the tray in front of it, but before I can take the seat next to him, he pulls me onto his lap and situates me until I’m comfortable. I glance at the tray he brought in; two bowls of oatmeal, a few slices of toast, and two cups of coffee. I instantly get excited at the sight of coffee. My hand shoots forward to grasp a steaming cup and bring it to my lips. The warm liquid eases the roughness of my throat. He really does make good on all his promises; my throat is definitely raw from last night. Cayden laughs at the sour expression that overtakes my face when the bland and bitter coffee coats my tongue—there isn’t even sugar in it.
“That one is mine,” he says, removing the cup from my hands and taking a long sip. I reach for the other cup, expecting a bit of cream and sugar to be in it, but I taste the sweet hint of vanilla—my favorite. “You wouldn’t have made that mistake if you had stayed asleep like I planned.”
“I got nervous when you weren’t here,” I confess.
“I hate to be the one to inform you of this for the millionth time, but you’re stuck with me, angel,” he says while leaning forward to spoon some oats into his mouth. It’s not the first time he has said those words to me, but they’re different this time—especially after last night. I’m wrapped in a blanket and eating breakfast next to a fire while drinkingvanillacoffee brought to me by the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Stuck with each other doesn’t sound like a bad place to be.
“You noticed I like vanilla,” I smile into my cup, taking another sip.
He shrugs his shoulders, “That’s the kind of coffee you always have. I’ve never seen you drink anything different.” A warm, fluttery feeling spreads through my chest, and the smile remains on my face while we finish our breakfast in comfortable silence. But my thoughts soon penetrate the comfortable bubble we’ve escaped into. I gnaw at my bottom lip as my breakfast turns heavy in my belly.
“Do you think that the others are okay?” I ask. His arm wraps tighter around my waist in a comforting gesture, not tight enough to put too much pressure on my bruises.
“Yes,” he nods while setting his empty coffee cup down on the tray before turning to me. “They had a head start, Imirath’s attention was drawn to us the second the dragons were released, and we’re traveling in completely opposite directions.” He sounds so sure when he says it like that. I wonder what it would be like to be inside of his mind. I usually favor logic in my thought process, but when it comes to people I care about, I often throw caution to the wind. There are just some situations I can’t remove all emotion from, and an image of Finnian being captured crosses my mind before I can stop it.
“We should get going,” I blurt out while climbing off his lap and walking toward the fireplace to collect my clothes. I feel his concerned eyes on me, but I don’t want to voice my fears when there’s a chance they could be a reality.
“I’ll go take care of the bill,” he softly says while walking toward the door. I’m glad he remembered to keep some money on him.
I drop the blanket when I hear the door click in place and start with my bottoms. The tight pants fit uncomfortably against my bruised and cut leg, but it’s not too painful. I slide my knit black shirt on next which is delightfully warm after hanging by the fire all night. I eye my corset with disdain. My bruises are sorer this morning, and I don’t know how bad they’ll feel when I put my corset on, but I don’t have anything else. If we get into a fight, I’ll be unprotected if I don’t wear it. I slide my arms through the holes and groan in pain as I try to clasp the first hook. The clasp slips from my fingers, and I take a deep breath, trying to expel the pain.
My legs carry me over to the bed, and I sink onto the plush surface. I bend forward, trying to clasp it again. Pain shoots through my bruises, but I keep trying to close the hooks with shaking hands. Again, a groan of pain slips through my lips before I resign and slide the corset off to lay it on the bed. I untie the knot at the bottom to loosen the ties. I’ll feel more force if I’m hit, but I can’t squeeze my bruises and concentrate on fighting. The door opens while I’m tying off the looser corset.
“Your bruises?” Cayden inquires in a hard tone.
“I just have to loosen my corset a little, it’s not a big deal,” I shrug without looking at him.
His heavy boots cut through the space between us, “Stop dismissing your pain as if it means nothing.”
“You’re one to talk,” I throw him a leveling glare which he returns. He sits across from me on the bed and grabs the hem of my shirt to raise it just below my breasts. A dark expression crosses his face, and I have a feeling that if a human had given me these bruises, they would be dead already. The gentleness of his fingers betrays the brutality in his eyes.
“I’ll find you something to ease the pain when we get home,” he mutters with a scowl. I keep my mouth shut and refrain fromdismissing my painbecause I don’t feel like verbally sparring with him over something he won’t relent on and will ultimately ease the pain I feel. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as I slide my arms through the holes again. I suppress a wince as I begin closing my corset. It’s uncomfortable, but I loosened it enough for it to fit like my pants; uncomfortable but not painful. His eyes stay on me while I finish all the clasps, tracking exactly where my fingers travel. When I finish them off, I drop my hands on my lap and meet his gaze.
“Done fussing?” I ask. My lips tilt upward at the sight of his scowl.
“Not quite,” he sighs while getting to his feet and walking over to where our swords rest against the wall. “If we ride through the night, we should get back to Vareveth tomorrow morning. Would you be up for that?”
“By the gods, is Cayden Veles, esteemed Commander of Vareveth, suggesting we steal horses? One night with me, and you’re already corrupting your pristine morals.”
He glances over his shoulder while he finishes securing his sword around his waist and winks at me, “My soul is only yours to corrupt, angel.”
He turns away from me to grab his other sword, tossing it over his head and securing the strap across his chest. He’s already wearing his throwing knives along his muscular thighs, but he double-checks the straps to make sure they’re secure. I should put mine on now. My hands begin sliding the leather straps up my thighs—it’s like muscle memory at this point. I could probably put my knives on in my sleep. Once I’m finished, I walk over to where my sword rests against the wall and begin to wrap it around my waist, but rough, calloused hands enclose mine from behind.
Cayden takes the strap from me. My toes curl in my boots whenever his fingers skim the top of my thighs and hips. My breathing turns labored while he takes his time securing the buckle and presses his hard bulge into me. The sword rests comfortably against my leg when he finishes. I turn in his arms to face him. His eyes are nearly black, and he’s taking in steady, controlled breaths. My fingers trail over the leather strap on his chest that secures the sword on his back and revel in the way his hands tighten on my hips.
“Stop looking at me like that,” his husky tone drifts down to my ears.
“How am I looking at you?” I ask in mock innocence, giving him my best doe-eyed expression.
