Page 55 of When the Wicked Sing
“You’re just as bad as mortals. I don’t get what the big deal is. Our bodies are something to be proud of,” she said, ignoring the pants. He dropped them on the couch.
Dax scrubbed a hand over his head and chuckled. “You’re right, how could we ever think that being nude in the dead of winter would be a bad idea?”
He peered down at her. The firelight danced across her face, catching the faint blush on her cheeks. She opened her mouth to retort, but her breath hitched when he stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her scarred temple. His fingers lingered for a moment too long, and he noticed how her breathing stilled.
“What are you doing?” she murmured.
The question lingered. What in the blazes was he doing? It was like his feet and hands had moved without his consent.
Taking a step back, he cleared his throat. “You take the bed—I’ll sleep here.” He collapsed onto the leather couch with a sigh.
The crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of rain on the roof filled the silence between them. Dax let his eyes drift shut, exhaustion seeping into his bones. But he could feel her gaze on him, a warmth prickling his skin.
“How old are you?” Mari blurted.
Dax glanced at her through hooded eyes and saw her cheeks blush pink. A slow smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it. “How old do you think I am?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, but it’s more fun this way,” he said as he draped an arm over the back of the couch and smirked up at her.
She squinted, tapping her fingers against her lips as if in deep thought. “Hmm … over a century?”
That startled a laugh out of him, deep and genuine. The innocence in her blush and the way she crossed her arms made him want to stand up and kiss her.
“Okay,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “So definitely older than me.”
“Definitely,” he said softly, and regarded her with an amused tilt of his head. “Why so curious?”
She shifted awkwardly. “I just wasn’t sure if it would be, you know … respectful to take the bed from someone so …” She gestured vaguely. “Mature.”
Dax’s brows lifted, and he sat forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Mature? Really?”
Mari shrugged, biting back a smile. “I was trying to be polite.”
He stood, shaking his head with an amused huff. “Look, I’m not ancient. And if I wanted the bed, I’d take it.”
She gestured toward the inviting pile of blankets with a sweep of her hand. “Then take it. It’s plenty big enough for the both of us. Besides, this is your cabin.”
Dax’s jaw tightened as he glanced at the bed, then back at her. His shirt hung loose around her frame, her hair still damp and curling at the ends. He could imagine the feel of her warmth beside him, her weight against his chest.
No. Absolutely not.
He cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away. “Not necessary,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re my guest. Take the bed.”
Mari opened her mouth to protest, but Dax rubbed at the ache in his neck, dismissing her. “Get some rest. We’ve got a long day ahead.”
There was a moment of silence before she sighed and padded to the bed, slipping beneath the mound of blankets without another word.
Dax waited until she settled before removing his boots and lying on the couch. The cushions were lumpy, and his pants were still damp, but he didn’t care. He stared at the ceiling, cursing himself.
A slave doesn’t get to go home.
Why had he said that? He scrubbed his face, suppressing a groan of frustration when he heard something beyond the rain.
The sound of shifting blankets drew his attention. Mari kept shifting around, like she couldn’t get comfortable.
“You okay over there?”
