Page 52 of The Knucker King

“Like this.” She blew on her own tea before bringing it to her lips and taking a sip. “You can drink more at once that way.”

“Ah!” Trewoofe mimicked her and let out a delighted murmur. “This has a much better taste than the willow bark sludge.”

Avice snorted into her cup. “I know. I added some honey to it as well, for you.”

Even seated, he towered over her. He beamed down at her as he drank, his red gaze never leaving her face. She met his stare, a smile dancing her lips. She held the look for as long as she could, before her eyes began to burn again. She rubbed them with her free hand and tried to ignore the headache throbbing at her temples.

She opened her eyes and studied the almost man who was in her bed. She noted his trembling body and decided right then what she would do about the sleeping situation. Avice had planned to rest on the floor and let him have the pallet to himself. She knocked back the last of her tea and held her hand out for his cup. Trewoofe downed the liquid and handed it over, arching a questioning eyebrow at her.

She placed the cups beside the pallet. “I cannot do anymore today,” Avice admitted. She ran her gaze over the silver-stained bedding and cloak. “We both need to rest, and you are still cold.”

“Yes…?”

Avice sighed. Clearly, Trewoofe was someone she had to be direct with. “Move over, Lord. We are sharing the pallet; two bodies together are warmer than one.”

A grin cut across his handsome face. “Oh! Yes, of course.” He wriggled his huge body over, leaving her a slip of space next to him. He patted the furs. “Plenty of room.”

She pinched her eyebrows together. “Why do you look so pleased?”

“No reason.” He settled onto his side, as Avice had suggested earlier, so his horns did not get in the way. His bandaged chest faced her, and he flung his arms open. “I will definitely get warm if you are close to me.”

Avice shot him a withering look. Worry gnawed at her. The thought of being discovered by a villager with a ‘man’ in her bed, and one who was clearly of magic origin, made her reconsider sleeping on the floor. She shivered as her mind flashed to the gallows and the glint of the iron-barred cages next to it.

“Little witch?” he asked, curling his fingers and coaxing her over.

She sighed. Trewoofe’s bandaged arms looked so inviting. Avice had never been held before, and part of her had always wondered what it would be like to sleep in a lover’s arms.

Trewoofe is not a lover.

She brushed her fingers over her pendant, looking back and forth between her lap and him.

He could be.

Avice rubbed her eyes again before letting out a breath and slipping into his welcoming arms. She settled with her back against his chest, and his ice-cold feet pressed against hers, making her shiver. Trewoofe let out a sigh into her hair, sending strands of her locks fluttering around her face. He wrapped his shaking arms around her. She waited until his breathing evened out, before finally closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep herself.

19

Chapter 19

Trewoofe

As his eyes opened, a myriad of sensations flooded Trewoofe all at once: the smell of Wisp fire, the rough snores of the familiar, the weight of Avice nestled in his arms, a dull and constant ache on his torso, and the throbbing desire of his erection pressed into the small of her back.

Trewoofe froze. Everything else fell away except for that point of contact. Only the thin cloth he wore around his hips, and Avice’s blood-stain dress, separated him from her. He squashed down his desire to rut. Knucker males always worked hard to court and impress their females before anything physical happened between them.

He could hardly believe his luck. He had nearly died, and in less than a day, he had ended up in the place he wanted to be the most – with Avice. Perhaps he had died and passed through the Shimmering Veil to paradise.

Trewoofe drank in every part of her sleeping form. Her midnight hair tangled like briars, black eyelashes stark against her pale skin, his gifted necklace dipped into her cleavage. His gaze swept down and caught on the sight of her arm sticking out awkwardly from the blankets.

Oh, little witch.

With all that had happened yesterday, Trewoofe had neglected what Avice had gone through to save him. Her own bandages were stained dull red, mingled with the silver shimmer of his own blood. She had not even blanched as she had cut herself along the edge of his fangs. The thought of her wilfully injuring herself on his behalf made his gut twist.

Bile rose in his throat, and he caught it in his mouth. He remembered the way she shoved him away from vomiting on her cloak. He sat up abruptly, accidentally thudding Avice’s head against the pallet, reaching for the copper cauldron abandoned beside the pallet. He grabbed it with both hands and retched, staring at what he vomited up.

No, no, no.

The black sludge was back. Not wanting to make a mess, he placed the cauldron carefully by the bedside. The vomiting sent pain radiating through him like a thousand thorns stabbing his skin all at once. He doubled over, clutching his middle, and let out a whimper.