CHAPTER 339: 339: WARMTH KEPT RISING

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"I have not shared a fire with a man like you in years," she said. "I stopped counting after ten. I did not plan for tonight to be the night I spoke of it. But here we are. You are very handsome. I am feeling some kind of connection with you."

He said nothing for a moment. Then he told the truth. "I felt it too. When the wind pushed the tree branch and you came into my arms. It was simple. It was also strong. I am a leader, a king for my people. I am a mate. I am a father. I still felt it."

She turned her head. "I know," she said. "I saw the way you fought yourself and won. It made me like you more."

[Ding! System notification: Impression points +5. Total impression points: 10]

Silence held, easy now. The forest made night sounds. The stream went on with its whisper. The ache in her thigh tugged at her face and then let go again.

"Will you stay until I sleep," she asked. "Not to take. Just to stay. I am new to the dark without doors and guards."

He lay his hand open on the mat, palm up. "I will stay until you sleep," he said. "And a while after that if needed."

"Thank you." She set her hand in his. It was warm. He closed his fingers and felt her pulse. It felt like a small bird at rest.

"I like the way you hold hands," she said. "It is simple. It says we are here and that is enough."

"We are here," he said.

They spoke in low voices so the trees could pretend not to hear. She told him small things. About the feeling when the first time she lit a fire by herself. The first time she failed and ate cold berries in the forest. The way the east sky looks when it holds a second dawn inside a storm. He told her simple truths. How to count time by the color of shadows. How to read wind in long grass. How to sleep in armor without waking with pain.

After a while she leaned back against the ribs of the shelter and watched the roof he had shown her how to make. "It looks like hands," she said. "Old hands holding new ones."

"Then the roof is right," he said.

The ache in her thigh pulled again. She winced. He checked on her thigh and saw her lower lips pink border. He did not look away.

"Lie down," he said. "I will sit by the door. If you want me nearer, tell me. You will say the first word. You will say the last word."

She lay back on the mat. The coals gave off a thin heat. The night air moved through the door. She shivered. He drew his cloak from his shoulders and spread it over her from neck to toes. She pulled the edge under her chin like a child who trusts the blanket to keep the dark at bay.

"You should share it," she said. "You will be cold."

"I am not cold," he said. "I am not easy to chill."

She watched him for a long breath. "Still," she said. She opened the cloak and patted the space at her side. "Here. Not for taking. For warmth. Come near me."

He lay down on the edge of the mat, on top of the cloak so there would be cloth between them. They faced the door. Their shoulders touched. It was a small touch, but both of them felt it.

"This is new for me," she said. "To ask and to say the rules. To have them heard."

"It is not new for me," he said, "but it is important every time."

She laughed softly. "You talk like a man who has broken rules and then learned to love them."

"I have," he said. "More than once."

Her hand found his hand under the cloak again. They laced their fingers. Warmth spreads slowly, the way tea spreads through the body after the first swallow. The fire burned lower. His breath was slow and big. It made a steady sound. She matched it without trying. The ache faded.

"Kai," she said, not much more than a breath.

"Yes."

"If I kiss you now, will it be wrong?" She asked.

"It will not be wrong," he said. "It will be a real desire. But I will still stop if you ask me."

"I know," she said. "But don’t stop me."

She rolled to her side and touched his face. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw. He did not move. Her thumb brushed his lip. She leaned in and kissed him. It was soft. It was slow. It was not a test. It was an answer. He kissed her back. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, careful of her silky hair, careful of her hot neck. They kissed like people who have been alone for a long time and who have learned to value the first minute more than the last.

When they parted, both of them smiled. It was small. It was honest. They stayed close, foreheads touching.

"I had forgotten," she said, "how a kiss can quiet a room. How a kiss can make your body hungry."

"It makes rooms louder in me," he said, "and quiet around me."

She laughed again. "We are saying the same thing with different words."

They lay like that for a while, talking a little, kissing sometimes, letting the body learn a new map without racing to the end. When her thigh hurt, he stopped and adjusted the cloak and set his palm above the bandage and let a small feather of aura warm the skin. When he wanted more, he breathed and waited. Wanting what is asked for is sweeter when it is not rushed.

At last she whispered in his ear. "I do not want the dark to suffer me anymore. I want another warmth to sit with it. May I ask for that."

"You may ask," he said.

"Then stay," she said. "Hold me. Kiss me when I ask. Touch me where my body has forgotten how to be touched. Rub me like I’d asked you. If I say end, we end."

"We end," he said.