Page 171 of Burn Her They Said
“Thank you,” he says, voice returning closer to the deep timbre I’d recognize anywhere.
“What for?”
“For being you. For caring. For knowing the right thing to say and when.”
I huff, recalling countless moments with evidence to the contrary.
“You don’t recognize it, do you?” he asks, and I shake my head. “You have this ability to shift my mood—not with your magic, but with a look, a stare, or sometimes even a glare. And more often than you may recognize, with what I consider to be perfectly placed words.” His eyes flick down to where my lips have parted, and my stomach flips without a care for how dangerous it would be for us to kiss—because I want this.
His hand rises to cup my chin, and I lean closer, heart leaping. “You don’t need to use your magic to bewitch me, Tasch. All you have to do is be you.”
My chest rises and falls more fervently the longer he takes to make a decision. And I cannot guess what he is waiting for when the tip of his tongue glides along the fullness of his lower lip in a torturously slow motion, increasing the urge for me to just say fuck it and crush my lips to his, with this hunger, this need to draw the tip of his tongue in to tangle with my own. I am tired of caring if we get caught. I need to feel his lips on mine?—
Then my ears ring, and my vision grows hazy when he releases his hold on me and takes a step backward, shattering my heart.
I clutch my chest where a piercing pain drops to the pit of my stomach. And a prickling sensation fills my veins, as if it is poison my heart is pumping, not blood.
“I’m sorry if I said too much.” His voice emits an otherworldly tone.
I shake my head, and my chest aches, with my heart becoming a clogged grate, failing to filter the detritus of the day. Every moment I have attempted to connect and been abandoned. Every time I have tried to meet a need, only to be denied. Every flicker of hope I’ve had extinguished. All of them, every one, sits on my chest. Unable to digest anything quickly enough, with the deep burgundy of rejection taking over my being.
Warmth casts over my shoulders, and tingles spark along my skin where Varic’s arms wind behind my back, splaying his fingers wide as he pulls me in to envelop me in the tightest hug. My eyes fall closed, and I lean into the comfort, allowing my head to rest against his neck as I draw in full breaths of his warm spice scent.
A soothing sensation blooms in my chest, and I let out a breath, casting its warmth through the threads of his uniform. Anxiety prickles beneath the safety he brings, so I break my own heart and pull out of his grasp, ripping myself away from the one I need the most—only to startle when he erases the space I created between us.
“Come on.” He holds out his hands. “Let’s get you to bed.”
I shiver the moment he takes my hands in his own and slowly guides me toward the bed when he says, “I’m sorry for burdening you with all of this before you try to sleep.”
“You didn’t burden me, Varic. You are never a burden to me.”
He pauses, and I halt with him while his eyes seem to have lost their ability to focus.
I squeeze his hand. “Besides, when would you speak to me other than at night? It’s fine. I’m used to upheaval, no matter the time.”
“Yes, but you deserve better. Especially from me.”
The way he holds onto me once we reach the bed feels different. Sturdier, somehow. As if something shifted within our conversation, and he’s being more intentional in the way he touches me. His contact—this pressure—it’s like a tether within our uncanny connection.
He smiles down at me as I lie back on the pillow, pressing four pulses into my hand. He releases his hold and pulls the covers up.
“Are you ever going to tell me what those four pulses mean?”
His shoulders lift in a shrug. “Perhaps that can be your reward for allowing us to take you somewhere safer.”
I huff out a breath and flex my fingers, which have already grown cold in his absence.
He looks down at the movement, then releases a breath. “You know how you mentioned wanting me to be able to claim you?”
My face softens as I recall every other time he’s pressed this pattern into my hand—including all those years before, much earlier than I would have guessed he felt the same.
“You mean?—”
“I’m sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable, or if it seems inappropriate?—”
“No, I’m just thinking back to how long you’ve been performing this ritual.”
His cheeks pinken, and I reach for him, encouraging his eyes to flick up and meet mine. “I am simply surprised you thought me worth claiming this long, when I had assumed you were annoyed by my presence at the time.”
