The Trials of Sybil

Chapter Six

Sybil

I keep watch over Edmund's recovery, taking his pulse and listening to his breathing every few minutes. I've lost track of time, as. hours have passed. The guards have switched twice to keep watch. I stand up, scooping the two empty bowls from the ground. His condition is improving, but we aren't out of the woods yet. I stand in a daze, stretching my limbs after sitting for so long.

Feeling delirious from my exhaustion, I find myself laughing at my own joke. I glance down, realizing that I am still holding the empty bowls I intended to clean. Stifling a yawn with my hand, I blink my dry and gritty eyes; the forest blurring around me. I take a few hesitant steps, trying to find my balance before I tip with exhaustion. The forest floor flies up to meet me as the bowl falls from my hand, clattering on the stones littered across the ground. Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace for the impact of the hard ground.

The hard impact never comes. A soothing warmth of air cushions me and propels me up, my back firmly pressed against the trunk of a tree. The rough bark bites into the delicate skin of my back through my tunic as the wind caresses the exposed skin at my arms, neck, and face. Aramis steps towards me, bracing his arms on either side of my head.

This close, I can see the muscles of his biceps straining against the fabric of his sleeves. My delirious mind wonders what it will feel like to glide my fingers along the planes of muscle. The slight wave of blond hair falls in his face as he gazes down at me, and I suddenly have the insatiable desire to move his hair to the side. Is it thick or soft? My fingers twitch at my side, itching to test out my hypotheses. My body betrays me as I surrender to the soothing caress of his wind, the warmth gradually filling up my core. It brushes along the side of my thigh–just a whisper of a touch; I gasp involuntarily at the gentle caress. Why must he be so terribly handsome? It would be easier to hate him.

"Sybil, look at me," he whispers, a feverish gleam in his eye. His voice is a rolling wave, powerful and commanding, causing my body to respond as it arches towards him of its own volition. Aramis studies my lips, causing me to raise my brow in question. "Kiss me." The command is final, and heat rises from my abdomen. My cheeks burn as he strokes them with a tentative finger, inviting warmth into my skin. A shock runs through my body at his leisurely touch. His blue eyes, as light as the sky, are commanding and tentative at the same time. Time has slowed again as he studies me. With the press of his strong arms caging me into the tree, I feel myself getting lost. His lips nearly graze mine.

"Sybil," Aramis whispers, when I haven't moved a centimeter. His lips are so close to mine. "Kiss me." The second time is the whisper of a plea, and never have I heard such vulnerability from the prince. The whiff of alcohol on his breath takes me out of my haze, and is a splash of cold water on my face. I lift my hands against his chest and push him away.

What is he playing at? What am I thinking? How did I almost let this happen?

"Aramis, you are drunk," I scoff, completely unimpressed. "Remember who you're talking to? I'm your prisoner, remember? You hate all shifters? Or did you hit your head and forget?"

There is that tug again. I cannot turn my eyes away from him. Logically my mind says run, but I feel an instinct to run into his arms.

Aramis stares blankly at me, clearly having lost all senses to drink. I roll my eyes in derision at him. I slip from under his arm back towards the camp. My mouth quirks into a smile, testing another idea. Perhaps he drank enough to take me home. "Or you have, perhaps, had a change of heart and want to take me home? Did you suddenly develop another personality?"

He reaches out, grabbing my hands and pulling me back towards him. I stumble and fall against him, feeling the hard length pressing against me through our layers. My eyebrows rise in shock just as heat radiates throughout my body at our close proximity. The darkness is a blessing, masking my flushed face. I pull from his grip, crossing my arms over my chest, impatiently waiting for his reply.