Quicker than lightning, his face goes blank.

“What?” I bite my lip. I’m not sure what I did to upset him.

Zevayr busies himself with his dagger as if sharpening its blade is his sole purpose in life. “Nothing. Just … my brother will probably want you to try steak first.”

“Steak?”

“Yeah. Comes from cows.”

“Is it good?”

A shrug is all I get.

“What else do you miss?”

He grunts but gives me nothing more.

We walk for hours. It’s warmer now, and I’m sweating beneath my tunic. Zevayr walks ahead of me, cloak thrown over his broad shoulder. My eyes linger on the definition in his back, visible even through his thick clothing.

The man is pure muscle—I should know, I sleep pressed against him every night. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed, but today it hits harder. My gaze lingers a second too long before I force it away, muttering a curse under my breath.

This is dangerous.

But it’s normal, right? We’ve been traveling together for weeks. Alone. And I can’t help if—

A sharp yelp bursts free as my boot snags on a thick, twisted root. My ankle rolls. Pain lances up my calf—and then I’m lurching forward with no time to catch myself.

Zevayr spins at the sound, hand on the hilt of his sword. But he’s too late.

I crash into him with full force, the air knocked from my lungs as I collide with the firm pillar of his chest. He instinctively catches me, arms locking around my waist—but the momentum sends us both tumbling backward in a tangle of limbs.

We hit the ground hard, Zevayr bearing the brunt of it. My palms splay against his chest. I realize with a rush of heat that I’m sprawled across him, chest to chest, hips pressed tight, my weight straddling his thighs.

For one suspended second, neither of us moves.

His hands are still gripping my hips—firm, unyielding, burning through the layers of fabric between us. My face is buried near the crook of his neck, and all I can smell is him: smoke, pine, the faint trace of sweat and leather.

Familiar.

Maddening.

I lift my head slowly, breath catching. My dark, loose hair spills around his face like a veil, cutting the world away until there’s nothing left but us. His storm-gray eyes lock with mine, wide and startled—and something else. Something primal.

The scant space between us is thick with something unspoken and heavy. My heart slams against my ribs. A muscle pulses in his jaw.

Neither of us moves.

And then Zevayr shatters the moment.

“Don’t get enough of me at night?” he rumbles, his lips curling into a sinful grin that has warmth pooling in my core. “I’m happy to oblige, Mayah.”

Tides drown me. And him.

I scramble off, cheeks burning.

“Sorry,” I mutter. I adjust my satchel and stride away, limping.

“Mayah!” he calls out from behind me. Slowly, I pivot.

He’s still on the ground, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Heal your ankle before you storm away.”

Hours later, we come across a small cottage, nestled between the trees. It’s the first sign of civilization since we left Tundrayn. Zevayr says we’ll encounter more and more people now that we’re out of the harsh tundra.

“Do you think they’re friendly?” I whisper. I’m kneeling in the prickly underbrush, Zevayr beside me.

“Maybe. They could be in league with rebels, though,” he says absently, undoubtedly running every possible scenario in his head. “Regardless, they’re definitely not friendly to Tundraynis.”

“So we won’t tell them I’m Tundrayni.” I want a hot meal. And maybe a soft bed.

Zevayr’s lips tick up at the corners. “Solid plan,” he chuckles. “Too bad your pretty blue eyes will give us away.”

The smile freezes on his face, and his mouth slams shut like he can’t believe he said it. He averts his gaze, but not before I catch the flash of sheer panic before he masks it. One second, his face is open—boyish, almost. The next, a shutter drops behind his eyes, and the warmth disappears like smoke in the wind.

Something warm flutters in my chest. I’m overcome by the urge to tease him, to ask if he really thinks my eyes are pretty. If he thinks anything else about me is pretty. If he thinks about me at all.

But I don’t. I need to do a better job of keeping my distance.

We’ll reach Arbinj soon. Where I’ll marry his brother.

Zevayr and I have spent so much time alone, and my feelings are becoming muddled. I respect him, consider him a friend now, even. I’m definitely attracted to him. But I can’t let myself feel more than that.

And it’s best if he doesn’t, either.

Zevayr clears his throat, jolting me from my thoughts. “It’s safer to double back and walk around.”

He doesn’t look at me.

We head back the way we came, but unfortunately, remaining undetected is not in our fate.

Zevayr freezes, shoulders tight, and I nearly collide with his back. The scent of musk and something feral hits me a breath too late.

A low rustle sounds through the trees.

Then we see it.

A massive black bear. And it’s blocking the path ahead.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IT’S GIGANTIC.

Monstrous.

The bear stands on its hind legs, towering over Zevayr, and looses a menacing growl. Before I can react, Zevayr shoves me behind him, stretching himself to his full height, sword unsheathed and ready.

A heartbeat, then another.

The bear doesn’t move. Neither does Zevayr.

And then the worst possible thing happens.

Zevayr turns his head seconds before there’s a rustling in the underbrush, and then, a boy emerges, perhaps twelve or thirteen. Clutched in his hands is a large sword that eclipses him.

“Leave them alone!” he shouts at the bear.

“Zevayr,” I urge, but he’s already darting toward the boy.

He’s too late.

The bear swipes through the air, his claws tearing into the boy’s abdomen.

My feet move before I can register it.

Zevayr plunges his sword into the distracted bear’s side and yanks downward, ducking to avoid its weak retaliatory swipe.

But my focus is on the boy. His shirt is shredded, skin along with it—and the gashes are deep. Kneeling, I lift his head into my lap. His skin is already clammy, eyes glassy.

Tides help me.

Without a second thought, I summon my power when—

“Georg! Oh, Georg!”

The glow dies from my hands as a frantic woman bolts into the clearing, her long skirt swishing through fallen leaves. In a blink, she’s kneeling beside me, clutching the boy’s hand, tears streaming down her lined face. “I told you not to wander off alone,” she cries, cheeks gleaming with tears.

A loud thud. I follow the sound—the bear lies dead. Zevayr is unharmed. I want to sag with relief, but I can’t, not when there’s a boy dying in my lap.

“Help me bring him back to my cottage,” the woman pleads. The utter anguish in her voice pierces my heart.

“Wait,” I say, placing a hand on her arm before she can rise. “He’ll lose too much blood.”

“Mayah.” Zevayr’s voice is a warning.

But the boy’s skin is too pale, his breathing too shallow.

It’s a warning I don’t heed.

I call to my power again, until my hands glow with gentle white light. The woman gasps, but my focus is reserved only for my patient. My hands pass over his wounds carefully. One of the bear’s claws nicked his stomach. Focusing, I mend the tissue and soothe the inflammation. Next, I heal the deep gashes until his skin is seamless once more. My power flows through his body, sensing for any other internal damage—there’s a strained muscle in his lower back, and some minor scrapes and cuts.