Claus

Twenty-Five

When Faryn opened her eyes, it was to a darkened suite. Not one light was on. It could have only been thirty minutes since she closed her eyes or four hours. Breathing in, she could tell by the faint traces of Peter's and Clíodhna's scents that they were not in the room, but she caught onto Cassian's, and the strong hints of pine and burnt sugar. His breathing was deep from wherever she was and the steady rhythm of it hinted at him being asleep.

         She breathed in his scent again. "Cassian?" She hated to wake him, but she needed to speak to him while the others weren't present.

         It was a few seconds later before she heard, "Faryn?" His voice was like gravel.

         She couldn't explain why she pushed herself out of the bed and crossed the room to the larger bed where his scent was the strongest. She moved slowly; even with her heightened eyesight, the room was pitch black. When her legs pressed into the mattress, she felt the bed shift and knew Cassian had sat up. 

         If she couldn't see him, he probably couldn't see her either, though she felt his eyes burning into her as if he knew the exact spot she stood. He probably did. His senses were better than hers after all.

         "Why are you awake?" he asked. Some of the gravel in his voice had loosened.

         "I . . ." She wasn't sure she was ready to acknowledge her powers aloud now that the danger had passed. "I need to talk. To you. Here"—there was a lamp somewhere—"let me turn the light—"

         "Don't."

         "I don't really like talking into darkness."

         "If you turn that light on, I will get a headache, and I'll blame you." The bed creaked as he laid back down.

         "Could you at least come out from under the covers?"

         "If you can't see me, how do you know I'm under them?"

         "An educated guess."

         He growled, but not in a way that made her feel that he was going to attack her. "It's too cold."

         "Then how do I know you won't fall asleep on me?"

         "Then get in the bed."

         "What?"

         "Get in." He said it as if he were asking her to take a seat at his table. It wasn't as if she hadn't been in the same bed as him before, and he certainly didn't utter those words like he had any interest in pouncing on her the moment she laid down.

         She felt for the start of the covers and pulled them back, but once she sat down, she didn't bother getting underneath them, choosing to cross her legs instead.

         Somehow the sheets and pillows already held his scent as if it were his own bed.

         As the Fata rolled over, the bed shifted, inching Faryn down farther into the mattress. She felt his breath on her bare knee.

         "Did you know you're like a heater?"

         She rolled her eyes. "Are you really that cold?"

         "Are you not?"

         "No." She tugged at the sleeve of her shirt. "Please don't tell Peter or anyone about the ice."

         "Why?"

         She rested her head against the headboard and closed her eyes. "I don't understand what happened, and I don't know if I'll be able to control it again. I just can't have anyone counting on me to be able to use those kinds of powers again."