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“Alaric’s large fingers clamped around her wrist, dragging her back down. “No one else can see.” She hesitated, unconvinced and worried sick. He added, his tone uneven and his grip on her tightening, “Don’t, Talasyn.” His thumb brushed across the inside of her wrist in fretful strokes, and her free hand moved as though of its own accord, wrapping around his, squeezing in reassurance as she asked, "Do you have any bandages, then? I can-" "Leave it," Alaric told her through clenched teeth. "I'll take care of myself." “You’re in no condition—” “I can manage—” "No, you can’t!” He gave a start at her raised tone, his powerful body twitching as though it longed to curl in on itself in a protective ball. Thoroughly chastened, she cradled his cheek, the walls that she had so carefully built around herself in his presence crashing down. “Alaric,” she pleaded, “let me help you.” “You shouldn’t even be here.” Despite his rough, strained words, he leaned into her touch with a quiet desperation that made up her mind for her. “I am, anyway,” she retorted. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Talasyn suddenly wanted nothing more than to assure Alaric of her presence. She sank fully against his form, holding him down with her weight, burying her face in the side of his neck in a chaste imitation of what he had done to her once, in another bed. “I’m here,” she vowed into his smooth, overheated skin. “I’m not going anywhere.” A sound between a groan and a hitch of breath caught in his throat. The hand on the small of her back rubbed compulsively, tracing the notches of her spine, and his arm tightened around her. His other hand tangled in her hair. “I couldn’t kill that rebel.” It was a choked, bewildered rumble in her ear. “One word from you and I let my guard down. I couldn’t kill you, either, all those times before … What am I, if I’m not a weapon? What have you done to me?”

“Alaric’s lips gave a reluctant twitch. “What you did,” he repeated, overcome by the sense of vague affection that he only ever felt around her, “that was more than anyone else ever …” She bit her lip, her features crumpling with a pained sorrow that went far too deep for what she knew of his situation. Then she placed her hand over his, where it lay on the strips of woven rattan between them. He was struck dumb by the gentleness of the gesture, by how each touch of her slim fingers burned right through the leather of his gauntlets.”