Page 46 of A Thief to Die For

‘That actually sounds exactly like Soren. He and Petronis are probably scouring the forest for the thief right now.’

I can finally see a bit of Ryland’s profile as we walk. We remain in the trees, skirting the Dresden homes, but the firepits and scattered lanterns from the centre give off a bit of light. The muscles in Ryland’s jaw clench, distracting me for a moment. I follow the strong lines of his neck down to the hooded cape he’s wearing – something I’ve never seen on him before. What was he doing tonight before he came upon me?

‘If you’re good with it, my tent isn’t far from here.’

Suddenly, it’s like I’ve swallowed a fish and now it’s flopping around, slapping my ribs. Mere hours ago, I was running from Ryland after supper, pretending the way he looked at me wasn’t causing meteoric flashes of heat. Now, he’s escorting me to his tent to hide out.

Alone.

Relax. We can’t clean me up out in the open, and I’m blanking on an alternative plan. My brain has turned to wet sand, my thoughts nothing but clumps of crumbling questions and concerns. The adrenaline is crashing and my injuries are aching, especially my head.

How did Ryland find me?

At his camp, he greets his horse with a soft word. Then he lights a lantern using some flint from a hidden pocket. The sudden brightness makes me feel exposed. Dishevelled. I touch my ponytail and find it both lopsided and half falling out. I hope my clothes aren’t ripped.

Ryland bends to open the flimsy tent, and I eye the lock on the zip.

‘Nice security,’ I say with a small laugh. ‘A lock on fabric walls.’

He smirks as he opens it with a flick of his wrist. ‘It helps to know whether my gear has been tampered with.’

‘You’re a guest of the Commander. I doubt anyone would risk it.’

He holds open the door flap for me to enter, but as I pass him, he quietly murmurs, ‘You take on that kind of risk. Why wouldn’t they?’

‘Because they have much more to lose.’

He hands me the lantern, and it feels odd to climb into his space. I have to hunch over, and it grows immeasurably smaller once he joins me and zips the door closed. There’s only his bedding and a full saddlebag near the door that he keeps packed and ready to leave.

He’s temporary.

He nods at the bedroll. ‘Have a seat. I should look at your ankle and check your head.’

After dimming the lantern, he undresses, first removing his quiver and bow. Then his hooded cloak. His shirt rises up slightly, revealing a ridge of firm muscle and skin.

I glance away until he settles beside me, and I feel him staring at the side of my face.

‘Thank you,’ I say, slowly lifting my gaze to him. ‘For stepping in.’

He focuses on my left eye, before moving to the right, just like he did during our staring game, and it has the same effect – the feeling as if he’s dragged hot fingers over my skin. There’s something so intimate about it. So intentionally careful.

Tingles spark inside me, as an energy fills the tent.

He lifts his hand to my cheek, tilting my face to inspect it. ‘Where does it hurt?’

Pain? I’m so distracted by his touch, I feel absolutely nothing other than fire and goosebumps spreading over my skin.

‘On your head?’ he asks, voice deep and gravelly. ‘Maybe let down your hair.’

I remove the tie and hiss at the sharp, throbbing pain that surges back. Gently, his fingers thread into my hair, parting it, then re-parting it in different places. He makes a variety of disapproving sounds at whatever he finds, while I do my best not to moan. Why does this feel so good?

I watch his studious expression. So serious. I find myself drawn to that clenching muscle in his jaw again. The strength of his neck adorned with a silver chain peeking out of his collar. I wish I could see more of it and hear the story of why he never takes it off. Once again, I notice his freshly shaved face, a rarity around here. It wasn’t like that when he arrived in Notting, but this – I like that nothing is hiding him.

He frowns. ‘You’ve got some dried blood, but nothing that needs stitches. Still, that must have hurt. He got you good.’

‘And you got him.’

He grimaces. ‘Not nearly enough.’