Gryf watched Alexandra from the corner of his eye. She had healed him. Granted, it was through Graig’s Gift, but what they had done had worked. And this morning he had awoken to the most amazing sight: Alexandra leaning over him, her curtain of dark hair framing her face and her beautiful eyes clouded with concern. Then they cleared; and she smiled—radiant as any celestial body. He had yearned for her then, for her to press her lips to his in a kiss to last until the end of time. But she had not, much to his regret. That was her choice to make, and he must respect that.
But even now, hours later, he desired her company. Never had he been so drawn to any woman. What was it about Alexandra that gave him thoughts of eschewing all ingrained traditions and expressing himself to her? In her culture, men were free to approach women they were interested in, but the mere thought of doing so to her was distasteful. He would not disrespect her.
“You are staring,” Graig murmured in Matiran.
Gryf drew his brows together, then aimed a narrow-eyed gaze in his friend’s direction. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, a rather large problem.” Graig kept his voice just above a whisper. “Your attentions will get her killed.”
A chill went through him. That was a sobering fact. Frustrating, but sobering.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish