Sword-Maker(110)
“Let me see,” she said.
I jerked around, swore some more, told her I was fine.
“Stop lying,” she said. “And stop trying to be such a man. Admit the finger hurts.”
“It hurts,” I gritted promptly. “And now it still hurts; admitting it didn’t help.”
“Is it broken?”
“I can’t tell.”
“Did you look?”
“Not very long.”
Del came closer. “Then let me see.”
The hand was shaking. It didn’t want to be touched.
“I’ll be gentle,” she promised.
“That’s what they all say.”
“Here, let me see.” She took my wrist into one hand.
“Don’t touch it,” I said sharply.
“I’ll look, I won’t touch. Of course if it is broken, the bone will have to be set.”
“I don’t think it’s broken. He didn’t bite that hard.”
Del inspected the finger as best she could in poor light. “Hard enough to shred the skin. You’re bleeding.”
“Blood washes off—ouch—”
“Sorry,” she murmured.
Her head was bent. Pale hair obscured her face; fell softly over her shoulders; lingered on her breasts. I couldn’t see her expression. Only hear her voice. Smell her familiar scent. Feel her hands on mine.
Arousal was abrupt.
Oh, hoolies, bascha—how long can this go on—?
“It’s raining.” Del glanced up, peering at the sky through the place where the roof had been. Lips parted. Hair fell away from her face. A sculpted, flawless face made brittle by years of obsession. By months of determined focus.
I thought suddenly of Adara, who’d be more than pleased to have me. But wasn’t a substitute; for Del, what woman could be?
“So it is,” I said tightly.
Raindrops crawled through her hair, running with pinkish blood, the blood from my bitten finger resting, like my hand, unquietly on her shoulder. Wanting to cup her jaw; wanting to touch her face; demanding to lock itself tightly in slick pale hair—
Del swallowed visibly. “We should get under cover.”
I didn’t even blink as water ran down my face. “Yes, we probably should.”
Del looked at me. Neither of us moved.
Rain fell harder yet. Neither of us moved.
My voice was unsteady. “I can think of better places.”
Del didn’t say anything.
“I can think of dryer places.”
Del didn’t say anything.
Tension exploded between us. “You’d better go back,” I said harshly. “I don’t know how much longer I can respect your precious focus.”
Del touched my face. Her sword hand trembled.
Oh, Delilah—don’t—
In the darkness, her eyes were black. “To hoolies with my focus.”
Five
By dawn, we were back in bedrolls. This time we shared one, spreading blankets and pelts in the chill of a too-damp morning, trying to hide from the breeze curling down through dripping blankets.
“Too long,” I murmured weakly. “Can we forget your focus more often?”
Del, pulling hair from beneath my shoulder, twisted her mouth a little. “Sidetracked already; I told you men can’t keep their minds on anything if a woman is at issue.”
It didn’t sting at all, because she didn’t mean it to. I found it a welcome respite. “Have I destroyed your concentration?”
“Last night, certainly. But not today.”
“No?”
“No,” she answered lightly. “I’ll ask my sword for it back.”
For some strange reason, it disturbed me. “Bascha—you don’t mean it.”
“Of course I mean it.”
I twisted sideways, putting room between us, so I could look at her clearly. “Do you mean to tell me you plan to shed all the humanity you just regained?”
Del’s brows arched. “And do you mean to tell me I should forget who I am in the name of a single night’s bedding?”
I scraped at a stubbled cheek. “Well, I sort of thought it might lead to more than a single night’s bedding. Like maybe lots of single night’s bedding all strung together, until we can’t tell them apart any more.”
Del thought about it. “Possibly,” she conceded.
I was moved to protest, but didn’t. Couldn’t. I saw the glint in her eyes. “Hoolies, I think she’s thawed!”
But the amusement faded away. “Tiger, I dismiss nothing about last night. But neither can I dismiss what I came here to do.”
I sighed, stretched out again, scratched at an eyebrow. “I know. I wish I could ask you to forget about Ajani, but I don’t suppose it would be fair.”