Page 85 of Maksym

When I woke the second time, the room was black and I could see everything.

Not shapes. Not vague outlines. Everything.

The carved posts of the bed. The heavy drapes sealing away morning. The faint seam of the bathroom door. The last dead ember in the hearth, red as a thought that refused to go out. Dust motes hung in the air where no light should have revealed them, drifting with an arrogance I envied.

I became aware of Maksym by degrees. I was still in his lap.

He sat against the headboard now rather than on the edge of the bed, one long leg stretched along the mattress, the other bent slightly beneath me. I had somehow curled sideways across him like a woman who had never once claimed to hate vulnerability on principle. His arms rested loosely around me, not trapping, not even holding if I chose to leave. One hand lay open against my back. The other rested near my hip, carefully still.

His amber eyes were already open. Watching me.

Not sleeping. Of course not. I had begun to suspect ancient vampires treated sleep as a suggestion made by weaker civilizations.

For one absurd moment, neither of us spoke. My cheek had been on his chest. My hand was still fisted in his shirt, though my grip had relaxed. The fabric was wrinkled beyond salvation. Millie would probably have opinions. Possibly legal opinions.

“Are you all right?” Maksym asked.

His voice was soft enough not to bruise the dark. I swallowed. My throat felt raw, though no wound remained there. Dreams apparently left fingerprints.

“I think so.”

His gaze moved over my face, careful and thorough. I could feel him cataloging signs of distress.

“I should apologize,” he said.

“No.”

He paused.

I lifted my head from his chest. “Absolutely not.”

His brows drew together slightly. “Grace—”

“No.” My voice was rough, but it had steel in it. Good. I liked finding steel in unexpected places. “You are not going to apologize for comforting me.”

His jaw tightened. “I entered your room without permission. I held you without asking. Your terror came through the bond so violently that I—”

“That you what?” I cut in. “Made a judgment call during an emergency? Congratulations, Your Majesty. That is allowed.”

His mouth closed.

I pushed myself upright enough to look at him directly, though upright placed me more obviously in his lap, which created its own jurisdictional complications. I ignored them for the moment. “If I had woken up terrified, and you had stood politely three feet away while I came apart because you were worried about etiquette, I would have held that against you.”

Something shifted in his eyes.

“Would you?”

“Yes. I contain multitudes and several double standards. Keep up.”

He gave a small, controlled smile.

I pointed at him before he could ruin it with guilt. “I will not allow you to apologize for comforting me. I mean that.”

The breath left him slowly.

He did not need to exhale. Which meant he chose to. Which meant I felt the meaning of it before I understood why my own chest loosened in response.

The mate bond. Of course.