“Fire & Night” is an epic fantasy romance serial novel, released one chapter at a time. If you’d like to read previous chapters check out the Table of Contents here.
Evylin didn’t know how to respond. Everyone was staring at her in expectation and shock, but she couldn’t understand what it was that Ilain had said. Her, a Warrior? Was that possible? What did it even mean?
“That’s ridiculous,” Hewitt said without hesitation.
Deckard didn’t seem to share his conviction, his green-blue eyes turning from Evylin’s face to the Mages. “What makes you think that she’s a Warrior?” he asked.
“I don’t think it,” Ilain said, twisting the sapphire ring on her right hand. “I know it.”
“How?” Ethenn asked, an awed tremor to his voice as he watch Evylin.
With a flippant lift to her shoulder, Ilain smirked. “If you’re looking for proof, I have it.”
“You’d better have some damn thorough proof,” Hewitt demanded.
“It is,” she assured him.
“Then out with it!” Thom spat. “If you’re so sure about this, make us believe it, too.”
Ilain raised her copper brow at him. “Patience is a virtue, dear,” she said, then turned back to Evylin. “Do you need proof too? Or do you know it to be true yourself?”
Evylin opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came out. Looking to Hewitt for help, she only found his bushy brow knotted together in irritation.
“Hm.” Ilain pursed her lips, disappointment pulling her face down. “I see I have more convincing to do than I thought. Very well. We’ll start with the most recent evidence.
“Don’t tell me that none of you noticed how Evylin found little trouble relying on her other senses while in the Keep. She took down the Shades as though she still had her sight. If that’s not enough, we’ll go farther back. Have none of you realized that she’s impossible to beat? Her skills are superior to all of yours in this camp except for Hewitt.”
“You’re saying her skill has nothing to do with the work she’s put into her training?” Hewitt argued.
“Not at all,” Auden said, holding up a hand as though to calm the man. “Warriors have a natural inclination for fighting and warcraft. But, as with Mages, they must refine it. It’s no easy thing, and it takes focus.”
“An untrained Warrior will look like any other human,” Ilain clarified. “They take to the training faster than usual, but they must still put in the work. It’s no slight against the effort either one of you has put into her training. It’s that she has what it takes to become better than the rest of the world.”
Evylin stared at the ground. Could she really have magic, granting her abilities beyond the average human? Was that why she felt such a rush in a fight? Could that be why she felt the desire for more?
“What else?” she asked, meeting Ilain’s eyes again.
“You need more?”
“Yes.”
Ilain tipped her head to the side. “The surest proof, you can only prove to yourself.”
“What?”
“When you fight,” Ilain said, leaning forward, “do you feel alive?”
Evylin’s back went rigid as she drew in a sharp breath.
“You do, don’t you?” Her expression grew bright with excitement. “Your whole body lights up with energy and everything changes, doesn’t it? The world changes. Your senses are all heightened, and you don’t miss a thing, do you? Fighting is easier, acting is easier, thinking is easier. You’re more you than you’ve ever been in your life.”
Her stunned silence was confirmation enough, Evylin was sure, but she nodded anyway.
No one, but Hewitt understood that side of her. No one else knew what it was like to feel something so incredible and exhilarating.
The thought returned words to Evylin. “That’s not proof. Hewitt feels that, too.”
Ilain’s expression grew elated, then she turned and slapped Auden’s arm. “I bloody told you so!” she exclaimed. “You refused to listen—said it was impossible. But look.” She tossed a hand toward Evylin and Hewitt. “They’re standing right in front of you. Two fully-fledged Warriors.”
Gaping at his sister for a moment before he turned to them as well, Auden shook his head. “It’s not pos—well, it’s just unheard of.”
Hewitt growled. “I’m no magical creature and neither is Evylin.”
The three young men on the far side of the fire stared up at the major in wonder.
He snarled, pointing a meaty finger at them like a threat. “Stop it!”
Their chins all dipped down.
But Deckard didn’t share their same fear. He eyed Hewitt for a moment, then Evylin. “You feel that?” he asked. “Both of you?”
Evylin twisted her braid around her finger, uncomfortable with all the attention. “Yes,” she mumbled.
He turned to the three men. “Do any of you?”
Thom shook his head, Rafferty frowned in disappointment, and Ethenn shrugged, his ears pink.
