“And how will you go about this?”

“I don’t know.” I hadn’t given it much thought after the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours. “Maybe—maybe I’ll return to Arbinj. Make another deal with your father.”

Zev goes completely still. The muscle pulses in his jaw once, twice.

“I won’t tell him about you,” I rush to add. Even in the darkness, his eyes burn with rage. “I can say my father killed you. Or the rebels. Like you said.”

He scoffs. “So clever. So cunning. I was a fool not to see it before.”

His sharp words tear through me like a jagged, rusted blade—they’re true, yet truths often hurt the worst.

“You don’t have to trust me,” I snap. A brisk wind rustles my unbound hair, and I huddle tighter into myself. “But stop pretending I haven’t already proven I’m not your enemy.”

“What makes you think you have?” he growls.

“I healed you every night. I brought you food.”

He scoffs again like it means nothing, like I didn’t risk my life to ensure he survived.

“I didn’t have to. I could’ve let you rot.”

He looks away, but not before I catch the flicker in his eyes.

“But I didn’t,” I press, bracing my forearms on my knees. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re a manipulative liar with your own agenda.” Zev rises to his feet. “Save your breath. I’ll never make the mistake of trusting you again.”

A raindrop lands on my cheek. Then another. I’m grateful I can blame the blurriness in my vision on the rain.

Zev gestures to the tent. “Get in.”

I stare at the small, unassuming canvas structure, barely standing upright. It doesn’t look big enough to fit him, let alone both of us. I don’t want to be in such close quarters with his hatred.

“I’m not sleeping in there with you,” I snap, trying to mask the waver in my voice.

“Why not? We’ve shared a bed before, wife.”

Tides ravage me, he makes that one word drip with poison.

“That was different! I was—”

“Pretending?” he cuts in. “You’re good at it. One more night won’t kill you.”

Without a second glance at me, he ducks into the tent.

Tides drown me.

Maybe I could sleep out here.

The sky rumbles, as if it’s laughing at me.

I bite my lip, then climb in after him.

Not because I want to be near him. I crawl in because the storm terrifies me. And because after everything, he’s the only safe place I have left.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

I’M SUFFOCATING IN SMOKE and pine.

We’re packed into this tent like dried logs, waiting for a spark to set us aflame. Zev, with his tidesdamned massive, muscled body, dominates the space, while I’m huddled against the side, curled in on myself.

Raindrops batter the canvas, steadily growing louder. Faster. I suck in deep, shuddering breaths, preparing myself for what is to come.

Thunder booms, angry and unforgiving. I bite my lip to contain my whimper. The coppery tang of blood blooms on my tongue. Zev is a marble statue behind me—I don’t think he’s even drawing breath. The rain pelts down harder, harsh, angry tap, tap, taps, against the thin fabric of the tent. If I close my eyes, maybe the rhythmic noise will lull me to sleep before the thunder gets worse.

Father’s icy gaze, lightning flashing behind it.

My eyes snap open, a sharp gasp bursting from my lips.

Lightning illuminates the tent for a heartbeat. My hands tremble.

Tides, not here. Not now.

Not with him to witness my weakness.

Another thunderclap rips across the sky, and I clamp my hands over my mouth to muffle my whimper.

I clench my eyes shut. As if that might protect me.

It’s dark except for the sliver of light beneath the door.

“Mama?” My small voice is thick with tears.

I squeeze my hands tightly, my wooden reindeer digging into my palms. A gift from my father.

Father.

Thunder, angry and incessant, shakes the heavens.

Yet the beat of my heart booms louder in my ears.

Lightning flashes again, its threat flaring behind closed lids.

The distant rumble of voices. Of shouting. One of them is Father.

A loud cry—then, silence. The metallic stench of death.

It was my father.

Father.

Rough hands yank me from the closet.

A strangled gasp tears from my throat.

I can’t breathe. My lungs expand and contract, but something is wrong, something is horribly wrong. I can’t get enough air.

I try again, panting and gasping and wheezing—

Zev mutters a string of low curses behind me.

A soft rustling, and then his arm slings over my waist, tugging me flush against his chest.

My eyes fly open.

I’m in the tent. With him. Not in the closet. Not that night.

“Wh—what are you doing?” I rasp.

“Distracting you.” His voice is hard, but his hand is gentle as it skims over my belly. “Lift your head.”

I obey, and he nestles his other arm beneath me, my temple resting on his bicep. His firm chest presses against my back, his breath hot on my neck.

I should push him away. I should hate him. But the warmth of his body and the desperate need to feel safe consumes me. It obliterates any thought of protest.

Thunder booms again, and I jolt. Zev tightens his grip, pulling me back harder against him. His hand splays over my abdomen, his body taut with tension. Ragged exhales flutter the loose strands of my hair.

Lightning flashes, bright and angry.

Another humiliating, panicked yelp wrenches from my lips.

My eyes burn with tears.

Slowly, his hand begins to move. His fingers are hesitant as they inch higher, skating over my ribs, pausing just before the curve of my breasts.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice is rough, like he’s swallowed sand.

The storm melts away, and my focus sharpens on him.

Only him.

I remain completely still, afraid that if I move, if I speak, if I breathe, he’ll stop touching me. His long, graceful fingers edge higher, and then he’s cupping me in his large hand.

“Tell me to stop, Mayah,” he repeats desperately, even as his hand squeezes gently.

I can’t remember the last time he said my name.

My low, needy moan hums through the air. I arch back harder against him. His hand climbs higher, leaving a searing trail along the column of my throat. He traces my parted lips with the tip of his index finger, and it’s all I can do to stay still in his arms.

Desire coils low in my belly, tight and hungry, and I need more.

But I’m afraid to push him, to break this fragile moment.

Zev is tense behind me, each breath a soft pant. His hand skates back down over my chest, my abdomen, dipping just beneath the waistband of my leggings.

“Mayah.” His voice is gravel, and I want to roll in it, in him, until every rough, jagged edge scrapes my skin raw. “Mayah, tell me to stop.” His hands shake, like he’s battling something inside himself.

A keening whine escapes my parted lips, and I grind my ass against him. His hand delves beneath the waistband, and then he’s between my thighs. We both groan at the same time as his fingers swipe through slick wetness.

I can’t breathe.

He works his skillful fingers, quickly bringing me to the edge. His breath is hot against my ear, his body a wall of muscle at my back.

“Zev,” I whimper, biting my lip. I’m close, I’m so close, but I can’t fall over that edge.

The distant rumble of thunder.

Almost.

Lightning crashing into water.

Just—

Zev’s eyes, knifing me with hatred.