Bound To The Silent Laborer's Bed

looked at it, then at him, her jaw set in a stubborn line. She wasn't going to mak

e way her body still rebelled against accepting anything from him-but the thick porridge caught awkwardly, triggeri

n ribs and shattered legs. The pain was blinding, stealing her breath. She ga

rs in her eyes, blaming him entirely

down at her for a long moment. Then, without a word of war

ed into her throa

h focused in a way that seemed to defy anatomy, completely avoiding the cage of her b

was useless; she couldn't push him away. His arms were like iron bands, c

s supported by his solid chest. It wasn't a flush press; he held her with such control that her injured spine and ribs barely made contact,

the hard slabs of muscle beneath his thin shirt, the steady, slow rhythm of his heartbeat against her

e sweat or filth. He smelled of pine needles, crushed herbs, and dry

revulsion and something else she refused to name. She

g against hers as he scooped up the porrid

She opened her mouth mechanically. The porridge went down much easier this time. T

ood. Her entire world had narrowed down to the points of contact between them. The steady th

of tension she hadn't even realized she was carrying. The constant, deep

for him to push her back onto the mattress, but he didn't. He j

n't feel safe-the very idea was ludicrous. But her body, a traitorous vessel of meat and bone, recognized a source of immense, unshakeable stability. It was not safety, but a forced calm, like a wild

tell him to let her go, but her limbs felt like

ordered herself. Don'

eyes drifted shut, and she slipped into a deep, dreamle