8

Greyson blinked at the gray light filtering through the crowded branches. Warmth surrounded him, and he felt surprisingly comfortable on the hard ground. Stretching, he suddenly stopped when an arm tightened around his waist, pulling him against another body.

His pulse skittered as he patted the frost-covered ground for his staff. The instant his fingers touched the twisted wood, he held it in a white-knuckled grip. Greyson tried to move, but Cyrus held him fast, warm breath rushing over the back of his neck.

Swallowing, Greyson touched Cyrus' arm, the muscles stiffened under his fingertips. Slowly, he trailed down his arm until he reached Cyrus' hand, his palm rough and wide.

Cyrus nuzzled him. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he said between his clenched teeth.

They lay there silently as Cyrus held him and Greyson's thoughts whirled. He wanted to lash out, scold him, but the words wouldn't come. With every moment that passed, his body grew warmer and his breath turned rougher.

Unable to think of anything else, Greyson said, "We need to get a move on."

"Alright." Cyrus loosened his hold and stretched with a loud yawn.

The second Cyrus let him go, Greyson bolted up, staff in hand. His heart pounded and his neck felt oddly hot as his thoughts lingered on the feel of Cyrus' arms around him. He'd never been so close to Cyrus, not once in their entire acquaintance. He strode toward the trees to answer nature's call with a little bit of privacy and to collect himself.

When he returned, Cyrus sat in front of the fire that he must have restarted. Greyson could not look at him as he began breakfast. Once they finished eating, Greyson led them east toward Creekside. They should arrive near nightfall, thankfully. He didn't want a repeat of last night.

After a couple of hours of quiet, Greyson glanced at Cyrus who had a thoughtful expression on his face as his eyes wandered over the woods. He didn't know why Cyrus' silence unnerved him, but it did. Shaking it off, he continued.

In the middle of the day, they stopped for a short respite. Greyson gave Cyrus a couple of pieces of dried meat, an apple, and a hunk of hard cheese. Cyrus accepted them with a smile, which made his heart thump. Sitting, Greyson scanned the trees. The area did not appear any different than the woods that surrounded his home. Of course, the Griseo Mountains all basically appeared the same until you reached the peaks or the icy coastline in the north.

Cyrus kept glancing in his direction, but neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the chirping birds and an occasional rustling from game animals like rabbits or turkeys, even though Greyson did not see any. Once they finished their meal, they started walking again.

The temperatures dropped drastically as the sun started to set, and Cyrus hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself. Greyson stopped when he heard Cyrus' teeth chattering.

"You should put on your woolen tunic," Greyson said, frowning.

With a nod, Cyrus shakily dropped his bag, though his hands trembled too much to open it. Greyson ripped open the brown sack, then took out the thick tunic Cyrus had taken off earlier this morning. Not bothering to ask, he undid the clasp of Cyrus' cloak, then slipped it over his head. Once Cyrus put it on, Greyson draped the cloak back over his shoulders and clasped it.

Satisfied, Greyson started off again. While the additional clothing seemed to help, Cyrus continued to tremble. They traveled in the dark for a couple of hours until they came to a village that consisted of almost a dozen houses. Creekside, much like Greyson's village, was a farming village that helped provide food for the whole of the Griseo Mountains. They also raised sheep and goats and fished in the stream.

By the time he could see the village, Cyrus' teeth chattered so loudly that Greyson feared they would shatter.

He glanced at Cyrus for the hundredth time. "We're close," he said, not able to see him well in the low light. Cyrus only nodded. Greyson headed straight to a home on the edge of the village and knocked on the door. It cracked open and revealed a tall woman with black curly hair and a round face that radiated kindness from the fine wrinkles around her deep brown eyes to the perpetual smile on her thin lips.

"Greyson," she said, waving him inside.

"Hello, Elizabeth." Greyson followed her inside and dragged the shivering Cyrus behind him. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open when she caught sight of Cyrus. Greyson shook his head, and she snapped her mouth close. He made Cyrus sit next to the fire, then he looked at Elizabeth, who gaped at him.

"Do you have tea or something warm to drink?"

"You know where it is," Elizabeth said, covering her mouth as she stared at Cyrus, face pale.

Greyson removed a kettle and a green tin from a cabinet in the kitchen. He stuck the kettle on the flames before securing a teapot and a couple of cups. The whole while, Cyrus watched him but said nary a word. Greyson tried to ignore his gaze, but it made his shoulder blades itch. Elizabeth kept watching them, eyes bulging.

"Greyson," she said in a calm voice.

"Give me a moment." Greyson's gaze flicked back to Cyrus. His face had regained some color, and his teeth had finally stopped chattering. "Are you okay?" Greyson asked, and Cyrus nodded. As he started to stand, Cyrus latched onto his arm. Greyson's brow furrowed. "What?"

Cyrus didn't say anything as he continued to hold on. Frowning, Greyson pressed his free hand to Cyrus' forehead, worried he'd started to get sick again. He didn't feel warm, but Greyson studied him before patting Cyrus' arm and saying, "I'll be right back."

Standing, Greyson strode closer to Elizabeth who immediately asked in a squeaky voice, "Are you insane?"

Peeking at Cyrus, who watched them with a furrowed brow, he said, "Later. I'll explain everything later. I promise."

She crossed her arms. "Fine, but you'd better have a good explanation for this."

Greyson smiled tightly at Elizabeth who stared at him with an arched eyebrow. There really wasn't. He wished he had one, but he doubted his feeble excuses would satisfy her. "I do."

