THE NIGHTS CONTINUED like this.
His arms wrapped around her body, her head tucked under his chin. It didn’t always stop the nightmares. There were plenty of times where she would whimper, cry, or even tear at the sheets, her skin or his skin in her sleep.
Yet a few gentle touches, a warm, close embrace, and even a kiss along her reddened and wet eyelids and sleep would return to them.
She didn’t allow him to sleep on the plush rug anymore. The place for her dog was on her bed, beside her.
He agreed.
The closeness that had developed over the three weeks, the vulnerability she shared with him, coupled with the undeniable attraction he had, he needed her intimate touch and affection.
He helped her feel safe, and he felt safe.
He felt wanted.
Tristan was setting the table for dinner when she entered the cabin. The stew, split between two bowls and filled to the top with the local mushrooms and bear meat she had butchered off of a carcass, welcomed him.
So did his smile, a familiar and welcomed sight. She studied him, watching him silently as he sat down at the table, the chain around his bandaged ankle clinking on the wooden floors.
He was used to being watched, “Red?”
Her eyes roamed over his features. His eyes, once heavily bagged, no longer sagged with fear or resigned cynicism. His hands and wrists did not have bone threatening to rip through sallowed skin. The food, the hard and domestic labors, and sleep had turned him from the frightened, broken boy lost in the woods to a man. A man she depended on.
Did he need to die in 5 days’ time?
She pursed her lips and sat down at the table, setting a small satchel between them, “Mix this in boiling water. Then drink.”
Tristan blinked, setting his spoon down before picking up the small pouch, “What is it?”
“Herbs and powders, mixed with your… condition in mind.”
He blinked, his eyes wide, “Did… did you?”
She nodded, interested in the bear and mushroom stew, the vapors from the meal massaging her nostrils, “The Witch is still working on a permanent remedy.”
He covered his lips with his fingers, trying to blink away the coming tears, to no avail, “You… you went to her? You want to… to save me?”
“I want to keep you.” She corrected, before shoving a spoonful of the stew into her mouth, chewing and careful not to meet those sapphire eyes.
They both knew that it was the same thing, but he kept that to himself, wiping his eyes and gazing at her, “I’ll drink it before I sleep. It’ll be like a relaxing tea.”
“It’ll taste awful.”
“Then I’ll have a kiss after.”
She froze in her meal, her cheeks burning before she started muttering. “Do what you want.”
He could tell. The shy way she avoided him, her sudden confession. The nights spent in his arms and her lips seeking his.
She fell for him.
He no longer wanted to escape her.
“I’ll be leaving for a few days.” She murmured against his chest.
He stroked her hair, the acrid, bitter taste of the witch powder still on his tongue. He frowned and pressed his forehead against hers, “When…?”
“The morning after next.” Her red eyes bore into his, their bodies pressed as close together as possible.
He groaned, lowering his head further, his lips pressed against her neck. “I’ll be lonely, Red.”
Each night spent on the same bed, he had expressed more desire and each night; she indulged him.
The boundaries of fear had dissolved between them, and mutual affection had taken its place.
She sighed as his hands traveled down her side, eyes fluttering. “I have to go, for your cure.” She smirked as he pulled back, looking up at him with that crimson gaze, “Would you rather I cut off your head instead?”
He frowned, nuzzling her palm as she stroked his cheek, “… Would you still kill me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to?”
Her eyes widened before closing as he kissed her wrist, “Wanting has nothing to do with it.”
He sunk his stomach between her thighs, nuzzling against her breasts. They were a strange pair, talking about death while indulging in caresses, “I see… it’ll be a shame to put down your dog.”
She clenched her teeth as his tongue lapped at her breast, paying considerable attention to a hardening nub, “Mmnn…” She chewed on the back of her thumb, her brow knotted as it was getting difficult to concentrate, “That’s why I have to go.” Her hand moved from her lips to his hair, curling into his brown locks, “So, you can be with me, or… if you wish… I can free you.”
His eyes widened, and he pulled back, his lips releasing her nipple with a wet plop.
Freedom.
What he wanted for so long.
His foot curled under the covers, the silver links of his chain clinking against each other. He flinched, each ring reminding him of his imprisonment, even if he was treated so lovingly.
“… If you just release the chain, that will be enough, Red.” He pressed his cheek against her palm, a deep peach flush across his cheeks and nose, “Being here, with you, would be enough.”
