Page 29 of A Kingdom of Death & Darkness
Maybe no one does.
Right after Rorrick leaves, Delilah and I decide to take Seven outside for the first time since he was attacked. His movements are slow and steady as we help him out of the bed, but it’s not because of weakness. It’s almost as if he doesn’t feel like he’s a part of his body anymore, like it’s so different, he has to test his movements. Watching him flex his hands, opening and closing his fists, makes my anxiety skyrocket for some reason. It’s gonna be okay. I repeat that lie to myself over and over again in the hopes that it’ll become true.
It doesn’t make the sight of Seven standing in the lush grass, his head tilted up toward the overcast sky, any easier. In fact, it makes it even harder. Because now I’m watching every movement, every flicker, for something that means he won’t be okay. Seven is still Seven to me, no matter what had to be done to save him. But it’s clear, he’s no longer the same man to himself.
“I imagined it to be brighter,” he says as he looks up at the heavy clouds obscuring the sunshine.
He’s basked in the hazy glow of light, his jaw angled high to feel the dim warmth of the cloudy day. Dark lashes close against sharp cheekbones as his brows pull heavily over his eyes. He looks pained, desperate to feel the sunlight, like he’s yearned for it his entire life.
My stomach sinks for him.
“It usually is,” I reply, frowning. “It looks like there might be a storm rolling in, actually. Does it storm here?”
“Sometimes,” Delilah answers, her bright eyes looking up at the clouds. With the sunshine obscured, she doesn’t need aparasol to block it, and the moody lighting makes her look even more intense than she normally does. Like me, she’s not smiling, as if she, too, can sense the changing winds.
“We should go back inside,” I say, wrapping my fingers around Seven’s forearm and feeling the warmth of his skin. In answer, the clouds rumble with thunder, making everything feel even eerier.
Seven looks down at where I touch him, his eyes heated even as his expression is tense. “You shouldn’t get so close to me, Crymson,” he warns on a sharp whisper. “I could be dangerous.”
“You’re not dangerous to me,” I argue, tightening my hold around his arm and leaning into him.
He feels nice. More importantly, I want him to feel nice. I want him to know he’s wanted. He’s safe. He’s loved.
“I’ve waited for you to wake up for weeks now. I’m going to touch you.” My chin raises, my lips nearly brushing his as he leans into me before I add, “If you’ve got a problem with that, take it up with someone else.”
The corner of his lips quirks, as if he’d forgotten my attitude. He reaches up with hands that feel both sure and strange in the slowness with which he moves them. Those fingertips brush against my cheek reverently, carefully, almost afraid.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, and that unseen pain shakes his voice.
“Then don’t,” I whisper back, looking up into his eyes, aching so deeply for him, I’m sure he can feel it.
His palm flattens against my cheek, warmth there when before there’d been only cold. The fine lines beneath his skin are almost invisible beneath the storm clouds rolling in, but as his hand plants more firmly on my jawline, they flash to life, darkening with his eyes. My own gaze widens in surprise just before he leans down to kiss me.
I’ve been desperate for this moment, desperate to feel him alive and okay, so the moment his lips touch mine, I wrap my arms around his neck, and I let him consume me.
Devourme.
Distantly, in the back of my mind, I hear Delilah say something about needing to get a room before I hear her retreat. A deep pulsing vibration seems to filter through Seven’s body, his hands wrapping around my waist to drag me closer as his lips move hungrily over mine.
He breaks the kiss only to trail down my neck, his teeth scraping against delicate flesh, his lips chasing away the hurt.
“The Thorn King is watching from the window,” he breathes against my skin.
“Not surprising,” I gasp as I tangle my hand in his hair to better hold him against me.
“The other one is watching from the garden,” he adds.
I laugh and turn to find Carver literally sitting with what looks like popcorn as he watches us. He chucks a handful in the air and somehow catches it all with a happy smile and a little wave to us.
“For fuck’s sake. This isn’t the place, I guess,” I whisper.
Seven chuckles. “I don’t mind continuing.” He leans back and meets my eyes. “If that’s what you want.”
I let out a slow sigh. “It’s probably a bad idea with how much is going on.” I frown. “But first?—”
I lean up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his in one last hungry aggressive kiss.
Flashes of us tangled in sheets and rattling the jars of the infirmary table slip through my mind, and I know it’s him showing me how good he could make me feel.