“Yeah,” Deckard muttered. “Me either.”
“You wouldn’t,” Ilain said, matter of fact. “Not even us Mages experience that. Don’t get me wrong, we have something similar. Magic doesn’t course through your veins without making itself known. But it’s not like that.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” Hewitt insisted, his words harsh and final. “What we feel is nothing but our skills and our intuition combined. There is no magic to it.”
“You can deny it all you like,” Ilain said with a huff. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’re both Warriors.”
“Why does it matter?” Evylin asked, the conflict rising within her. Half of her wanted to agree with Hewitt at all costs and stand by his side. The other half wanted to cling to this fantastic claim that she was somehow more than she’d ever imagined. “Whether you’re right or wrong, there’s no point to it. We’re soldiers and fighting is what we do. Magic doesn’t factor in.”
“Of course it does,” Ilain countered. “It’s who you are. To deny that is to deny God.”
With a dubious scoff, Hewitt shook his head. “You’re going to bring piety into it now? Guilt us into your delusions.”
Deckard ignored him. “What does God have to do with it?” he asked.
Catching his sister’s arm before she jumped to respond, Auden took a calmer approach to the topic. “Warriors—and Mages—are vitally important to the system that Terraeus runs on. Or rather, how God intended it to run,” he explained. “You see, Warriors are the counterpart to Mages. They are both a support and a check for the powers a Mage has. They are the balance in the world. A depiction of how the Creator creates. It was His original purpose that magic would be a protection and provision for his people. It’s only the selfishness of man that caused this system to break down.”
There was a hush among the team. That wasn’t what any of them expected to hear. And Evylin wasn’t so sure she liked the sound of it either. Balance. Support. Protection. It was religious gibberish, and she’d never cared overmuch for that sort of heavy-handed demand. But the man at her side would find this call to service enticing.
Though Thom crossed his arms while Rafferty yawned and Ethenn stared at the ground, Evylin turned with caution to see Deckard’s reaction. He stared at the Calders with a curious glint to his eyes, hand covering his mouth and brow pinched together in thought. She couldn’t tell whether he bought their words or doubted their sincerity as she did. But whatever the case, she knew he would find inspiration within them.
Chewing on her lip, Evylin glanced back to Hewitt. His dark eyes said more than any words could. He didn’t want her to believe this. And he refused to accept it himself.
Evylin shook her head letting out a breathy laugh. “This is ridiculous,” she said, tucking some fallen hair behind her ear. “I don’t have magic and neither does Hewitt.”
Deckard’s fingers landed on top of hers drawing her eyes to him. He didn’t say anything, but there was a flash of disappointment in his light eyes.
“It doesn’t matter if you believe it, Evylin,” Ilain said, the firelight flickering shadows across her face. “You’re still filled with magic, and it will reveal itself. In fact, it’s already begun.”
Quite sure the conversation could go nowhere, Evylin shook her head. “Then I suppose it doesn't matter, does it? If I'm magical, it'll prove itself later.” She gestured to the pot of soup. “Now can we tuck in? You two can regale us with whatever other impossible tales you like while we eat.”
Auden shared a glance with his sister, then nodded in acquiescence. Rafferty jumped up to get bowls and helped her serve everyone. The conversation was slow to return as half the camp held onto their irritation even as they pretended everything was fine. But Deckard, Ethenn, and Rafferty all managed to get things back to a normal rhythm within a handful of minutes. They ate in bouts of chatting and laughter as everyone relaxed.
Everyone, but Evylin.
By the time she’d finished her soup, Evylin was desperate to part from the crowd. She didn’t like the way that conversation ended. She didn’t appreciate how one moment there was a spark of excitement within her and the next a surge of resentment. And she hated that her hostility directed itself toward Hewitt. But his staunch disapproval of the idea that they could be magical disappointed her. It angered her.
She supposed she shouldn’t care. He was right. They’d both worked hard to earn their skills as fighters and no one could take that away with such a simple mention of magic.
But she did care. And she wished she was magical. Then her life would truly be like the heroes in her novels. Then she really could find her more. She herself would be more.
Deckard rose, taking both her bowl and his to wash in the pail on the other side of the fire. She watched him crouch down as she started to chew on her lip. Her throat grew raw as her thoughts returned to their fight.
