Sastra spent an uncomfortable night alone in her tent, wrapped in the fur she’d been given. Kivan had followed her back to camp, silent. He hadn’t closed the distance between them again, not tried to land a hand upon them. But it was his voice she found that she missed. All too conscious of the silence as it stretched like darkness between them.
She told herself that she was grateful that the Rodan was backing away and abiding by the boundaries she’d set. It was definitely the right thing to do. Yet she didn’t sleep well, not with the memory of his hands moving across the skin of her middle burnt into her memory. Or the scorch of his lips against her neck and shoulder. She tried pulling the blankets over her head, trapping herself with her own breath, but it didn’t block out the bitter c
