Present Time
She lay on her side and traced the scars that were scattered across his chest and arms. He relaxed, catlike in his enjoyment of her touch, his eyes a glimmer of silver between the metallic points of his eyelashes as he watched her hand explore his skin.
“Someone has been healing you,” she observed with jealousy, picturing beautiful Fae mages soothing his hurts in the intimacy and drama of a war tent, even as she knew that her imagination was far from the reality of war.
“Hmm,” he caught her hand, palm to palm the size of his hand considerable in comparison to hers, his palm calloused from holding weapons, and his fingers strong, the knuckles prominent. He released her hand, circling her wrist with his finger and thumb, sliding his palm up her forearm to her elbow an
