I pulled at my top and grimaced at my pants, wishing that I had some clothes that Tejus hadn’t seen me wear a hundred times already. I had the feeling that tonight would be special. I wanted it to be special…But there was a darker thought nudging at the edge of my consciousness, one that wasn’t so welcome. Without wanting to look too deeply into it, I felt a sense of finality pervading everything. Maybe it was because the air was so still, or that this was the pause before the storm began. I didn’t really know. I just had an inescapable feeling that tonight was the end of something.
The door to the bathroom opened. Tejus stood in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet and slicked back with droplets still running off his neck and down his chest. I could see the scars from the ghoul’s claws across his chest, and the symbol that had been carved on his pectoral—still slightly pink round the edges where it hadn’t finished healing.
I can’t believe this man wants to marry me.
The thought went around and around in my head as I stared at him, the butterflies becoming more intense and my heart palpitating in my chest. I suddenly felt like I wasn’t worthy—whatever I had to offer him just didn’t seem enough. Without realizing what I was doing I wrapped my arms around my torso. I realized too late that it wasn’t exactly welcoming body language.
Tejus frowned slightly.
“Hazel?”
“I’m fine,” I replied, my voice catching in my throat.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind at the last moment. Instead he cleared his throat, and gestured at the floor.
“I’ll make a bed here,” he reassured me gently.
“No, wait. I think I can handle it… with the hunger, I mean,” I replied, feeling heat blast across my cheeks. He was silent for a few moments, eyeing me speculatively.
“Can you come here, please?” he asked eventually. “I’d come to you, but it looks like you’re going to run out of the door if I make any sudden movements.”
“I’m nervous,” I replied, shutting my eyes briefly as I felt embarrassment consume me.
“I can tell. But I don’t understand why.”
His tone was warm, without a hint of accusation—it went a little way in helping me calm my erratic heartbeat.
“I don’t really know,” I whispered. “I guess last time…it was all in the heat of the moment, and now…I don’t know, I just feel so awkward.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, a small smile lifting at the corners of his mouth. “Making people feel at ease isn’t exactly my strong point.”
I grinned. “You’re right about that.”
“But I’m going to try.”
I eyed him skeptically, but his expression was solemn—he wasn’t joking.
“Okay then,” I mumbled.
He walked toward me, and I tilted my head upward as he approached, expecting him to kiss me. Instead he smiled softly, and lowered his lips to my ear.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
Unable to speak, I nodded, slowly turning as he’d commanded. I faced the fire at the end of the room, staring into the bright yellow flames. I could feel Tejus’s breath tickling the base of my neck, sending shivers multiplying across my skin. I felt his hands running through my hair, clasping the strands together and moving them over one of my shoulders. A soft kiss was planted on the back of my neck—so soft it could have just been my imagination. I stopped breathing.
“When I was younger, one of the stable workers told me that the best way to calm a skittish animal is to talk softly, to let them listen to your voice, until they trust you enough to eat out of your hand,” Tejus murmured, his lips lightly pressed against the top of my head. He ran his thumb down my bare arm. I took a deep, steadying breath.
“You hate talking,” I whispered.
“No,” he breathed, “I just think it’s overrated. But perhaps it’s necessary now.”
He remained standing behind me, but moved his hands around my waist, running his fingers along the band of my pants. All I could hear was the sound of our breathing and the soft scratch of his skin on the fabric of my clothing.
“The best way to keep talking is to recite things you’ve memorized,” he continued.
“Like what?”
“Well”—his fingers came to rest on the curve of my hip—“things like you have a small beauty spot here, and another here.” His fingers moved upward a fraction, over my jeans. “And one here. They make an almost perfect line.”
I swallowed, my insides feeling like they had turned to mush.
“You have a birthmark here,” he continued, running his hand down the front of my thigh, and round to the curvature of my backside.