Page 154 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Mariana—to Faren’s surprise—gave Phina a serious nod.

Phina extended an arm, gesturing for her team to filter out through the open gap in the wraparound curtains, then paused with her fingers on the blue fabric. “You have ten minutes,” she said. “No jostling.” Then she yanked the curtains shut.

The moment Phina was out of sight, Faren gripped Mariana’s forearm and tugged. She pitched forward with a softooph, andhe used her off-balance momentum to his advantage, hauling her into his narrow bed; she landed clumsily against his chest.

“This seems like jostling,” she protested.

“Shhhh.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Mariana insisted, pulling away—but Faren snaked an arm around her waist, holding her close.

“Don’t you dare get out of this bed,” he hissed in her ear, then claimed her mouth with his.

To Faren’s satisfaction, she melted into the kiss immediately. She tasted vaguely of honey—likely from the tea she’d been drinking as she sat by his bedside—and he tilted her chin, humming pleasurably into her open mouth. His touch magic was still achy and weak, akin to an overused muscle, but he couldn’t help himself; he unfurled the power in his veins, allowing it to prickle along every point of contact: the lean line of her thigh pressed between his, the sharp jut of her hip bone against his stomach, the firm pressure of her palm on his pec, and her upper lip—the ridge of scar tissue there—smooth as silk on his tongue.

“Faren,” Mariana murmured—not a protest this time, but tender. In her tone, he heard every apology, unspoken regret, and fervent plea. He’d never heard his name articulated in such a way; she made it sound like devotion.

“Mariana,” he answered roughly, curling his fingers in her soft hair.

At some point in the hours after battle, she had removed her armor and changed out of her blood-soaked clothes; there had been a moment when, within his dazed rest, he’d drifted out of sleep to hear Phina ordering her to bathe:You’ll infect him with your grime. Now, her skin was soap smooth under his fingertips, floral to his nose. But that didn’t hide the tremor of exhaustion in her muscles, the scrapes and bruises on her face and arms, nor the heaviness of her body against him.

Releasing her from the kiss, he asked, “Have you slept?”

Her eyes were bloodshot but hooded with desire, and she blinked, as if rousing from a dream. “No,” she admitted.

“You should,” he said.

“Later.”

“Sooner rather than later.” He squeezed her upper arm, where her bicep was involuntarily twitching. “You think I can’t feel how exhausted you are?”

“I don’t want you out of my sight.”

His lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Youlikeme.”

“I donot,” she replied, but the joke had an unspoken weight to it. The mirth vanished from her face with the pulse of her jaw, and for a moment, she seemed transported to another time and place.

“Then what do you feel?”

Her dark brown eyes darted up to the vaulted ceiling as she searched for words, and when she looked at him again, the openness in her expression took his breath away. “I was so afraid, Faren. The sight of you…like that…knowing your Fate, I…” Her gaze skittered away again, and she shook her head.

“It makes sense, now,” Faren mused, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “My Fortune and Death being the same.”

“How so?”

“My greatest Fortune was my undoing,” Faren said as evenly as he could; he didn’t want his words to trouble her. “You did that. You made me into a miracle.”

Tears welled in her eyes, making them glimmer. “Fucking Fates, Faren,” she said, voice warbling. “That’s…I don’t know what to say to that.”

Then she was kissing him again, firmly and fiercely, as if she could communicate with her touch what she could not articulate with her words.

Faren heard her loud and clear. He cupped the back of her head again.

The screech of the curtain hooks startled them out of the kiss.

“Ew.”

“Wha—oh,gross.”