them, their bedrolls still wound up beside
each other every night. Not that a camp full of
witches offered any sort of opportunity to
tangle with her. No, for that, they’d resorted
to winter-bare forests and snow-blasted
passes, their hands roving for any bit of bare
skin they dared expose to the chill air.
Their couplings were brief, savage. Teeth
and nails and snarling. And not just from
Manon.
But after a day of fruitless searching, little
more than a glorified guard against the
enemies hunting them while his friends bled
to save their lands, he needed the release as
much as she did. They never discussed it—
what hounded them. Which was fine by him.
Dorian had no idea what sort of man that
made him.
Most days, if he was being honest, he felt
little. Had felt little for months, save for those
lily
(lily)
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