Page 101 of Burn Her They Said
Cirrin’s distinct footsteps draw nearer, then halt once he reaches my side of the bed.
“I’ll try to help you sleep,” he says, wrapping his hand around my bicep. “Wow, Tasch, your heart is beating rapidly.”
Tingles scatter across my chest, letting me know Varic’s eyes are on me as he presses our bodies flush together, with the warmth of his breath casting over the sensitive skin along the curve of my neck.
“If it would help you to rest your head on my chest, you are more than welcome to do so,” he says, face falling as his eyes trace the panic in my expression. “You don’t have to, and you don’t need to explain why, either.” His voice contains the tender pain of rejection scarcely veiled behind his meaning.
Desperately wanting to keep from pressuring me. Caring more for my needs, even when his are screaming. All while his very being calls to mine, shaking and shuddering with the need to reach over, to make and maintain contact in an effort to soothe him.
But I cannot bring myself to act on it. I cannot tolerate this level of torment. Not when it will last one night only. A blip in time compared to what we have left, if we find a way to sustain my magic. Just a hazy impression of the life I lead in some dreamland where our love is free.
It wouldn’t be fair to do this to him, either. Even though it would settle us both in the moment. Because encouraging this affection he has for me is its own special form of cruelty.
“You don’t owe me anything.” His voice is shredded as my magic reaches for him, recognizing with startling clarity how he is quickly devolving into his own sense of panic, more than likely worrying he’s only made things worse for me. “Not even an explanation.”
“You did not cause this, Varic,” I whisper, wishing I could expand upon my meaning.
“The discomfort you displayed when I made the offer is answer enough. I do not even want you to consider it if it would be for my comfort alone.” His brow furrows, appearing lost in thought, just before his eyes flare to life as he stares back at me in horror. “It wasn’t all for me back then, was it?”
My stomach twists with the guilt he exudes from thinking this could be true. “No, Varic. Providing you physical contact has never been just for your comfort.” Nor would it be if we were to touch right now.
Which I cannot say without making everything worse.
For the both of us. For all of us. And my heart hurts.
“I’m sorry for suggesting it,” he says.
I nearly launch myself at him to brace his face between my hands. I very nearly divulge that it is not he who makes me uncomfortable—it is everything about our situation. Our impossible fucking circumstances, and how I do not think it a kindness for me to prolong his misery. How I need to keep him at a distance so his feelings might move on. To put his all into his work, or perhaps take an interest in creating—like Lars and Fray. Or perhaps to transfer this adoration he so clearly harbors for me onto someone else. Some other deserving witch or sorcerer with whom he could make eyes every time we enter a room they inhabit.
Hoping my words come out as confident and clear as intended, I tell him, “You do not make me uncomfortable, Varic.”
“Then what’s causing you distress, Tasch? I can feel it, the weight—it’s insurmountable.”
Tears chart a course over the ridge of my lashes, and I shake my head, unable to say it.
“What can I do to comfort you? I don’t want—” His hand hovers by my shoulder, hesitating as I stare at it in silence before he retracts the offer by lowering his palm to rest over his chest. Then he raises his brows at me in question. “Do you trust me?”
My face mirrors his own as I say, “Of course.”
“While this is technically your area of specialty—” He cuts himself off and stares down at my chest.
I part my lips with a gasp at the distinct tingle and warmth of his magic nudging my side until I turn and stare in awestruck wonder as a tendril of curiosity—yellow, tinted with his amber—penetrates until it winds itself around my heart. He expertly sends me pale pink and purple tendrils along the connection he so easily forged, imbuing me with a sense of adoration and devotion as he pulls on the deep dark threads to siphon my sorrow and anguish.
“Varic,” I cry. “How?” I’m unable to form any other words as he stares over in deep focus, taking each tendril of sable and ochre as they coil outward from my chest, relieving me of fear and anxiety until the weight is somehow bearable enough for me to retract what’s left, not feeling comfortable with him holding all of it.
“How did you know how to do that?” I gasp.
“I didn’t. But I’ve felt it before. Other times when in your presence, when you were overwhelmed with distress. And just like every other time, it felt like your magic called to mine, training it to behave, much like you’ve done with me.”
“I…”
“It’s the least I can do, and no, I won’t stop doing this whenever you need it. No matter how much you protest, since this isn’t the same as forcing you to make contact.”
My brows must meet in the center with the measure of my scowl in response. “You haven’t ever forced me to make contact.”
“I most certainly have taken hold of you without asking?—”
“And I do not wish for you to stop,” I say, cheeks flaming with the permission I’ve just given him. Though I also do not want to retract it. “We just have to be cautious.”
