Page 55 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

Eventually, he rises. “I should clean up.”

He disappears into the bathroom. I hear the water start, the hum of the malachite crystal powering the heat. When he emerges, his hair is damp and he’s changed into sleep clothes, but the haunted look hasn’t left his eyes.

I take my own shower quickly, washing away the forest dirt and sweat. When I come out, Garrett is already lying down, staring at the ceiling. He’s not asleep. Just... distant.

I settle into the chair by the window. Night settles over the village. Lamps flicker out one by one until only the moon provides light.

Movement behind me. The bed frame groans as Garrett pushes himself upright. “You need to rest too.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

I can feel his eyes on my back. “Wolf, calm down. What are you so afraid of?”

Everything. I don’t want to fail and get sent to the crypts.

“Come to bed, Wolf,” he whispers in the darkness.

“I told you, I don’t need—”

Another creak as he moves and I hear fabric rustling. “Please.”

The please does something to me. Garrett doesn’t beg. He commands with the expectation of being obeyed, born from a lifetime of people doing exactly what he says.

I turn from the window. Garrett is sitting up in bed, the blanket pooled around his waist. His golden hair is mussed from the pillow. He doesn’t look like the perfect commander or the golden son of House Clayborne.

The defeat in his eyes is hard to look at. He looks exhausted. Today was a string of losses. Searching for hours, finding only blood and drag marks. Coming back empty-handed while one of his people is probably rotting somewhere in those woods. The last thing he needs is me refusing him something as simple as sleep. I don’t want to make this day worse for him and be one more thing that disappoints him today.

Wait, why the fuck do I care about how he feels?

I must maintain the distance. I’m here to protect him not here to care about him. But it seems like it’s a little too late for that. I already lost that battle weeks ago.

Because I do care about Garrett Clayborne.

“I’m cold again,” he says quietly. “Last night you were warm.”

Aw fuck. He’s not just asking me to sleep next to him. He’s asking me to hold him again.

“Wolf,” he calls my name firmly. “If you really don’t want to, I’ll accept that. But if you’re just scared...”

Scared? Fuck him.

But he’s not entirely wrong. I am scared. Not of him but this unfamiliar feeling in my chest.

Slowly, I stand. My leg aches. He’s right about that too. The ride today followed by hours of wandering in the forest has turned the old injury into a constant throb.

I cross the room towards him.

“I don’t fit,” I say, looking down at the bed. I’m six-foot-four and broad across the shoulders. It’s going to be a disaster with the two of us.

“Then we’ll make it work.” Garrett scoots to the far side and pats the space he’s made. “See? Plenty of room.”

That’s not plenty of room. That’s barely enough space for half of me. But I’m committed now. The exhaustion is making my arguments seem thin even to myself.

I sit on the edge of the bed first, testing it. This is a terrible idea. But I swing my legs up anyway and try to arrange myself in a way that doesn’t take up the entire bed. My shoulders are too broad for my half of the mattress. I end up on my back, stiff as a corpse, trying to take up as little space as possible.

Garrett makes a sound that might be a laugh. He shifts, and I feel the mattress dip as he moves closer. “Your leg is still bothering you.”

“I said I’m fine.”