Page 24 of Humans Don't Have Horns
His face fills with emotions that I can’t unravel, and he is quiet for a while. Yet he agrees, and every day while we ride, he teaches me more words of his language. It is how I learn that the Mongans don’t refer to the Puresouls as Pureouls but rather as Shavirs, which means the ones with thin blood. How very far from how we like to portray ourselves.
I also learn the Mongans have seven different words that mean honor. There is a specific word that means honor for your parents, another word that means honor for your people, another one for the Goddess, and one for a loved one.
Every day when we set camp, Daton keeps insisting on teaching me basic combat, so I can defend myself if needed. I doubt it will everhelp me, with my tendency to freeze in front of danger, but I indulge him. I shouldn’t because teaching me to fight demands closeness and touching. I am so clueless about it all that he needs to demonstrate the different tackling, the grabbing. His strong muscles flex between my hands, his hard, warm body looming behind me.
There is nothing flirty when I’m by his side. He is a patient and serious tutor. But I burn with his body so close to mine, and there is a constant throb between my legs. My breaths are shallow and quick, and my cheeks flush. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.
Although, I swear sometimes I catch him looking at me, his eyes drawn to my lips, his voice gruff. But he only continues in the instruction.
One of those evenings, as he shows me a maneuver, it takes him a few extra seconds to remove his hand from my waist, his eyes fixed on my bottom lip, which I chew nervously as I attempt to gather self-control.
His stubble has grown to a thick dark beard, and I can’t decide if it makes him look more feral or less. I ache to thread my fingers through it. I can feel his breath on my face. It smells sweet, like honey. Always that honey scent.
“Will you ever tell me why you followed me? Saved me from the direwolves, after the River of Tears?” I ask, mainly because I can’t bear the silence, and the way he looks at me. There is a craving in me that terrifies me. I can see the muscles in his jaw working hard at my question. He says nothing but doesn’t step away from me either.
But this is ridiculous. I follow him all around Amada blindly, and he doesn’t even bother to explain his motivations. My temper rises, covering the lust I don’t want to feel. “I can’t just keep following you around, trusting you, when you won’t trust me enough to explain why you keep saving me. Is it because I spoke to the direwolves? Do you think you can use this power you assume I have somehow?”
His hands drop from my waist, and he takes a step back. In one second, he shifts from gentle familiarity to simmering anger. “Is that what you think of me? That I would manipulate you like an honorless man?”
“What am I supposed to think?” I cry out. My temper is keeping me undaunted. This is probably something he’s not used to because, on a good day, he is scary, and now, now he is the stuff of nightmares. Looming over me with those obsidian-black eyes, his horns, and all that vibrating brute force. But I am not that princess from the wedding tent, and I refuse to be intimidated. “I don’t understand why.”
“It’s not so fucking complicated,” he says, his voice rising. He shoves his hand through his hair and grunts in frustration.
“Why?” I keep pushing.
“You know why! You make me want to protect you,” he groans.
“Why? Why protect a woman who, by your own admission, you aren’t averse to killing? I will not follow another man without question. Those days are over. I will not be manipulated with half-truths,” I declare.
But he only stares me down as if he has already given me the answer and is just waiting for me to figure it out. I can hear a faraway bird chirping and the foliage moving in the slight breeze as we just stand there staring at each other. My mouth goes dry, and my heart pauses. It can’t be why. It can’t be. “But I’m a Puresoul,” I whisper to him in shock.
“I’ve noticed,” he drawls and crosses his arms. “Look, I don’t expect you to feel the same. The stars know I tried not to feel this way. It’s just—”
I close the distance between us and kiss him. My lips crush into his, and I can feel his shock. I’m shocked too. Truly I am, but you can only simmer for so long without boiling.
Realizing he wants me, that he has feelings for me, melts any inhibition I had. My hands are on his chest, and I can feel his heartbeat. He tastes sweet and warm, like honey and spice. And while his body is big and hard against mine, his lips are soft. As he recovers from my surprise assault, one hand moves to my waist, and the other grabs my nape firmly but gently.
He kisses me as if his life depends on it. His mouth devours mine. His tongue enters my mouth and swirls against mine. His arm aroundmy waist presses me even closer against him, and I can feel his hardening length against my stomach. Everything about him is hungry and consuming. My body is pressed to the wall of power that he is. And I freeze. Again. Dreading this thing I unleashed. This huge and brutish power I can’t control, that I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.
Slowly he breaks the kiss. “What’s wrong?” His eyes search my face. I can’t bring words to my lips. “Lian.” There is a pleading to his voice that breaks my heart. And I feel panic washing over me. What have I done? This was so stupid of me. Now I’ll just hurt him.
Daton steps away from me, just slightly, but I feel so very cold at his distance.
“I’m sorry.” My voice trembles, and I’m fighting tears. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I should have known I’d react like this, after what happened the night before what was to be my wedding.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one to be sorry. I’ve lost myself,” he says, dragging his hand over his face. His eyes are full of pain, of guilt.
“I’m the one who started this. Don’t you dare take this decision from me,” I snap at him, and he looks at me, baffled. I’m tearing up now. I want to tell him why, but I will take that to the grave.
Then he just pulls me into a hug. One hand gently holds my lower back, and the other strokes my hair. Why is his proximity suddenly so comforting when only seconds before, it was terrifying? Instead of dwelling on that, on how he seems to know what I need from him right now, I just sink into his embrace. With my head on his chest, I sob. My tears drench his shirt, but his hands never leave me. We stand like that for the longest time, saying nothing.
When we lie down to sleep, he opens his sleeping bag to me in invitation. I enter it without a word. As his body wraps around mine, his fingers graze my hair. “I think I need time,” I whisper.
His thumb strokes my face gently. “We’re in luck, then. Mongans have triple the time,” he says with a ghost of a smile, and he kisses me slightly on my head. “Sleep, Lian,” he murmurs as he cuddles me with his big body. I rest my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.As I fall asleep, I have this feeling of being finally at home. But that can’t be right, can it?
When I wake up, Daton is already up and about, and he hands me a cup of coffee. “Did you hide this until now?” I look at him, aghast. I’m conflicted between the desire to maim him for the mere idea he had coffee all this time and didn’t let me know and the desire to kiss him in sheer joy. Because coffee! Finally. Daton chortles, “I wasn’t aware you’re so into coffee.”
I take my first sip and groan at the rich flavor, and Daton’s eyes instantly darken.
