Page 102 of Reap & Sow

Careful.

“No. It—” He cut himself off. Swallowed. “Do not think on it. Sleep now, darling.”

With his palm warming hers, doing so was easy as breathing.

Twenty-seven

Eda could not remember the last time she’d been afforded the luxury of coming to so naturally. She felt warm and comfortable. The meager daylight was so similar to her own room back home, she imagined she was still there. Any moment Ben would call her to breakfast, or Lawrie’s clumsy footsteps would shake her door as he passed.

But as she blinked awake, a huge bristly boar glared at her from above a banked hearth. Everything came rushing back: the bishop’s wrathful face, the fiends and their bulging, awful eyes. Mr. Night’s nose in her hair.

I can smell him all over you.

Kit.

Eda realized where the warmth was coming from. A strong arm had snaked its way around her in the night, separated only by the thin bedcover. She lay pinned against his hot bulk, back-to-chest.

She shifted. Kit huffed in displeasure. His nose buried itself behind her ear as he pulled her closer still. Goose bumps rose along Eda’s arms. He’s still asleep. She’d never seen him slumber before.

Carefully, she turned to look.

Kit’s brows came together as she moved, but he did not wake. His horn was pressed into the pillow. Silky black hair lay mussed by sleep, bow lips parted just so. She spied the point of a white fang peeking between them. His eyelashes twitched, long and dark.

Kit was beautiful in repose, all artifice stripped away. With no cocksure grin or sly smile to hide behind, what remained was a young man—youthful enough that she could almost see the boy he’d once been. The claws and tail could not hide it.

He must have been as tired as she, though he never said so. She doubted he made a habit of sleeping in the presence of others. But he did so now.

“Stop staring at me, you cretin,” Kit mumbled suddenly.

Eda jumped. “I wasn’t!”

“Were.”

She huffed and tried to pull away. He did not let her.

They were nose to nose when one fiery eye peeled open, pupil dilating. “People are put in stocks for spying on others like that. Sexual deviants, mainly.”

His sleep-roughened voice sent liquid heat curling through her belly. She cleared her throat. “You’re one to talk. What do you call this?” She poked the arm banded about her like steel.

“You required that I remain on top of the covers. The terms of the agreement remain intact.”

“How like a demon.”

“Mm.” He blinked lazily at her. “Do you object?”

“To your familiarity? I should.”

“How like a human.” His nose brushed hers. She shivered.

It struck Eda abruptly how domestic this scene was. With daylight spilling through the latticed windows and birdsong outside, it was easy to pretend. She allowed herself to indulge in a fantasy: That this fine house was hers, that she lay in her own bed with a man who loved her. Her husband, perhaps.

Eda had never thought much on marriage. Had long considered it out of reach, if she’d wanted it at all. Was it not just another Pact, a deal to be done? An offer of protection for hearth and child, a binding of families and wealth. She misliked the thought of tying herself to anything or anyone ever again.

Strange that here, where all was soft and sleepy as the dawn, the idea finally held some appeal. She stared into Kit’s glowing eyes. It wouldn’t be so bad. To bind yourself to something out of love instead of fear.

Eda’s gaze snagged on his broken horn.

Her kind and his were similar enough, but their differences could not be cast aside. Robin had warned her as much. Were demons even capable of loving as mortals did? Not for mere pleasure or guile or personal ambition, but simply because the heart demanded it. To love a thing against reason and above sense was surely the greatest weakness of all.