Tears filled her eyes.
“Sweet love . . . please look at me.”
She shook her head. “If I do, I’ll be finished. Just done and . . . blast it all. ’Tisn’t the least bit fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“I should be furious with you for the whole mind-invasion thing.” She frowned, looking more confused than angry. “And the way you left too, but—goddess help me—I cannot begin to . . . I don’t even know how to . . .”
Her voice broke. Henrik’s heart along with it. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Had known from the beginning making love to her—allowing her too close—would lead to huge complications and bad feelings. And yet, here he stood, acting selfish once again, holding on to her instead of leaning away.
“I want to be angry. I really do, but . . .” With a sigh, she thumped his shoulder with the side of a fist. A moment later, her forehead followed, touching down in the center of his chest. “I cannot seem to manage it. ’Tis the truth, I’m so happy to see you, I cannot think of one nasty thing to say. ’Tis pathetic.”
“Nay, Cosmina . . . ’tisn’t a bit pathetic,” he said, stroking his hand over her hair. The tendrils slipped between his fingertips, encouraging him to delve deeper. He didn’t hesitate. Murmuring his enjoyment, he played in the thick strands, loving the weight and feel, but mostly that she allowed him to touch her. “’Tis just the shock talking. As soon as it passes, you’ll show no mercy.”
She huffed. “Probably.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t like feeling this way.”
“I know,” he said. “Would you like me to fix it?”
“Do you think you can?”
He knew he could. Three little words said out loud instead of written on parchment. That’s all it would take. At least, he hoped so. Nothing in life ever came easy. Love least among them. Yet Henrik knew he needed to do it. To right the wrong he’d done to her, bare his soul and come clean. The truth must be told. Cosmina deserved every ounce of it. Knowing it, however, didn’t make moving forward any easier. He hated that he’d hurt her. Despised all her uncertainty and pain. But as silence fell, he struggled to find his voice.
’Twas a helluva thing.
So brave in battle. Yet terrified by the power of his love for Cosmina.
So instead of baring all, he wrapped his arms around her, buying the time he needed to work up the courage to start the conversation. Cosmina didn’t object. She snuggled close instead, wrapping him up, aligning her body with his, taking all the room beneath his chin. Gratefulness squeezed his heart tight. He loved the feel of her. Could hold her for days and never get bored. ’Twas inevitable, he guessed. Mayhap even normal. His need for her superseded self-preservation . . . along with the usual impulse to retreat. She made him feel things he hadn’t thought possible—need, want, a yearning so deep it scared the hell out of him. Too bad he wasn’t a coward. ’Twould be easier to deny the truth and walk away. But he couldn’t go back.
Or even contemplate leaving her again.
Not while he held her close, and she clung to him. His desire to be near her was no longer a matter of choice or a simple case of want. He needed her now. Far too much to ever let her go. So instead of unlocking his arms, he tightened his grip and murmured her name. She whispered his back, making his heart hurt and his chest ache. Goddamn, she’d been unbelievable today. So smart. So strong. The best kind of accurate too, when she’d taken aim and let the dagger fly. An image of her skipped through his mind. Intense gaze pinned to her target. Perfect balance and form, even on the run. Courage and ability rolled into one. His mouth curved. He couldn’t help it. His pride for her was an involuntary reflex, one he couldn’t—
Someone cleared his throat.
Henrik cringed. Ah hell. He’d lost track of time . . . and his comrades.
With a sigh, he lifted his cheek from atop Cosmina’s head and glanced over his shoulder. Jesus. ’Twas even worse than he thought. Standing in a semicircle behind him, boots planted and expressions set, his friends wore varying shades of what the hell? Henrik understood the surprise along with the charged pause. All the raised eyebrows too. He’d broken rank. Had gone half-mad in his quest to reach Cosmina in time. Add that to the fact he now stood holding her in the middle of the quad while his friends looked on and—aye, give the man a prize. His comrades’ astonishment made sense. He wasn’t, after all, the hugging kind. Open affection simply wasn’t his forte. Or at least, it hadn’t been . . .
Until he’d met Cosmina.
He met his friend’s gaze. “Give me a moment, Xavian.”
“Take all the time you need,” he said, understanding and more in his tone. The more wasn’t difficult to guess. His friend knew what it felt like to fall . . . to be deep in uncharted territory with a woman on his mind. “See to her. I’ll see to the rest. With the dragons in the air, the city will be locked down in less than an hour.”
True enough. White Temple might be large, but its design made defending the city easier than most. Throw in thick stone walls. Add on the square parapets rising like teeth across the battlements, then consider the double gatehouses complete with murder holes at each city entrance and—aye, a skeleton crew could not only man it, but hold it against an enemy for years. Not that three dragons qualified as a skeleton crew. The trio was a force unto themselves. One an incoming army wouldn’t survive, never mind defeat. And as Henrik watched Tareek fly overhead, wings spread wide, bloodred scales gleaming in the sunlight, his heartbeat slowed, and he felt himself unwind.
Finally. ’Twas about time.
Taut muscles relaxing, Henrik exhaled in a rush, thankful as tension loosed its grip one talon at a time. Rolling his shoulders, he held Xavian’s gaze and tipped his chin. The quick gesture carried a silent message. One wrapped in gratitude . . . sent by him, and received on cue by his friend. Xavian accepted his thanks with a nod. Seconds later, he was gone, leading the others across the courtyard, footfalls quiet, voice hushed as he doled out individual duties. As his comrades disappeared into the city, Henrik swung Cosmina into his arms.
She went rigid against him. “Hey.”
Her sharp tone lightened his mood. Ah, good. There she was . . . the smart-mouthed hellion he knew and loved. “Humor me, iubita. We need to talk and there are too many ears and eyes here.”
“Oh.” Brows drawn tight, her attention strayed to Nairobi and Cristobal.
“They’ll be fine.”
She stared at the pair an instant longer, then looked back at him. Green eyes brimming with uncertainty met his. The impact hit him like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of him. He went stone-still, wanting to say more, needing to explain. The compulsion to convince her nearly overwhelmed him. He forced himself to remain still instead, waiting for her to decide. Stay or go. Run away and hide . . . or hear him out. ’Twas her call. Not his. He couldn’t force her to listen. He didn’t deserve a second chance, not after the way he’d betrayed her in the Limwoods. But as the silence stretched, nerves got the better of him. His chest went tight. Henrik swallowed, combating the burn as pressure squeezed around his torso.
Jesus help him. Mayhap it was too late. Mayhap he couldn’t fix it. Mayhap having her in his life was too much to—
“All right then,” she said, voice so soft he barely heard her. And yet, it restored his faith, making him believe, infecting him with the possibility forgiveness existed a conversation away. Buoyed by the prospect, his gaze strayed to her mouth. Desire slammed through him. Unable to help himself, he leaned in. A quick kiss. Just one taste. ’Twas all he needed. But as he got close, Cosmina denied him, pressing her finger to his lips, shaking her head, warning him with a look. Looping her arm around his neck, she pointed to a building beyond the courtyard’s half wall. “Talk first. The shoemaker’s cottage is closest.”