Page 88 of The Death King

Talon entered the tent a moment later. He grabbed his bedroll and started to drag it out.

“What are you doing?” Light from the campfire came into the tent and brightened the corners.

“I prefer to sleep outside.”

“It’s freezing.”

“It’s fine.” He dragged it the rest of the way.

“You prefer to sleep outside, or you just won’t sleep with me?”

He stilled before he exited the tent completely.

I unzipped my bedroll and crawled through the flap.

He had his bedroll on the ground beside the fire, out in the open, right in the fog.

“This is about survival, Talon. It’ll be warmer if we’re both in the tent with the flap closed.”

“I already told you my stance on this.”

“Well, it’s a stupid stance.”

He moved to his knees on the bedroll and prepared to get inside it.

“Why?”

He got into it and lay on his back, looking up at the black sky.

“At least let me sleep out here, then. Doesn’t seem fair for me to have the tent when you’re the one who put it together.”

“I’m fine.”

“Talon—”

“You need it more than I do.”

“Look, I’m fucking freezing, and it would be nice to have another body in there?—”

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” He sat up, arms on his knees, and he gave me an angry stare. “I sleep alone. End of story. Now, get your ass back in the tent and go to sleep.”

“We wouldn’t be sleeping together?—”

His stare was enough to shut me right up. It was the most terrifying look he’d ever given me.

I turned back to the tent and crawled inside. I closed the flap behind me and got back into the bedroll, but it was freezing cold. Even when I ducked my head inside it to trap my breath, it was like ice. I closed my eyes and waited for it to warm up, waited for the feeling to move to my extremities, but it never came.

I just lay there, cold and tired and alone.

“Get up.”

I heard his voice, sounding distant, like a dream.

“Calista.”

I couldn’t open my eyes. It felt impossible.

“I said, get up.”