Page 102 of The Curse of Golden Blood
"Good morning, little dove." I brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. "Sleep well?"
"No nightmares." Her expression shifted slightly, something vulnerable entering her gaze. "I don't know why."
I pulled her closer, needing to hold her near, needing her warmth against me. "Is it so strange that you feel safe for once?"
Something in my tone must have caught her attention because she studied my face with those perceptive eyes. "Are you all right? You look..."
"What?" I kept my expression carefully neutral.
"Tired. Like you didn't sleep at all."
"I was thinking." I traced patterns on her bare shoulder, marveling at the softness of her skin.
"About what?"
About dying. About leaving you alone in a world that wants to use you or destroy you. About how I've wasted centuries on revenge when I could have been searching for something like this.
"About you," I said instead. The truth, if not the whole truth. "About what this means."
She tensed slightly. "You mean what I am to the Sun Court."
"No." I caught her chin, tilting her face up to mine. "What you are to me."
Her breath caught. The morning light streaming through the windows turned her eyes to molten gold, and I wondered if this was what the ancient texts meant when they spoke of treasures worth dying for.
"And what am I to you?"
Everything. The word burned in my throat, desperate to escape. You're the answer to questions I never thought to ask. You're the reason I finally understand why warriors write poetry before battle. You're making me wish I had more time.
"Trouble," I said instead, letting my mouth curve into a familiar smirk. "Nothing but trouble since the moment you arrived."
She narrowed her eyes, but I could see the smile fighting to break free. "You're the one who brought me here against my will."
"And you're the one who tried to stab me."
"That was once."
"Once is once too many times, little dove."
She rolled her eyes, but her fingers traced lazy patterns on my chest, right over where the black veins spread beneath the fabric. I fought not to flinch at her touch there, not to give away how close the rot was getting to my heart.
"You know what I think?" She shifted, propping herself up to look down at me. The sheet slipped lower on her shoulder, and I had to focus on her face. "I think you like trouble."
"Perhaps." I ran my hand up her spine, feeling the way she shivered. "Or perhaps it's just you I like."
She leaned in until her lips were inches from mine. "Just 'like'?"
I cupped the back of her neck, holding her gaze. "No." I kissed her, long and slow and deep, trying to convey everything I couldn't say. She responded in kind, but I held back, knowing we couldn’t go further.
Her eyes searched mine. "Zydar, what aren't you telling me?"
Always too perceptive for her own good. I should have known she'd sense something was wrong. The way I'd held her last night, like I was trying to memorize every touch. The way I watched her now, cataloging every detail.
"Many things," I said, which was true enough. "But nothing that matters right now."
"Everything about you matters to me." She laid her hand over mine, intertwining our fingers. "Don't shut me out. Not again."
My chest tightened at the words. At the simple honesty in her voice. She deserved so much better than I could give her. So much more than a handful of days before the rot took me.
