Chapter 3: Cold Nights in the Mountains
Cat was shivering in her thin leathers. The nights up here in the mountains were unseasonably cold, and none of them was really dressed for the weather.
The elation they had all felt when the Urn of the Sacred Ashes had turned out to be more than just a legend, the new-found hope that they could save Arl Eamon after all, was dampened for the moment by the misery they felt at having to camp in this cold, bare spot. The others had already withdrawn into their tents, but she couldn't tear herself away from the fire, sitting close to it, staring up at the full pale moon.
"Carissima, you'll catch your death like this," she heard Zevran scold her gently, as he spread his warm woollen blanket over her shoulders. It was still warm from his body and she could smell his scent on it, spice and cinnamon and leather.
She gratefully snuggled down inside it, but then she felt an immediate tinge of guilty conscience. "But Zev, you are shivering just as much as I am," she protested. "At least come closer and share the warmth with me!"
She cursed her quick tongue, when she heard him laugh softly. "As you wish, my dear." She could feel him slip under the blanket with her, pulling her on his lap, his long lean body pressed up close to hers. "Aaaah, that's better."
She settled her head companionably on his shoulder as his arms went around her, and they warmed each other against the cold night air. "Much warmer," she sighed contentedly.
He laughed again. "It certainly is," he murmured. "Though I have to admit that being so close to you creates a certain amount of... additional heat for me." She felt him shuffle and blushed as she noticed his obvious reaction to her proximity.
Yet he felt so good... Without thinking she reached up and slowly brushed her lips against his. He looked at her with a quizzical expression, trying to read her mind.
"Well, well, my sweet, you never cease to surprise me," she heard him mutter. He returned her kiss, almost chastely, letting the tip of his tongue softly tease her lip for a second before withdrawing. When she sighed happily, he pulled her closer, his hands beginning to stroke her leather-clad thighs in soft, lazy circles, but the blanket slipped away and she squealed at the gust of cold air that brushed against her legs.
He cursed in mock desperation. "Those blasted mountains! Why does it have to be so cold up here!" he growled. "If we were in Antiva now, my love, where the summer nights are hot and the air is like liquid silk, do you know what I would do?" She shook her head, not trusting her voice. "I'd take you away from here, to somewhere a little more private," he purred against her ear, "and then I'd make love to you by the light of the moon, until you'd melt in my arms."
She trembled, captivated by the passion in his voice, willing him to go on. Her customary sharp wit seemed to have left her for the moment.
"Ah, my sweet, this is exquisite torture indeed," he groaned, pulling her into a deeper, harder kiss. She uttered a small moan of pleasure as his tongue swirled around hers, drawing her deeper, promising her sensations that she could only guess at so far. And Zevran found himself gasp for air at the feel of her soft, eager lips.
"Let me stay in your tent tonight, my beautiful," she heard him whisper. "Just to hold you, to warm you, nothing more. But," his voice grew rougher, more determined, "as soon as we reach Redcliffe and sleep in proper beds again, I'll be back to continue this... conversation, yes?" She nodded, still unable to speak, but she knew she'd spend the rest of the journey in a haze of pleasurable anticipation.