Page 163 of Harbinger

“Why not?” I ask. “You’re patron. You could close them whenever you want.”

He grunts. “That would be an abuse of power.”

I arch a brow. “But you did it for me.”

“Because you needed it.” His voice is rough, coated with something that snags on my fraying nerves and threatens to unravel me further.

Heat climbs up my neck as my embarrassment tangles with tension. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I was just … self-conscious. You didn’t have to go out of your way for me.”

Bishop shifts forward, the damp tips of his silver-blond hair slowly dripping down his shoulders as he pins his gaze on me. “Stop.”

The command in that single word sends my pulse thudding hard enough that I’m certain he hears it. I can’t move, can’t look away, can’t even see anything past him.

“It’s my job to protect you.” The storm returns to his eyes. “But I want you to feel safe, too.”

I hold myself still by sheer force of will, because I’m suddenly aware of exactly how close we are, of how little stands between us, of how badly I want to lean into him and let that safety he’s given swallow me whole.

Breathe.

But I’m not sure that I remember how.

“So,” I say, searching for a change of subject as I trace a pattern on the surface of the water, “if you’ve been avoiding coming here because of the vestiges …”

I shouldn’t go there. I can’t ask him this.

“I mean, if you were worried about people seeing them, I guess …” I stumble along, getting no closer to actually asking.

He studies me for a beat before a knowing smirk flickers across his face. “You’re asking whether I’ve let anyone see these.” He lifts a marked hand.

I swallow. “Have you?”

He pauses, and I half expect him to make me earn the answer. But we aren’t training now. We’re …

I’m not really sure what we’re doing. Part of it does feel like we’re training. Like we’re circling each other, trying to predict the other’s next move but really just hoping we’re ready for whatever blow they deliver.

“Only people I trust.” His words are a simple strike, but it’s one I didn’t see coming.

I wet my lower lip. “So … you trust me?”

His pause is brief but deliberate, as if he’s weighing the potential repercussions of any admission he makes.

“I suppose I do,” he says at last, his eyes lingering. Not on my eyes but my mouth.

The awareness of it prickles across my skin.

“And who else have you … trusted?” I try to sound casual, even as my pulse skips. But we both know what I’m really asking.

Bishop turns away, rubbing a hand along his stubbled jaw like he’s considering whether to answer or disengage. “Vessica,” he says finally.

“Oh.” It slips out so sharply that I swear it punctures the tension building between us.

But he continues, still staring at something in the distance. “Taliesin.”

I blink. “Oh?”

“Lenora. Hadrian,” he says, swiveling back to smirk at my confusion, then adds with feigned innocence, “A few other friends. That’s what you’re asking, right?”

I roll my eyes, but the lightness in his tone lifts some of the weight from my chest.