Page 47 of The Blood that Binds Us

“Am I really meant to sleep on the floor?” I ask in disbelief. Just an hour ago, he promised to rip Cathal to pieces in my name, and now he expects me to sleep on the floor while he lies in comfort?

“There’s plenty of room—I promise I don’t bite. Well, actually…”

Ihearthe smile in his voice, and my hand instinctively caresses my collarbone where he had bitten me the night of the Rut.

“You honestly expect me to lie next to you?”

“You seemed to have no qualms sleeping with Eldridge at your side.”

I scoff audibly at his suggestion.

“Though, I wonder if you would allow him into your bed as eagerly now that he has another woman’s scent on his tongue,” he muses.

“Do notspeak on which you know so little about,Your Grace,” I snip, muddling his title with condescension. Tears burn at my eyelids, and I quickly blink them away.

He doesn’t respond, and when the last of the anger bleeds from my bones, I step out of the bath and dress in the dry clothes left out for me—a spare men’s shirt and pants that swallow me in extra fabric. I eye Sin in the bed—the blankets tucked under his bare arms, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. He’s asleep, or at least, he appears to be.

There really isn’t another surface to sleep on; no spare chairs, or even a bedroll occupy the tent. And with my cracked rib, sleeping on the floor isn’t a wise choice. Careful to not overextend my side, I lie on the bed, over the covers. There’s not a chance in Hell I’m climbingunderthe blankets and risking waking up with our bodies tangled together in our sleep.

For a split second, his breathing pauses, and I’m certain he’s aware I’ve slipped into bed next to him. I doubt anyone has ever managed to sneak up on the Black Art, even in sleep.

His breathing settles back into a rhythmic cadence, and just as I think I’ll never be able to sleep next to my sworn enemy, all thought escapes me, and I fall into a slumber more peaceful than death.

It’s well past first light when I wake in the empty bed. Pain spears through the crack in my rib as I roll over, sending the memory of yesterday’s embarrassing incident to the front of my mind. I ease my legs over the side of the bed and out from the warm blanket.

The blanket I distinctly remember sleeping ontopoflast night.

I may live to see a million suns and still not understand the Black Art. Threatening the very air I breathe one second and sheltering me from the morning chill the next. And letting me sleep hours past the time I’m sure he would have preferred to leave, having seen his urgency to return to Scarwood yesterday.

I find him outside the tent, shoving the rest of our dried clothes into the saddle bag attached to a large ebony horse. Sin scans me in a single glance, his eyes hovering on my side as if he could assess the damage there through my loose-fitting shirt.

Neither of us bother with forced pleasantries, but when he waves me forward to lift me onto the horse, careful of my broken rib, I don’t object.

“Front or back?” he asks with a sly grin.

I shoot him a disapproving glower as I step up to the horse. “Back,” I answer, not liking the thought of riding injured with him at my rear.

Sin lifts me to the back of the saddle, then hops onto the steed with the speed and grace one only achieves through experience. “You’re full of surprises, little witch. I would have thought you’d prefer me behind you,” he hums darkly.

“In your dreams, Blackheart.”

Sin cracks the reins, and I wrap my hands around his waist as the horse he commandeered takes off in a violent gallop, his soft laughter lost in the thundering of hooves.

We’re only a few hours out from the castle, having made it most of the way yesterday before the storm left us stranded in the downpour. The skies are calm this morning, but the wind on my face stings like a horde of bees. I press my cheek to his back, his large body a perfect barrier to the assaulting wind, and the smell of steel and cedar and sword oils wraps itself around me, tangling in my hair and flirting with my tongue. As much as I may hate to admit it, his scent is mouthwatering.

If Sin takes problem with my hands clutched around him, he doesn’t vocalize it. He’s probably too lost in his thoughts of who’s next on his ever-growing hit list to even realize how tightly I’m forced to cling to him. And I can’t help but wonder just how high my name is on that list.

* * *

Scarwood’s southern courtyard is a tempest of armor and steel. Rows of soldiers speckle the open training grounds, sparring and running drills under the watchful eye of the moon. While I may have sneered at it before, tonight, satisfaction blooms in my gut as I watch them quickstep to their metallic songs. The better prepared Sin’s armies, the higher my chances of rescuing Cosmina.

Ships of towering heights rear up from the castle’s moat, the armored soldiers training in the shadow of their black and gray sails. Beyond the water barrier, my eyes barely make out the edge of Spiritwood, the woods that enclose the castle’s east and connect to Autumnhelm at the bridge.

As promised, Sin escorted me to Anika as soon as we returned, and she quickly repaired the break. After a much-needed wash in the bathhouse and a hearty meal from the kitchen, I decided I could no longer delay the inevitable.

I scan for Sin across the training grounds and find him almost immediately. It isn’t the long black hair or burnt umber skin that catches my eye. It’s the darkness that hovers around him, moving as he does and making way as his sword slices through the night.

Even the shadows cower in his wake.

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