Between Tides Thunder(18)

He slows beside me, peeling off his own. The gloves hang between us, like a truce begging to be broken.

“I did pack gloves,” I hiss. “They were probably in one of the other carriages that exploded. Didn’t you think to check after you tied me up?”

His jaw ticks. He shakes the gloves again, sharper this time.

“No, thank you,” I snap, even as my fingers scream.

His gaze pins me in place.

“Remember when I said I’d only touch you if you were being an idiot?” I flinch. His voice is low. Dangerous. “Don’t make me hold you down and put them on for you.”

My pulse skips. My palm itches with the desire to slap him again.

“Unless you want me to hold you down and…” His voice drops lower. “You don’t want me finishing that sentence, Mayah.”

I snatch the gloves from his hand, cramming my fingers inside.

“I sure hope your brother has better manners than you,” I mutter, trying to ignore the lingering warmth and slight dampness inside the fur-lined gloves. My fingers curl into the residual heat from his large hands, and it feels far more intimate than it should.

Zevayr snorts, striding ahead. His shadow stretches long across the snow. I follow, hating how small my steps feel beside his.


The fire crackles pleasantly, warming my fingers—though they’ve been warm all day. Zevayr refused to take back the gloves, no matter how hard I insisted. My legs ache, and exhaustion seeps through every inch of me. We walked until the sun dipped behind the trees, stopping only when visibility became an issue.

“Why didn’t your brother come for the ceremony?” I ask despite my better judgment. I can almost tolerate him when he’s silent.

Zevayr doesn’t respond immediately. He tosses the remains of our dinner—a pitiful hare he’d caught earlier—into the snow.

“Too dangerous. Not worth the risk for the crown prince to venture into … hostile territory.” He finally sits across from me. Firelight catches in his dark hair.

I open my mouth again, but he cuts me off. “Get some sleep. It’ll be another long day tomorrow.”

“It’s my turn to take first watch,” I protest, even as fatigue weighs heavy on my eyelids.

He gives me a long look, one that seems to say I know you’re full of shit. I bristle.

Zevayr exhales sharply. “Tomorrow we’ll alternate. Rest. Please.” He stretches the word, jaw tight, like it burns his tongue. It’s clear he’s not a man accustomed to saying it.

I debate arguing further but decide against it.

“Here,” he says, unfastening his cloak. “Sleep under my cloak.”

I hesitate, eyeing the cloak like it’s a rabid snow wolf.

“And … where will you sleep?”

A beat. Then, with the faintest hint of challenge, “Under my cloak.”

My fingers tremble as I take it. It smells like smoke and pine and him. Wrapped in it, cocooned in warmth, I try to sleep. I really do.

But I lay there, awake. Listening. Waiting.

I’d slept in his arms last night, but I’d been half-frozen and half-asleep. It feels much more dangerous tonight.

Eventually, the scraping sizzle of snow kicked over fire wafts toward me. I can only guess when he’s reached the blanket by the faint sound of his boots unlacing—somehow, his footsteps are always silent. His breath is steady as he peels back the edge of the cloak and lies down beside me.

So close. Tides drown me. Must he nestle in so close? I guess we won’t both fit beneath the cloak otherwise, but does he need to—

“You know it defeats the purpose of me staying up if you don’t actually sleep,” he rumbles, voice laced with amusement.

I snap my eyes open. His gray gaze waits for me in the dark.

“This feels wrong,” I whisper. “What will your brother think … when he finds out we’ve … slept together. I mean not—”

“If you think this counts as sleeping together, you’ve been doing it wrong.”

My breath catches in my throat.

He goes still. Then he sighs, low and tired. “That was … inappropriate.” When I don’t answer, his voice softens. “No one needs to know. The weather will warm up as we get closer to Arbinj. We won’t have to sleep this way for long. It’s just survival, Mayah. Nothing else.”

Just survival.

So why is my heart racing like I’m being chased?

It’s a long time before sleep finally comes.





CHAPTER TEN




WE’VE BEEN TRAVELING FOR days. True to his word, Zevayr doesn’t touch me—except every night when I sleep in his arms. We don’t talk about it. Like he said, it’s necessary for survival in the frigid landscape and nothing more. I try not to dwell on it.

During the day, we usually travel in silence.

But whenever Zevayr does speak, it’s a struggle not to strangle him. I’ve never met a more infuriating man. It’s as though his every comment is designed to burrow beneath my skin and rile me up.

“How much farther until we’re out of Tundrayn?” I ask, my breath misting in the brisk air. The unforgiving chill manages to seep through my borrowed gloves. I lock my jaw so my teeth don’t chatter. It irks me that the freezing temperatures don’t seem to affect Zevayr nearly as much. He must’ve grown accustomed to our harsh climate over all the years he’s spent in our lands—murdering my people.