28. The Other Night

28. The Other Night

Ruth

“You could have snuck meout to help,” I argue.

Warrose rolls his eyes, crossing his heavy arms over that seemingly three-foot-wide chest. His shiny black hair fans out on the rocky stone floor around him.

“Don’t give me shit,” he grumbles. “You heard Skylenna. Plus, you were already dead asleep.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don’t care. Niles is my best friend, too. I had no idea it was his birthday tomorrow. I want to be a part of whatever was planned. Seriously, Dessin doesn’t even like Niles. Why did he get to help and not me?!

“You’re grinding your teeth,” Warrose adds.

My jaw stops moving, and I grimace in his direction.

“Mind your business,” I shoot back.

The left side of Warrose’s mouth quirks upward, curling in a reluctant smirk. I force myself to peel my eyes away from him as we lie in our cages in silence. Dessin and Skylenna have fallen back to sleep, and Niles snores softly to my left. It’s just the two of us.

After a few minutes, Warrose’s eyes are closed, and his chest moves up and down in the heavy rhythm that usually means he’s finally away from here, dreaming.

I rub my hands roughly against the backs of my arms, summoning heat as my skin prickles. It’s so cold here. Always so cold. I shiver throughout the night, tossing and turning on the rough floor, scratching and cutting into my skin until I’m raw and sore. I’d give anything for a blanket, soft and warm. A thick comforter like the one Skylenna had on her bed in Aurick’s mansion.

My bones shudder at the thought of being cocooned. I’d even settle for sleeping in the forest next to a fire that Warrose built for Chekiss, Niles, and me. That was nice. We’d listen to crickets, feel the simmering fire warm my toes, and when Warrose thought I was completely asleep, he’d pull my wool blanket to my chin.

He was gruff, rude, and anti-social. But there were moments I found sweet enough to make me look at him for long moments when I knew he wasn’t paying attention.

“Ruth?”

I turn my head to see Warrose with his eyes still closed.

“Yes?”

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” he asks in a scratchy, sleepy voice.

“About what?” I really have the nerve to ask.

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, once, twice, stares at the ceiling without blinking. His left hand flexes against the charcoal ground, but it’s so quick I barely catch it.

“The Ecstasy Dance,” he says.

I release my breath slowly, so it isn’t heard as a sigh. The Ecstasy Dance. Flashes resurface in my mind in a single blink. Being grabbed by multiple male inmates, tossed to the ground, hearing my name yelled in that husky baritone. Feeling Warrose’s body shielding my own. Fireflies swarm my chest, leaving tingly eruptions in their wake.

I shift uncomfortably.

“What about it?”

At those three words, Warrose turns his head to face me abruptly.

“What about it?” he repeats, offended. “Are we still doing this?”

My gaze rips away from the sheer impact of his question. The bluntness of the topic he’s trying to form into this conversation. And he doesn’t avert his eyes at my sudden retreat. I can feel all of him burning his question into me through the bars.

“Say what you want to say, Warrose,” I answer casually. “Be a man, and spit it out.”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

“You asked me to promise you that what we were doing wouldn’t end when we left that stage.”

He said it.

I’ve been dreading this conversation every moment since it happened. What was I thinking, making him promise something like that with everything that was influencing us in the moment? What was wrong with me?

Embarrassment sets the nerves of my spine on fire. But I sound aloof as I say, “And?”

His gleaming hazel eyes just widen as his jaw tics.

“And I want to know how you feel about that.” His nostrils flare wide.

“I was drugged.” My words seem to spear through his chest. The impact of the way that sentence lands is almost visible as he flinches back.

“Then I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he states, voice full of shame and regret. “I should have controlled myself better, Ruth.”

I turn my head back to him, unable to blink away the astonishment tightening my expression. “Warroseyou don’t have to be sorry. We were both under the influence of that gas. You did nothing wrong.”

He shakes his head with that stubborn gaze. “No, I fucked up, Ruth. I could have stopped myself. I knew it was wrong.” He closes his eyes for three seconds. “I fucked up.”

I’m sitting up on my elbow now, shaking my head repeatedly. What is he saying? What have I done? I’ve made him feel like a predator for touching me. He wasn’t. I wanted it. Goddamn it.

“Warrose, stop!” I reach for his arm through the cage, managing to grab hold of his wrist. “I begged you to touch me because I wanted you to.”

His jaw flexes, but he remains silent.

“I wanted it. I’m sorry. I was embarrassed about what I said because I didn’t know if you’d want it outside of that stage or not.” My throat is a desert. I swallow dryly. “I fucked up.”

Some strange emotion flickers in his brooding gaze, his rigid expression loosening for a single moment before icing over again.

“You don’t need to try and justify my actions. I should have been stronger for you. I’m fucking pissed at myself.”

No. We’re not going to end the night like this. We can’t.

I sit up, pressing myself against the bars. Warrose can’t help but watch my hurried motion, his gaze switching from one of my eyes to the other. And I catch him off guard, reaching my arms into his cage to latch on to his wrist, dragging his hand up to meet my face.

“I was just scared you didn’t want it, War.” I gently place his calloused palm over my cheek. Absorbing his warmth falling from his skin in soothing waves.

Warrose stares at me with confusion and hesitation glimmering in his amber-and-sea-colored irises. His eyebrows scrunch together at an upward angle. And he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his fingers.

“The gas helped me reach for what I wanted. That’s all.” I lean the weight of my head into his hand, closing my eyes. Tingles race under the area he’s touching.

The muscles in Warrose’s back and abdominals contract and bunch together as he sits up slowly, unable to tear his sharp, piercing gaze from mine. Like a dormant animal stirring awake.

“And what do you want?”

Even though I’m on my knees, he’s sitting up now, towering over me, looking down at me with lowered lashes and parted lips.

“Not what,” I breathe. Out of nowhere, tears swell over my eyes, blurring my vision of him. And I say it in a wet exhale, “Who.”

Warrose shudders as he traps my face in his other hand, pulling me flush to the bars until his lips melt over mine. He…kisses me. Warrose actually kisses me.

Our faces bruise as we push ourselves so close, it’s as if our kiss can bend iron. Command metal to shift. His thick fingers massage into my hair, against my scalp. And his kisses are both sweet and urgent, like we’re under a limited amount of time to have this. To share energy and heat and the thoughts we’ve been feeling since we first met.

He presses his thumb to my chin, and I part my lips for him, opening my mouth so my breath can collide with his. He licks along the plumpness of my bottom lip, and I go weak in his hands, moaning my need to rip these bars from standing in our way. I wish we stayed in the same cage like Skylenna and Dessin. He could have me in his arms, lowering me to my back.

“My god, Ruth,” he groans, smelling like an aged bottle of spiced rum and the fires he used to build us to stay warm in the woods.

The excitement that his voice sparks makes me want so much more. My tongue dips into his mouth slowly, hesitantly. And he pauses, only for half a second before his tongue meets mine, tasting and sensually caressing me with his kiss.

My poor heart. My weak, pounding heart.

But blood rushes other places, too. My legs wobble, my lower belly is scorched with tingles and desire. If possible, it’s so much stronger than the night on that stage. My heart is in this. And we’re not surrounded by stands of soldiers gawking.

It’s only us.