Drawn to the Flame- Book 1 Council of the Light Series

12

In Clarence's opinion, there were different kinds of hangover. Those that were nothing more than an annoyance, like a cold that makes you groggy and long for your bed, and those that crippled you. Clarence felt like he had been crushed by a horse, his head kicked by a stampede of donkeys and his mouth filled with the ash of a thousand knocked out pipes. Even closed his eyes stung, his head swam and he couldn't distinguish dreams from memories. Next to him, Beatrix sighed in her sleep. For a moment he thought nothing about it, and then a creeping doubt and half-remembered memories came back to him.

Had he?

Surely not.

But then- He looked across at her, she was wrapped in her cloak and still dressed in her own clothes.

He must have dreamt it. He lay back, trying to remember the dream. Where she had told him in the firelight that she had wanted him since she met him. Remembered the softness of her kiss, the smoothness of her body. The sounds she made as he explored her, and those she elicited from him. It had to be a dream. He couldn't have been so stupid as to give in to his desire for her. Now. With his reality bearing down on them. To show her any kind of affection would be the cruelest thing he could do.

Her eyes flicked open and she squinted in the morning light which shot through the shutters onto her face. He watched her with care, trying to judge her memories by her reactions, but he could smell her on him and he could remember more and more with each passing second. He should be feeling triumphant, satisfied, full of hope and love but he only felt mortifying shame.

"I feel like death," she muttered. "Whose stupid idea was it to get drunk when we have no food to line our stomachs? Oh, that's right, the stupid selfish pirate."

He sniffed a laugh and propped his head on his hand; if he felt this bad she must feel awful.

"I think I might still be drunk," Beatrix whispered. She ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes again. "Do we have any water?"

"There's a jug of boiled water on the table. You brought it up after-" he paused, after what? "At the end of the night," he concluded.

"Did I?"

She didn't remember a thing.

"How drunk was I?"

Maybe I should tell her, he thought as he rolled up to try and summon up the energy to cross the room to get the jug for her.

She bit her lip and her eyes fixed on the middle distance and then slid across to him, for a moment she looked like she would laugh but the smile began to fade. Perhaps she had remembered, perhaps she could remember everything they did. Was she regretting every moment, from when she kissed him to when she pulled off his clothes and- she was still looking at him. Cat's couldn't give a more searching stare. Clarence pretended not to have noticed.

"Do you want water, I'll go and get it?"

She was silent, watching him, but a look of mild alarm resided behind her eyes. He felt his own fears rise as she continued to look at him, what if she hated him? What if she was ashamed? Had he taken advantage of her? He opened his mouth to try and make it easier but she spoke first.

"What happened to your back?"

Utter and abject mortification wiped out all other feelings. He hadn't put his shirt back on. He always wore his shirt, everywhere, at all times regardless of who he was with or what he was doing. He never took it off but she had taken it off him in the firelight the night before and he hadn't stopped her because he was so frightened that if he did she would want to stop for good.