Page 24 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
‘I thought I was setting up camp,’ he replied. ‘But apparently you have other ideas?’ There was a suggestive curve of his lip at that last comment.
Right, so he’s back to being his infuriating self. Drue resented that her toes curled in her boots at his tone.
‘I thought I made myself clear last night,’ she said. ‘You’re to stay by my side at all times. I need to keep an eye on you.’
He blinked at her. ‘You want to share a tent with me?’
‘Wantisn’t the word I’d use. It’s a necessity. I don’t trust you.’
‘So you keep saying. I didn’t realise it meant you wanted to cuddle up with me.’ That glimmer of amusement was back.
‘There will be no “cuddling up”. It’s so I can watch you.’
‘Whatever gets you off.’
Drue let out a noise of frustration. ‘For fuck’s sake. Just help me with the damn tent, would you?’
‘When you ask so nicely, how could I refuse?’
Drue bit back another comment as the Warsword followed her to where she’d started setting up camp. Together, they arranged the tent wordlessly, and Drue didn’t fail to notice just how small it now seemed at the foot of the mighty warrior beside her.
Talemir seemed to notice it at the same time and looked from the pitched canvas back to her. ‘Aren’t you concerned everyone will think we’re…’
Sure enough, there were several curious glances shot their way.
‘I don’t care what everyone thinks, as long as they’re safe. From you.’
‘Even if that means trapping yourself in a tiny tent with me?’
‘Even then.’
Talemir considered this before shrugging. ‘Whatever you say, Wildfire.’
‘Stop calling me that.’
He laughed at her then. ‘Perhaps I will when you stop looking like you’re about to burst into flame.’
It took all of Drue’s willpower not to do exactly that.
Long after rations had been shared and the conversation around the fire had died down, Drue returned to her tent to find the Warsword already within. His huge frame took up much of the space, and there was no way they wouldn’t touch when she lay down. The thought sent an unwelcome thrill through her. Talemir gave her an amused smile.
Damn him. She wriggled inside, lying flat on her back beside him, her blade of Naarvian steel tucked close.
In the blue-tinged light, from the corner of her eye, she saw him take a swig of something from a flask.
‘I could use some of that myself,’ she heard herself say.
‘It’s not liquor,’ he told her. As he swallowed the liquid with a grimace, a web of white lines shimmered down the muscles of his neck before vanishing.
‘No? What is it, then? Some special Warsword elixir?’
He hesitated. ‘No… It’s to help me.’
‘What do you mean?’
He tucked the flask down his side of the tent. ‘One of the alchemists back at Thezmarr – she’s trying to help me by creating a tonic. This is batch number four.’
‘And is it? Helping?’
