Page 95 of Beast and Remedy
From,
Beauvais, The King of Torgem
21
Stop Doing That
Alight nudge jolts me awake, and a startled gasp escapes me.
“You’re safe. I’m here.”
Beau’s soft voice calms my thundering heart.
He squeezes my arm, and I mutter my thanks despite the interruption of my sleep putting me on immediate alert.
Next to me, Christine lies still, her curls sweeping across her features as I twist to Marcel commenting, “Didn’t sleep well, Beau?”
“Yeah, not much.”
“Christine didn’t even budge when it was our shift. Maybe she won’t be grumpy in the morning,” Jules whispers.
“Yeah, I’d rather have her in a good mood than a bad one,” Marcel jokes.
“Same.” Beau chuckles. “Get some rest while you can, Vi and I will take over.”
I rub my eyes, processing what he said.
Me and him? On watchtogether?
Shit, I should have paid attention earlier.
Grumbling and not wanting to wake the others, I grab my dagger, water pack, and a block of cheese, needing all the distractions I can get.
The edge of the cave brightens, my vision adjusting and taking in the moon and streaks of clouds stretching across the sky. The darkness inside saved me from admiring Beau, but with light illuminating him leaning into the alcove, my pulse quickens.
He braces against the stone and slides down, his legs unfurling to get comfortable.
I swear to Yeva, every time I’m around this man, the world fades away.
Early signs of age appear in his hair and along the shadowy stubble of his square jaw. And even as time drains the life from him, I still and always will find him handsome.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs.
My grip tightens on the cheese and my pack as I lower to the floor. “Sorry.”
“I’m all for you staring because it means you are thinking about my offer.” Beau arches back, his amusement still visible.
I eye him incredulously, my mental walls remaining on the defensive. “That wasn’t what I was doing.”
His lip quirks. “Oh?” He uncrosses his legs and raises his knees, hugging them to his chest. “Then, why were you staring?”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I avert my gaze, my mahogany waves falling forward.
“I love your hair,” he whispers.
I don’t allow myself the chance to appreciate the compliment.
“Stop. Doing. That.” I angle toward him, annoyance masking the pain I struggle to repress.