Though he’d shown no signs, she couldn’t help wondering if he harbored any resentment of his own. If he was angry with her and the way she’d embarrassed him. It wasn’t her intent in suggesting the fight. After seeing how well he did against Thom—how quickly he’d bested his brother—she couldn’t fight the urge within herself. He’d amazed her. And she needed to test his skills against her own.
She’d never thought the duel could end with any semblance of humiliation for him. And she really didn’t know how she’d let herself hit him on the head like that.
In Deckard’s absence, Hewitt leaned over and set his hand on her arm. “Remember what I told you,” he whispered as he stood. Evylin could only nod as he faced the rest of the group. “I’m going to sleep. If that first Keep was any indication, tomorrow will be a brutal day.”
A round of salutations echoed around the fire, and Evylin looked up at Hewitt as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Goodnight, Evie,” he said with the soft, tender smile he gave only to her.
“Goodnight,” she replied, then stared into the fire as he walked to his tent.
Deckard returned and took his seat next to her. Feeling his warmth beside her, she thought of what Hewitt had said to her when their fight ended. She’d expected him to tell her not to be such a show-off when she fought, knowing it had almost made her lose to Deckard. Instead, he’d given her much different advice.
“You need to apologize to him, Evylin,” Hewitt had insisted, continuing before she’d been able to get a word in edgewise. “He has worked hard for over a month to prove himself to you. And you slapped him across the face with how much better you are. He did this for you! And you forced him to display his failings like it was nothing.”
“I don’t understand,” Evylin had whispered back. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Hewitt’s hand had tightened on her arm. “You may not have meant it, but he will feel it. You have withheld yourself from him your entire marriage and he’s done nothing but sacrifice himself for you. The longer you hold back your trust from him, the less he’ll trust you.” He’d let go of her arm then. “Apologize to him.”
Blinking at the flames, Evylin realized her uncle was right. And Thom had been wrong from the start. Everything Deckard did—every choice he made—wasn’t to prove himself as perfect or right. Everything he did was because he cared more than anyone else she’d ever met. Because he was willing to sacrifice everything he was to be sure others got the life they wanted.
And how had Evylin repaid the dozens of sacrifices he’d made for her benefit? She’d held him at arm's length, desperate to keep a final strand of freedom in case she ever decided she wanted out. Anytime she’d grown close to him, even beginning to feel something for him, she’d found some way to pull away again—some reason that she shouldn’t trust him. Every choice she’d made was for herself.
When had Evylin ever considered that Deckard had given up his entire life for her happiness? She didn’t think it had occurred to her once. Instead, she’d been so concerned with her own comforts and hopes for the future. And she had conveniently forgotten that he had given up his entire life in service to her.
The wind blew in, causing Evylin to instinctively cover her hands. Now that they were closer to the south, the cold winter had abated some of its frigid chill. At first, she’d liked it. But then she’d realized it had taken away many of her excuses to sit closer to Deckard and let him hold her. And at this moment she wanted nothing more than a reason to press into his side. To feel the comfort of his arm wrap around her waist, proving that she’d not damaged their relationship again.
As Evylin worried over Hewitt’s advice, Ethenn and Auden had both abandon the fire for a night’s rest and Deckard rose to follow. “I think that’s it for me as well,” he said, then glanced down at Evylin. “For some reason, I’ve got a splitting headache.”
Relieved that he would joke with her, Evylin pursed her lips. “How strange. I can’t imagine why,” she replied.
“Perhaps it’ll come to you later,” he teased, then stepped around her to walk to their tent.
Tugging on her rings, Evylin considered sitting with the rest of their friends, afraid of having to ask his forgiveness. Rafferty was quizzing Ilain on her time in the Order of the Flame while Thom made smart, baiting remarks—to which Ilain rose to the challenge with her own biting retorts. Though it was amusing, Evylin lifted her eyes above the fire and caught a glimpse of Hewitt’s massive form as he settled onto his bedroll. She could hear his admonishment echoing in the back of her head, and she knew she wouldn’t escape it until she did as he’d ordered.
Without allowing herself time to second-guess her decision, Evylin leapt from her seat to join Deckard at their tent. With the slight rise in the temperature, they’d begun distancing the tents from the campfire. It gave everyone a semblance of privacy—as much as an open tent could offer—and as Evylin approached, she found herself particularly grateful for it. If she was going to apologize, she wanted no chance for the rest of their party to hear the conversation.