He poured the boiling water into a white teapot painted with pink roses, Elizabeth's favorite flower. After the tea steeped, he gave a cup to Cyrus, who accepted it with cold fingers.

"Elizabeth, would you like some?"

"No," she said, standing on the opposite side of the house, pressed against the wall with wide eyes.

They sat in silence, and Elizabeth did not move from her position while a thick tension filled the air. Greyson couldn't find the words to dissipate it. She had good reasons to despise Cyrus, very similar to Greyson and most people of the Griseo Mountains.

His gaze flicked over the small home with a modest kitchen, matching table and chairs, a fireplace with a couple of rocking chairs in front of it, and a single door near the back, searching for evidence of another person. But besides the blanket thrown over the back of a chair and a stack of books, he couldn't find anything out of place. It wasn't surprising that she was alone, but Greyson did not want to put Cyrus in danger from a random person appearing.

After a bit, Greyson puttered around her kitchen, making a dinner of eggs and toast. Cyrus wandered over to the table, gaze darting to Elizabeth. She finally peeled off the wall and sat at the table as far from Cyrus as possible, staring at him.

Greyson scooped some food onto a plate for Cyrus and poured him another cup of tea before serving Elizabeth. "How are you?"

She grunted.

"Any beaus I should speak to?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

Her eyebrows raised. "Seriously?"

He smiled in response, and she just ignored him as she continued eating. Elizabeth's husband had died last year, and she hadn't moved on yet.

"Cyrus, are you warm?" he asked, trying to fill the silence for some unknown reason. It picked at him, making him squirm.

"Yeah." Cyrus poked at his eggs without eating them.

The remainder of the meal passed in tense silence until Elizabeth rose, chair scraping on the floor. "I think I'll go to bed."

Immediately, Cyrus seized his arm, expression urgent. Greyson frowned. He had absolutely no idea what was going on with Cyrus. Shaking his head, Greyson said to Elizabeth, "Goodnight."

With her hands fisted in the skirt of her lavender gown, she headed into a bedroom off the main room, closing the door behind her.

When Cyrus did not let go of his arm, Greyson considered him with a furrowed brow. "Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Finish your tea." Greyson took a long drink; it was a different blend than his but delicious regardless. Cyrus took a sip, face scrunching. "Do you not like it?"

"No. Apparently, I'm not a tea person."

Who doesn't like tea?He could not even fathom someone disliking it. Greyson supposed it made sense in some cosmic way because Cyrus was his enemy. Though, at this moment, sitting in the warm house and staring into his open expression, it was hard for Greyson to think of Cyrus as his foe. Putting it out of his head, Greyson snagged the cup and set it aside.

"You could've said something. You don't have to drink it."

"How well do you know this woman?" Cyrus asked, gaze averted.

"I already told you, twice I believe. We're friends."

"But you've been here before?"

"Yes," Greyson answered slowly. "We're friends."

"You've been here so many times that you know where she keeps her tea." Cyrus would not look at him, instead, staring at the shifting flames.

"Let me tell you a secret."

Cyrus shifted toward him, mouth opening.

Stifling a chuckle, he continued, "I pretty much know where everyone keeps their tea."

With a wide grin, Cyrus asked, "You like tea?"

"I do." He took another drink, and they both fell silent.

Once he finished, Greyson placed the dishes in the kitchen. He would wash them in the morning. Then he dropped a bedroll right next to the fireplace for Cyrus, dumping the blankets on top of it, before putting his own some distance away. He didn't want a repeat of last night.

Even as he thought about it, his heart started to thump and he felt oddly warm as the skin between his shoulder blades tightened. Clearing his throat, Greyson lay down.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Greyson asked.

"You're sleeping all the way over there."

"Yes, because it's too warm next to the fire," he lied, rolling onto his right side, back to Cyrus.

The only sound in the open room was the occasional snaps and pops of the fire. Greyson shifted on the hard floor, wincing. He rolled his cloak up, then shoved it under his head.

A dragging noise started, followed by a soft thump as someone settled behind him.

"Is this okay?" Cyrus asked. "I feel more comfortable next to you."

Greyson wanted to say no; instead, he replied, "It's fine."

Blankets covered him as Cyrus slid an arm over his waist, pulling him close. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Warmth encased him while the sound of Cyrus' even breathing began to lure him to sleep.

Cyrus held Greyson in his arms. Greyson's breath eventually evened into slumber. He didn't know what was going on with them, but he liked Greyson resting in his embrace. His thoughts shot back to the woman whose house they stayed in—Elizabeth. She seemed attractive enough, he supposed, in her mid-to-late twenties like Greyson.

For some reason, when she smiled at Greyson, something curled in his stomach and made him uncomfortable, edgy. He didn't like it. Greyson seemed calm enough when he talked about her, but it made Cyrus uneasy.

A scared moan came from Greyson that drew him to the present. Cyrus tightened his hold, pulling him as close as possible. "You're okay," he whispered. "I'm here."

Greyson's breathing quickened as he started to twitch. Cyrus rubbed his arm and nuzzled his neck. "Shh, it's okay, I promise," he said, trying to soothe the nightmare. Greyson didn't calm, so Cyrus grabbed his hand and held it over his stomach, squeezing him tight.

Eventually, the dream passed, and Greyson quieted.

Cyrus closed his eyes with a relieved smile as Greyson relaxed. He pressed his face against Greyson's neck while he rubbed his arm, hoping to soothe any lingering stress. Waves of sleep started to draw him in, and Cyrus reveled in the warmth and comfort. His last conscious thought was of Greyson and how Cyrus never wanted it to end.