Bitterburn (Gothic Fairytales Book 1) by Ann Aguirre

Author:Ann Aguirre [Aguirre, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Paranormal
Publisher: Ann Aguirre
Published: 2020-10-30T18:30:00+00:00

18.

“Then I’ll wait. For now. But do understand that unlike yours, my patience is finite.” The words come out colder than I intend.

I don’t soften that statement, however, because while I’m not putting a time limit on this warning, it is an ultimatum. I know myself, and there will come a time when I lose my temper and search for my own answers. For a long moment, Njål doesn’t respond.

If he runs again tonight, so help me, he won’t eat any bread for a week.

Then he steps closer, shoulders slumped in an unquestionably contrite posture. “I’m sorry I left before. It was . . . surprisingly painful to learn that you could fear me.”

A touch of regret shimmers through me because we have only each other. Quietly I extend a hand, waiting in silence for him to clasp it. And eventually, he does.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

He regards me steadily with those quicksilver eyes. “I’m unclear on the particulars of your invitation.”

“Just offering to let you sleep here.”

A quiet laugh escapes him. “I did think it would be odd for you to suggest other pastimes, considering how the day went.”

“Do you want to stay then?”

Njål pulls back the covers, surveying the slice of mattress available. “I do. Your room is cozy and warm, but it’s a pity the bed is so small.”

“Is yours bigger?” I ask, moving over so he can climb in.

“It is, but the room is much chillier and less inviting.”

“And you probably sleep in the east wing.” The dig escapes me before I stop it. One would think I want to fight with him over this, and maybe on some level I do. But that’s telling as well. People don’t dare argue with those they truly fear.

“I stand watch,” he corrects. “But tonight I’m here with you.”

That’s an odd thing to say. I ruminate on it, considering what he’s hiding, a secret that must be guarded. In a fine, incidental distraction, Njål partially disrobes, allowing me to see the scars carved into his body, only they’re more like sigils, akin to the one on his cheek. It would take an absolute monster to do this. I felt the marks on his torso on our first night together. He settles in beside me, and with a trembling hand, I trace the triangle on his chest, wondering what it means. This is not a simple tattoo; it was carved into his flesh before the channel was filled with ink. It must have been agony.

“What . . .” I don’t even know what to ask.

Some people adorn themselves this way, sailors from the Splinter Isles for instance—but such a choice seems out of character for Njål, who wouldn’t even let me look at him for so long. He’s not the type to want more attention on his appearance, not even young Njål. I’ve only encountered him twice in the past, but both times he was either running or hiding. It seems to me that body art is about boldness and celebration.

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