Deckard sat on the edge of their bedrolls, tugging off his boots. His gray coat hung open, revealing his road worn tunic. He’d begun to sleep without the coat, claiming that he got too hot. A sentiment that Evylin couldn’t understand but found unwelcomingly attractive. The subtracted layer of thick wool from between them left only the lightweight cotton as a barrier between his muscular form and the hand she’d subconsciously begun resting on his chest.
Looking up as Evylin approached, Deckard’s eyes crinkled at the sides. Used to always having people around them, he spoke in a hushed tone, “You can stay up longer if you like. I don’t mind.”
Evylin stood only a few steps from him, hesitating at the offer. “Do you want me to stay up longer?” she asked, matching his lighter tone.
Deckard propped both his boots at the end of the mat. “I want you to be happy,” he said, beginning to remove his coat next. “But if I’m being selfish, then, no, I don’t want you to stay up.”
Another wave of relief settled into Evylin’s chest. She may still need to apologize, but at least he wasn’t mad at her. “While I hate to give in to your selfish desires,” she began, stepping closer. “I must admit my happiness coincides with them this time.”
“How fortuitous,” he replied playfully, then set his folded coat next to his boots.
Evylin sat on the bedroll next to him and began to untie the laces of her own shoes. While Deckard lay down, she considered the best way to start an apology. It wasn’t often that she felt it necessary to humble herself that way. And surely it wouldn’t do to dive in without preamble. There was an art to apologizing, wasn't there? She thought there must be.
Shoes removed, Evylin began to unbutton her coat, stalling for more time. But even that hadn’t provided her with the time to work through the matter. In less than a minute, she was laying next to Deckard and she still hadn’t figured out what to say.
Deckard pulled the blankets higher over her as she slid in next to him. “Won’t you be too cold without your coat?” he asked, whispering now that they were so close. He’d laid on his side, keeping room between them so they weren’t touching.
Settling into her spot next to him, Evylin did her best to relax. Normally, his arm would have wrapped itself around her waist to pull her close by now, and she worried at the distance between them. “I’ll be fine,” she murmured back.
A relaxed exhale came from Deckard. His eyes searched her face for a moment, then he set his hand next to hers on the bedroll. “Can I ask you a question, Evie?”
Nervous that he’d beat her to the punch, Evylin nodded.
His eyes looked deep green as they laid under the tent’s canopy. “Why don’t you believe that you’re a Warrior?”
That was a question Evylin hadn’t expected. “Oh,” she said, searching for words. “Well, I suppose . . . I just think it sounds silly.”
Deckard frowned, that little pinch between his brows appearing. “Do you?”
Did she?
Pressing her face into her pillow, Evylin considered it. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “It’s just . . . everything has become so fantastic. Mages. Relics. Now Warriors? What next?”
His fingers reached over to lay atop her own. “That’s the thing, isn’t it?” he said, a strange smile on his face. “It’s everything you’ve always wanted. You’ve dreamt of amazing and fantastic adventure and now . . . here you’ve got it!”
Evylin couldn’t help but laugh a little, overwhelmed by the thought. “I just don’t understand how I could be magical. I’ve been training with Hewitt since I was a girl. It doesn’t make sense for that to be extraordinary.”
“It does to me,” Deckard said, his eyes piercing straight into hers. “It makes all the sense in the world to me.”
Curiosity tugged at Evylin. “How?”
Deckard slipped his fingers through hers. “Because I think of all the times that I’ve watched you fight,” he whispered, warm words tucking around her like their blankets. “And I finally understand how you can be so magnificent.”
Quite embarrassed, Evylin dropped her eyes to their hands. His thumb brushed across the back of her hand, sending gentle tingles along her skin.
“I’ve always known that you were special, Evylin,” Deckard continued. “More special than any other woman I’ve ever met. It doesn’t surprise me to learn that you have magic because . . . well, I think I always knew.”
Far too uncomfortable with his compliments, Evylin scoffed. “You’re just being nice to me.”
Deckard’s laugh was quiet, yet full. “What purpose would I have being nice to you ever again?” he teased. “You hit me in the head.”
Joining his laughter with her own, Evylin scooted closer under the blankets. “I swear it wasn’t intentional,” she promised, meeting his eyes again. His thick, reddish brows framed them so well.
He squeezed her hand. “I know. Trust me, I know.”
