CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My own hurt fades, washed away by the pain in Sturrm’s deep voice.

“I was but a teen, only turned sixteen. I’d just passed my warrior tests, my piercings still fresh and new.”

Piercings? The ones on his cock? Has to be—I certainly didn’t see any others that first day. I don’t ask to confirm, though, a part of me knowing if I derail him, he’ll never finish the story.

“Bruna passed her warrior tests, too. She was…” His hand tightens on my back. “She was my childhood sweetheart.”

Old pain fills his voice, making my heart ache for him.

“We left the village on a camping trip to celebrate and to have some alone time away from everyone. The first couple of days were perfect. We hunted, we ate, we loved and talked of our future together, how we would mate.”

A spurt of jealousy goes through me. Not for what they shared, but for the fact that I can hear in his voice how much he still loves her after all this time. No one’s ever loved me like that.

When he doesn’t continue, I say, “And then…?”

He exhales loudly, his voice rough. “On the third day, a war party of ogres found us. They rarely ventured so far into orc lands, usually only doing so if the goddess granted a sky gift the ogres wanted. Bruna and I didn’t know it, but the Moon Goddess had appeared on the first night of our trip with a gift of seeds for a new type of vegetable. We’d been in our tent, oblivious to the outside world, and missed the moon’s appearance.”

It still bothers him. I can tell he blames himself for that. “Did the goddess appear near you?”

“No.” His body moves as if he shakes his head. “She appeared several miles away, but the ogres cut across the land near our village to get to the spot.”

“So you couldn’t have known.” I press my hand to his chest, right over his heart.

Instead of acknowledging the truth of my words, he continues. “We were outnumbered five to two, and they were adults. We fought well, but…”

A hopelessness fills his voice with so much old anguish and guilt it breaks my heart.

“Three of them surrounded me as the other two fought Bruna. She was brilliant and fierce and killed one, but the other got in a lucky blow.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “I’d already dispatched one of my opponents as well, but the other two blocked me from her. I can still see him, even now, standing over her, his battleaxe raised. I dream it. The axe seems to move so slowly, but no matter how hard I fight, it always falls before I can reach him.” A pained pause, then he whispers, “I lose her again and again, every night in my dreams.”

“Oh, Sturrm.” With a sob, I throw my arms around him, hugging him with everything I am, wanting to push away all the old hurt and sorrow. “You know it’s not your fault, right? Ogres are huge .” That one who carried me down from the standing stone had been a foot taller and far larger than Sturrm’s adult size, let alone a smaller teenager. “You couldn’t have fought them.”

“You’re wrong.” His voice goes flat and emotionless. “I did fight them. I went mad with a berserker rage and slew them all. And if I could do that, why didn’t I do it when it mattered? Why didn’t I do it when it could have saved her?”

Carajo, this misplaced guilt is eating him alive, chewing up his life from the inside out. I long to heal him— need to heal him. But no matter how hard I strain, my magic remains quiet. It must work on physical injuries only. I guess it’s too much to hope for that I can be a medical healer and the ultimate psychiatrist all in one.

So instead I try a different tack. “What did everyone say when it happened? The adults of your village?” I’m ready to unleash a bitch all over them if any of them blamed him .

“That it wasn’t my fault. That it was amazing either of us survived.”

“See.” I fist my hand in his shirt and try to give him a shake. Mierda, I might as well try to shake a mountain for all he moves. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He grunts, but I can tell it’s his negative grunt. He still blames himself.

When his arms loosen around me, I cling on. “No, please don’t go. The nightmare might come back.” It’s a lie. The nightmare never comes twice in one night. But I don’t feel the tiniest morsel of remorse as Sturrm stays right beside me.

Because it’s not just him holding me and soothing my hurts.

I hold him, too.

Breakfast is quiet, but it’s an easy kind of quiet instead of the awkwardness I worried might happen after we shared so much the night before. I’m still thrilled Sturrm confided in me and don’t want him to feel like it was a mistake, so I reign in my enthusiasm, thanking him quietly when he hands me a cup of mint tea.

I take a sip, and a yawn shivers through me. Co?o, I miss Cuban espresso, but a hot drink in the morning is still lovely.

Sturrm tends the fire, his hands competent and sure as he makes something that looks like oatmeal.

I’m getting a little obsessed with those hands—they do everything so well. They’re like all of his surety and experience made manifest. The way they stroked the leather when he made my jacket made me feel some kind of way. The way they worked the strings and fret board of the guitar! Combined with his voice, it’s positively panty melting.

The glen brightens as the sun rises, and birds start to sing all around us. As glad as I am that Dash’s magic lets us travel much faster than we normally could, I don’t get to see a lot of the landscape. We’re higher in the mountains here. The pines are the same, but the deciduous trees are different. They’re shorter than the blue birch, their purple leaves long and narrow. Clusters of small white flowers show here and there. When I ask what they are, Sturrm says they’re mountain rowan.

Dash crops at some of the bushes, ignoring the little umbrella plants that cover the ground just inside the trees. “Why don’t you eat those?” There sure are a lot of them.

“Mayapples are poisonous.” He uses his horn to push aside one of the wide green leaves to show a bright-green fruit about the size of a walnut. “When the fruit’s this color, it’s also poisonous, but you can safely eat it once it ripens and turns yellow.”

“Got it.” I file the information away. Can I heal poisons? Does my magic do that? Or does it only work on injuries like cuts or muscle tears? There’s still so much I don’t know and no safe way to test things. I’m certainly not going to suggest any of us poison ourselves just so I can check.

Sturrm hands me a bowl of porridge, and his lips twitch as he says, “No mayapple included. ”

I grin. He made a joke! I hope it means he feels closer to me—I know I feel closer to him after what we shared last night.

My first bite of the oatmeal is a bit of a shock. It’s salty instead of sweet. There are little chunks of dried meat mixed in, with nuts and dried fruit, too. They can’t be raisins—they’re not as sweet and have a tartness to them. I take another spoonful, trying to evaluate it without any expectations of “cinnamon and brown sugar” or any of the other sugary flavors I’m used to. Peruvian breakfasts aren’t traditionally sweet, but I grew up with Pop-Tarts and Froot Loops and all the other sweet tastes found in America.

This reminds me more of something like a bacon and egg sandwich than cereal. It’s good and hearty, the meat making it taste more substantial.

And it sure doesn’t suck that someone cooked it for me. A girl could get used to this. Sturrm’s so big and strong and a warrior. You’d think he’d be really into the whole “men don’t do this kind of thing.” Instead, he’s doing all the cooking like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t diminish his masculinity one iota.

And it doesn’t—it really doesn’t. If anything, it only makes him hotter.

He’s the complete opposite of those pendejos who attacked me in that alley.

His age gives him a maturity, a sureness in himself and who he is that’s sexy as hell.

The more time I spend with him, the more I want him. But last night, for all it brought us closer, also showed me he’s still in love with his childhood sweetheart. Carajo, it’s been twenty years! I can’t even imagine. He’s loved her for about as long as I’ve been alive, and it’s clear he’s never wavered. Sturrm has the truest, biggest heart of any man I’ve met.

Is there any room left in that big heart for me?