Page 59 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“Wolf?” His voice is rough with sleep. “Morning.”

We lie there for another moment, neither of us quite ready to break the spell. Then, from downstairs, we hear the sound of voices and footsteps. The village is starting its day.

Garrett slowly withdraws his arm. I immediately feel the loss of warmth. He sits up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “We should get moving. Still have an investigation to conduct.”

“Right.” I sit up as well. My stiff leg is not aching like it usually does. His hand on the injury actually helped.

Garrett stands, stretching. I catch a glimpse of skin where his shirt rides up and force my eyes away.

“I’ll wash up first,” he says, grabbing his pack. “Unless you want to go?”

“No. You go.”

He disappears into the small bathroom. I busy myself checking my weapons, anything to avoid thinking about Garrett naked on the other side of that thin door.

It doesn’t work.

Thanks to my half-wolven heritage I’m acutely aware of every sound, the splash of water, and the rustle of fabric being removed. I focus harder on my knives, checking the straps that don’t need checking.

The water stops running. A few minutes later, Garrett emerges from the bath, hair still damp and smelling of sandalwood and the forest. I have to physically stop myself from stepping closer to breathe him in like some kind of addict.

What is it about him that pulls at me like this?

It’s not just that he’s beautiful, though he is. Devastatingly so. This is something else. My mind recalls the way he looked at me when I was chained and helpless. It’s as if he could see straight through to all the broken parts I keep hidden. I watch him silently as he buttons a fresh tunic with those long, elegant fingers.

I want him.

The admission burns through me. I want to taste him, to see if that smug mouth tastes as good as I imagine. I want to push him against a wall and make him gasp and lose that iron control he wears like armor. But more than that, I want to understand why he affects me like this when no one else ever has.

I grab my towel and enter the bathroom. The water is cold at first before the malachite crystal warms it. I stand under the spray, trying to wash away the thoughts that won’t leave me alone.

It doesn’t work.

This shouldn’t be happening. Is this what attraction feels like for everyone else? This all-consuming ache? I’ve bedded courtesans of the Gilded Lily before and felt desire. But it’s nothing like this pull and hunger I have for Garrett. I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

I scrub harder, as if I can wash the want away with soap and hot water.

When I emerge, Garrett is already dressed and waiting. He looks up when I enter, and something flickers in his eyes before he glances away.

“Ready?” he asks, adjusting his collar.

I grunt in response, not trusting my voice. We finish dressing in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s quiet and thoughtful. Both of us processing what last night meant.

The cottage sits at the edge of the village, small and tidy with flowers in the window boxes. Someone planted those flowers recently. Probably Marcian, before he disappeared. Garrett knocks, gentle but firm. I stand slightly behind him, watching the street and the windows.

The door opens to reveal a young lady with red-rimmed eyes and hollow cheeks. Eithne. Marcian’s wife or widow.

“Commander Clayborne,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Eithne, thank you for seeing us.” Garrett says gently. “May we come in?”

She nods and steps aside, ushering us into the small main room. The interior is neat despite Eithne’s obvious distress.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Garrett says. “I know this is difficult. But I need to ask you some questions about Marcian. Anything you can tell me might help.”

Eithne nods and gestures to the chairs around the small table. We sit and she wraps her arms around herself like she’s cold despite the warmth of the morning.

The cottage is simple but loved. I notice the colorful quilt draped over the chair, a child’s drawing pinned to the wall showing stick figures holding hands.