Empire of Night (Age of Legends 2)

"I'm fine."

A moment's silence. She could feel him watching her as she kept her gaze on the camp.

"Your first battle," he said finally.

"Yours, too."

He nodded, and she could see the fear in his eyes. Not for the battle itself, but for the weight of it, the responsibility of it. And perhaps, yes, just a little for the battle itself. Now she was the one moving closer, tugging his cloak over them. He reached out, his arm going around her waist, pulling her against him, and when she turned to look at him, his face was right there, so close that with the slightest movement, she could--

She kissed him. There was no forethought. No moment of indecision or even of decision. She saw that haunted look in his eyes, and she wanted to make it go away. So she kissed him.

He hesitated only a moment, not even long enough for her to register that he was hesitating, and by the time she did, he was kissing her back, a deep, incredible kiss that banished every awkward, behind-the-village-hall buss from her mind, as if they could not even be called by the same name. This was what she'd been looking for in those fumbling embraces that had left her feeling as if someone had dangled the sweetest honey wine just out of reach, and she could see it, smell it, but could not grasp it, could not taste it. This was what she'd been aching for. A kiss, just like this. A young man, just like this.

When it stopped, she hung there, eyes still closed, feeling drunk, her mind buzzing. And then--

Tyrus's voice. Rough, low. His words, a mumbled, "I'm sorry." His hands tugging his cloak from over them. Her eyes, flying open, seeing his gaze averted. His voice again. "I didn't mean to do that."

Then the shame. The humiliation and the cold wave of anguish, as if in pulling that cloak back, he'd shoved her into an icy pool.

He looked over then. He saw her face, and he reached for her.

"Moria, I--"

She scrambled back. "I'm sorry. I--I didn't mean--"

"It's all right."

No, it wasn't. She'd shamed herself. Dishonored their friendship. Worse, she could barely even consider that. All she thought of was that kiss, and how it felt, and that it was over, and she wasn't ever going to feel it again.

She pushed up on all fours. Tyrus caught her cloak.

"Moria--"

"There was no excuse. I . . . I'm tired and I'm frightened and I wanted . . . I should go."

He held her fast. "No."

When she pulled, as if to slip out of the cloak and escape, he took hold of the front, gripping the sides together, his hand right under her chin.

"No," he said, his voice soft and gentle despite the iron grip. "You did nothing wrong."

"Yes. I . . . I behaved dishonorably. I did something you did not want. Something you'd made clear you did not want and--"

He kissed her. She was still talking, and he pulled her down and kissed her. It was not the same as before. No deep, delicious kiss, but still so sweet, so achingly perfect.

This time, when he pulled away, he held her close.

"You gave me nothing I do not want, Moria," he said, enunciating each word. "You gave me something I cannot have. You aren't mine. You cannot be mine. Not until I am sure . . ." He loosened his grip. "Gavril is my friend."

Moria yanked so hard she would have tumbled onto her back if he'd let go. He didn't.

"Yes, you do not wish to have this conversation," he said. "We've been avoiding it since we met, because I've known if I pressed the matter, you'd walk away. You cannot walk away here, Moria." He waved at the camp. "So settle in, because we are having this discussion, one-sided though it may be."

She seethed and glowered, but she'd do nothing to give them away.

"Gavril is my friend," he said. "And you will notice I do not use the past tense. I do not believe he's done what he seems to have done. That may make me a fool. But in my heart, I don't believe him capable of this, and I don't think you do either."

"Of course I do. He--"