Roar (Stormheart #1)(83)

But when her mouth touched his, every other thought fled his mind. She had clung to him so hard, which he now realized was probably because of the pain the storm had fed into her. She was not herself, probably terrified, and he let his attraction to her overrule his better instincts. It had taken more control than he wanted to admit to even keep his kiss gentle, his desires in check. He wanted to devour her, touch and taste every bit of her he could reach. The cling of wet fabric to her skin had only enflamed him more.

He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and quickened his pace as they approached the inn. It was late, and there did not appear to be another soul awake in the entire building. When he reached her door, he asked if she had the key. Her tired hands searched her pockets, her movements slow and jerky, and he wondered if she was still in pain. He had to set her down to unlock the door, and she leaned into him for support. He still wanted her, even though he clearly did not deserve her. And the instinct to protect and care for her was stronger than ever, even though it was him she needed protecting from.

He kicked the door open and wasted no time scooping her up into his arms once more. He didn’t want to get her bed wet, knowing that she would need to rest, so he carried her toward the wooden chair in the corner of the room. Her hands trailed over his forearms as he situated her, then dropped into her lap. Her head drooped, and his heart cracked.

He had been such a beast to her. He had lived so long thinking only of himself. Survive. Thrive. His every action had been focused on those goals, and anything that threatened them he pushed away. To lead a life like his, you had to be a little selfish. He swallowed a dark laugh, because for the first time in a while Roar reminded him of his sister again. His selfishness had harmed her too, had led directly to her death.

“I can try to wake a maid,” he said. “A bath might take away some of the chill. Or food, maybe? Something warm to drink? Or I can leave. You probably want to be alone.”

She caught his arm when he began to turn away. “Don’t. Don’t leave.” She took a shuddering breath and tilted her chin up to face him. “We need to talk.”

Of course. She deserved the right to rail at him for what he had done. But first, he wanted her resting. He moved to her bed and turned down the blankets, and then he cursed prolifically.

“Bait,” he growled, when he saw that her bed had been filled with sand. He swore. Not only were the novie’s pranks rarely funny, he always had the worst timing. It would take too long to clean, and Roar was practically falling asleep in the chair behind him.

Resigned, he gathered Roar’s bags and her tired form and took her to his room instead, and made a mental note to make the novie pay tomorrow. Once again, he sat her in a chair, then laid her bags at her feet. He checked his bed, relieved to find that Bait was not stupid enough to prank him as well.

“You change into dry clothes,” he told Roar. “I am going to get you something to eat and drink. Then … we’ll talk.”

He left her there, both relieved to escape and aching to stay. He could apologize. Maybe he had not completely ruined the chance for trust between them, but there had been too little to begin with. Someone had hurt her, and now he had as well. So much for the promises he had made her only a little while ago.

But he was still her mentor. It was her survival he needed to focus on now. He needed to discover whatever was happening to her and find a way to fix it. Or temper it at least. Otherwise, he would have to take her back to Pavan, whether he wanted to or not. He would not let her suffer every time a storm came near.

He searched the main part of the inn and found a night maid on duty. She looked at him with wide, nervous eyes that only made him feel guiltier. He was tall and broad and not just a little intimidating. Most of the time, he leaned into that image, but tonight he wished he could be different. Softer, somehow. With a hot cup of tea and a plate of toast, he ventured back to his room.

He knocked, but Roar didn’t answer, so he carefully eased open the door, keeping his eyes low in case she was not finished changing. When he heard no scandalized scream, he looked around to find Roar fast asleep. She had changed clothes as he suggested. But she lay sideways on his bed, not even under the covers. How bad must the pain have been to leave her in such a state?

He gritted his teeth against his frustration and laid the tea and toast on a rickety table beside the bed, in case she woke later and wanted it. Then as carefully as he could, he lifted her sleeping form into his arms. She groaned and mumbled something unintelligible, pressing her face into his chest. He dipped down, wrenching back the covers and laying her gently on the sheets. She curled up on her side once more in the same way she had during the storm. The sight sent a twinge of pain through his chest, and he rushed to pull the covers up to hide the reminder.

He’d made the choice to care about her, and he could not undo that now. In fact, he was sure it had been inevitable from the moment they met. He took a seat in his desk chair, resigning himself to a night sleeping upright.

“I’ll figure this out,” he vowed in a whisper.

He had to. It was the only way he stood any chance of keeping her.

*

A cold smile spread over his lips at the sight before him.

It was rare to see this many people gathered in the open air in a wildlands town. Normally the people tended to spend their days indoors, and when they did venture outside, they walked with a hurried pace as if their presence might tempt the skies to unleash their rage over the mere sight of a human. Like scurrying, insignificant insects hiding in their holes.