Trust.
The word pushed her back to Hewitt’s charge. Biting her bottom lip, Evylin tried to frame the apology just right. Nothing seemed to fit though.
Deckard stopped rubbing his thumb across her hand, drawing her eyes down again.
“Jonn,” Evylin whispered. Somehow the sight of their fingers entwined stopped any other words from coming.
“Hm?” Deckard hummed at her.
Closing her eyes to concentrate, Evylin took a deep breath. “Are you upset with me?” she asked, thinking that it might not be the best way to apologize.
“Why would I be upset with you?” Deckard replied, though she didn’t really think it a true answer.
Evylin forced herself to look at him. There was the pinch between his brows again. The one she always wanted to smooth out. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she promised. “I thought it would be fun. But I didn’t consider how it would make you feel.”
Deckard sighed, eyes drifting to stare at the canvas tent beyond her shoulder.
Hopeful of keeping him on the path to forgiving her, Evylin continued. “I know it was stupid. I shouldn't have asked you to fight me. But I didn’t realize. . . .” She shook her head, knowing that wasn’t the thing to say. “I didn’t think it through. I’m sorry.”
“Evylin,” Deckard said, his eyes back on hers. “It’s okay.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Evylin studied his expression. Though his pinch hadn’t gone away, the rest of Deckard’s face had relaxed. “I would have preferred not to make a fool out of myself,” he continued. “But it doesn’t matter. And I must admit, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fight you.”
“You didn’t look like a fool,” she promised, scooting closer still to be sure he felt her sincerity. “You did well.”
Deckard let out a huff.
“Really! You’re better than I thought you’d be,” Evylin insisted.
“I’m still not good,” Deckard argued.
“No, you’re good,” Evylin promised, then smirked. “Not good enough to beat me, but still good.”
Deckard laughed with her. Their hands lay close between their chests as he unwound his fingers from hers. His hand settled on her arm. “I appreciate it. I don’t believe you, but I appreciate it all the same.”
The sounds of the night pressed in around them as they lay there. An owl hooting out in the distance as Hewitt snored softly across the way. The breeze rustled the new-budding leaves while the crickets chirped at a steady beat. A gentle crackle came from the firepit, the remaining embers growing cold as the whole camp drifted to sleep.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were training with Hewitt?” Evylin heard herself ask before she realized she’d wanted to ask it.
Deckard’s hand began to rub her arm absentmindedly as he stared at the back of the tent again. “Well, there are two reasons,” he began. “First, I’m a prideful person, and it embarrassed me that I needed it. A captain should be a skilled officer. And there I was unable to defend myself while my wife could beat any man in my Company.”
His eyes came back to hers now. “The second reason is even more inane,” he concluded, as though he didn’t intend to say more.
Evylin slapped his chest playfully, letting her hand rest there. “Tell me.”
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“Probably,” she agreed, already doing so. “Tell me anyway.”
Deckard’s eyes shifted blue now. “I’m a man, Evylin,” he said, his smile turning sly. “And men like to impress their wives.”
Pressing her lips together to hold in her laughter, Evylin held his gaze. It didn’t seem so funny with the way he stared at her.
“I wanted to impress you,” he explained, his voice thicker than usual. His hand ran up her arm and to her back. “That’s why I asked Hewitt to train me in the first place. I wanted to be able to surprise you with how much I had learned, and how strong I had become. I wanted to prove that I was worthy of you.”
Words failed Evylin for what felt like the millionth time. His heart beat a steady rhythm underneath her palm. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt and, if she moved her hand a few inches higher, she’d be able to touch it through the neckline. Her eyes fell there, right where the collar dipped down to expose the slightest amount of the muscular definition she’d only seen once and imagined a dozen times since. She wondered what it would feel like under her fingertips.
Deckard began to slide his hand back to her shoulder. “Does that answer your question?” he whispered, his words heavy on her ears.
Meeting his gaze once more, Evylin nodded. It answered more than one question she’d had in her mind. It didn’t matter that she’d gone back and forth on what she thought she wanted, or whether she held feelings for him. Deckard had never strayed once from his original promise. He would do whatever it took to be a good husband to her. And his feelings had never waned.
Deckard’s eyes inspected every inch of Evylin’s face as she watched him. They started locked on her own, then drew up to her brow and temple. Down across her cheeks and nose to her chin. Then back up to her lips. That’s where they stayed.
