Page 42 of The Midnight Arrow
Lorik blew out a breath. Relief? He kissed my forehead. “Thank you.”
“This job of yours…it’s not terribly dangerous, is it?”
Lorik chuckled lowly. “Worried for me?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“I’m very good at what I do, little witch. You don’t have to worry about me.”
I…believed it. I’d seen him dispatch the Shade quickly, even injured as he had been. And his injury to begin with…it must’ve had something to do with this mysterious duty, didn’t it?
“I do have to leave, though,” Lorik said quietly.
I heard the words. I felt them sink into me and felt icy disappointment spread through my limbs, settling in my belly, making me cold.
“When?” I asked, licking my dry lips.
“Tonight,” he answered.
I swallowed, thinking how empty the bed would feel.
“Only for a little while. Then I’ll return to you. I promise.”
Seventeen
Two nights later, Lorik returned.
I was doing my nightly chores in the garden, bundled in a thick sweater and fur-lined boots since the frost was coming. My mood was dampened, brooding and somber. I thought it was alarming how quickly I could’ve grown attached to someone, used to their presence in my small, quiet life. I wondered if it was healthy. Logically, I knew I should be wary, but my heart didn’t care.
I wanted Lorik. I missed him. His scent, his mischievous grin, his voice. His kisses, his touches, the way he laid me back on my bed and…
I sighed, ignoring the sudden throb between my thighs. My bed smelled like him, which had led to interesting dreams.
More than that, I worried about him. This mysterious job he had…and who he answered to. He was only just recovered from the poisoned arrow. What if something happened to him? What if he never came back?
As if he’d heard that very last thought as I watered the roots of a wrathweed bundle in the bed, I heard his voice, just as I heard Peek’s warning hiss.
“Thinking of me, little witch?”
I gasped, whirling, half of the water can spilling outside the bed. But when I saw Lorik standing on the boundary of my property line, just beyond the witch’s spell, the can tumbled from my grip and I grinned.
I rushed toward him, and he caught me with a grunt when I accidentally slammed into him a little harder than anticipated.
He felt solid and warm in my arms. I buried my face in his chest, noticing he wore a dark blue vest with subtle silver embroidery and dark pants. In his embrace, I felt a rush of relief so bright that it nearly brought tears springing to my eyes. Then I felt silly, keeping my face pressed to his clothes so he wouldn’t see.
“I missed you too, Marion,” Lorik murmured, his lips brushing the tip of my ear, his breath hot with the words. He ducked his head, tucking me close.
And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so happy.
“We should get out of bed,” I whispered to Lorik two mornings later.
“Mmm, no,” he replied, keeping my tucked into his body. His front was pressed to my back in my tiny bed, and the heat of him banished the morning chill. “Let’s stay here all day. I demand it.”
“Demand it?” I asked, smiling, shifting. A small twinge of soreness bloomed between my legs, and there was a fresh bite mark on my neck. Last night—or rather in the early hours of morning—he’d growled that he wouldn’t heal it, that he wanted to see his mark on me the next day, that nothing would make him more delighted.
Ever since he’d returned, we’d been ravenous for each other. One would think we’d been separated for months, not mere days.
“I suppose I could be enticed to rise,” Lorik murmured, his tone slightly suggestive.