Page 41 of The Delver
It had to be a result of…of adrenaline, right? After their near-death experience, she was simply feeling everything at a heightened level. This was just a natural biochemical response to what they’d been through.
His hands glided lower, and his thumbs skimmed the backs of her knees. A thrill coursed through her. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and grasped the front of her skirt in both hands, clutching the fabric.
God, she wanted his hands all over her body. Wanted him to touch hereverywhere.
Did he even realize what he was doing to her?
If you don’t calm down, Callie, he’s gonna start smelling exactly what you’re thinking pretty damn soon.
She heard him move behind her, but she didn’t dare turn to look. Instead, she focused on the stone ahead, slightly visible in the dull blue light. A few minutes ago, she’d been desperate to think about anything but cannibalistic ghost vrix prowling these primordial caves, but what other thoughts could possibly distract her from the things Urkot was making her feel now?
“I am sorry,” he rumbled, curling his fingers around her ankles and squeezing gently, comfortingly. “I tried to shield you when we fell.”
He brushed the callused pad of a thumb up her Achilles tendon, and she nearly whimpered at the tenderness of thegesture. But it was his words, filled with pain and guilt, that cut through the desire he’d roused in her.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Urkot,” she said, finally turning her head to look down at him. “You risked yourself to save me. My skin will heal. What matters is that we are both alive.”
Even if his hard, masklike face couldn’t change, his blue eyes shone with all the emotion his voice had expressed. But there was something beneath all that, something unwavering and unbreakable. A solid stone core that became more apparent as he spoke.
“We will leave this place, Callie. Alive and together. We will feel the touch of the sun again. I weave my words into a bond, stronger than any thread.”
Callie’s chest constricted at the conviction of his vow, and she told herself once more that she would not cry. Instead, she smiled. “Stronger than Rekosh’s?”
Urkot chittered low and deep, his mandibles rising. “He spins words of silk. I carve them in stone. Mine will always be stronger.”
She chuckled, glad that she was able to lift his spirit, at least a little. She caressed his face. “We will leave this place. Together. I carve these words next to yours.”
Holding her gaze, he nuzzled her hand, tenderly scraping his rough mouth against her skin. It tickled her palm and reignited the warmth in her belly.
The soft sound he made was very close to a content purr. That a small moment like this could mean so much and be so soothing, despite everything they’d been through, was a wonder to Callie, and she would hold onto it forever.
Urkot released one of Callie’s legs to cover her hand with his. He pressed her palm more firmly to his face before guiding it down. A nudge on her shoulder had her facing forward again.
“See? Bossy,” she said with a chuckle.
“Not bossy. Urkot,” he grumbled, not without a hint of humor.
Callie couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She loved it when he was bossy.
She felt him moving behind her, but she didn’t know what he was doing until his fingers touched one of her larger abrasions, covering it with a familiar substance—the sticky silk the vrix used to seal wounds.
Though the pain caused by that touch was brief, she flinched. Urkot crooned, his deep hum creating a lovely melody with a powerful resonance. It was surprisingly pleasant.
While she wouldn’t have believed it months ago, that sticky silk put her at ease. Perhaps it was only in her head, but that didn’t matter. Better to have the wounds securely covered than exposed to all the dirt and germs and who-knew-what down here.
With continued care and consideration, he treated her other larger scrapes with more silk, crooning that same soft tune whenever she reacted to the pain.
She couldn’t help but imagine a very human scene—little Urkot, sniffling and upset, running to his mother with scraped legs, and her crooning to him just like this as she covered his wounds with silk.
Would he do the same for his children?
She recalled the way Urkot had played with the broodlings during the festival and knew she already had the answer.
When he finished applying the sticky silk, he stepped back and crouched, scooping up handfuls of water and pouring them into his mouth. As he drank, she grabbed her boots and pulled them on. She straightened to find him holding a handful of water up to her.
“Drink, female” he ordered.
She smirked. “And you say you’re not bossy.”