Evylin didn’t take the time to think about her decision. Her fingers reached up to touch that small, warm patch of his skin as she leaned in to kiss him. She didn’t know if he’d been expecting it, but his lips met hers with equal desire.
The kiss was slow and tender at first, Evylin’s eyes closing to savor the moment. Then Deckard’s hand tightened on her shoulder. He pulled away, beginning to whisper something, but Evylin didn’t let him get a full word out.
Grabbing the collar of his shirt, Evylin dove back into the kiss. His hand slid down her back to draw her closer, and she relaxed into his embrace. She realized as her mind took on that cool, alert state of focus that it had been almost twenty days since they’d kissed last. And she could feel every second of that restraint here in this one.
Evylin’s hand rose to rest on Deckard’s neck, the veins there pulsing hot under her touch. The feeling of his mouth on hers caused her heartbeat to spike. It felt exactly like when they’d been in the Keep, running across the tower to stay alive. Here now, this kiss gave her that hammering rush in her veins.
Deepening the kiss, Evylin pressed as close as she could, unwilling to let an inch of space remain between them. Not while it felt this good to kiss him.
Deckard’s hand drew down, lower on her back than he’d ever dared. Then it brushed across her hip, pressing to lay her flat beneath him. His fingers gripped onto her side, thumb pressing against her abdomen. The weight of his body on hers warmed Evylin, their legs twisted up together under the blankets. Deckard’s breathing grew more rapid as he moved on to kiss her jaw and down to her neck. She could feel his lungs pounding behind his ribs, her right hand resting on his back.
Letting her eyes open as she worked to gasp silently for breath, Evylin stared up at the canvas tent. They couldn’t let this go too far. Not surrounded as they were in the camp. Not even with the added distance of their tent from the others.
Deckard’s lips moved up her neck toward her cheek again. Evylin closed her eyes, enjoying the cascade of energy that coursed through her. As his right hand began to rise from her waist and along her side, she decided they could let the moment last a little longer.
Evylin slid both her hands to the base of his neck. Weaving her fingers into his chestnut hair, grown out from their months of travel to curl at the edges. She pressed her fingers through the soft waves, up along the sides of his head. Deckard growled into her ear before pulling away, grimacing in pain.
Yanking her hands away in panic, Evylin flushed. She’d completely forgotten about the injury she’d inflicted on him earlier. “Jonn,” she gasped out as quietly as she could, “I’m so sorry.”
Deckard’s hands framed her shoulders, holding himself to hover over her. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, and his breathing came out shaky. With a slow shake of his head, he let out one final breath and opened his eyes. They locked onto hers—vibrant emerald—as his lips pulled up in a pleased smile. “Don’t be,” he whispered back, his voice slightly hoarse.
Unable to stop herself, Evylin began to laugh. She turned her head aside, heart still beating wildly in her chest under his intense, suggestive stare.
The weight of Deckard’s body shifted as he turned to lie on his back. She heard him let out a long, heavy sigh. Then his soft laughter joined hers. “You did that on purpose,” he muttered.
Evylin turned to him sharply. “I did not,” she promised, though the smile on his face told her he was only teasing. She threw a hand over to slap his chest, but he caught her wrist and kissed her palm. Then he tugged lightly on her arm, causing her to roll over. She let him tuck her into his side, his arm going behind her neck as hers rested over his stomach.
Deckard set his hand on her cheek and kissed her once more; gentle and ardent. When he pulled away, he sighed again. “You, are an awful tease,” he whispered, his lips still close to hers.
Settling her head onto his shoulder, Evylin stared up at him. “It isn’t my fault that you’re so good at kissing,” she replied, enjoying the embarrassed way he smiled at the canopy. “Maybe you try making it more boring next time.”
“I’ll do my best,” Deckard whispered back.
Evylin watched him a few moments longer, silhouetted in the dimming firelight, several yards away. Deckard began to run his fingers over her braid, tugging at it ever so slightly, and she closed her eyes, content with their nearness. She felt her breathing steady as she dozed, her thoughts growing cloudy to dream about the time she’d get to kiss him again. She hoped it wouldn't be long.
In her reveries, Deckard’s steady and earnest voice whispered, “Goodnight, my Evie.” Then he pressed his lips to the top of her head and she faded into sleep.
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