Afterward, I lie on top of him, my breasts pressed against his muscled chest. From this close, I can see all his scars, crisscrossed against each other. I trace my fingertips along them as he drifts off to sleep, wondering what story lies behind each one.

His heartbeat is in time with mine.

14. Taema

FOURTEEN

TAEMA

I wake up curled up against Nazarin’s side.

In the harsh light of day, sleeping with my undercover partner doesn’t seem like the brightest idea I ever had, even if I am delightfully sore and sated. I ease myself away from him, running my tongue over my dry lips. Synth alcohols don’t give you a hangover, but your body still understands on some deep level that you’ve messed with it. I lean on my knees.

I dreamed of Adam. My first crush. How he used to visit us and stay for dinner. He’d flip through the books in our room, and I’d watch his fingers turn the pages. I’d often wondered if he liked either me or my sister, or both of us. He was so tall, and strong from helping plow the fields for grain. I could picture his face so clearly in my mind, as if I’d just seen him the day before.

Nazarin shifts, curling on his side, turned toward me, his face burrowed into his arm so I can only see the tips of his eyebrows and his buzzed hair. He looks cute, something I still find remarkable in such a large, intimidating man. Images of the previous night flash in my mind, and though they are pleasant memories, I’m nervous about how he’ll react when he wakes up. I watch him for a minute, willing my body to feel better, even if nothing exactly hurts. Nazarin’s breathing hitches, his brows furrowing. I wonder what his dreams are.

I move to leave the bed and Nazarin stiffens, his arm snaking out to grab my wrist. I cry out in surprise. We freeze. Nazarin meets my eyes, the sleep clearing from them as he remembers what we did. His gaze darts down to my naked torso. He lets go of my wrist and I rub it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Light sleeper.”

It’s more than that. He’s someone used to sleeping with one eye open and a gun under his pillow.

I stand, feeling his eyes on me as I slip the cotton dress over myself. I go to the bathroom and shut the door. Looking in the mirror is still a shock. My hopes rise for an instant when I think it’s my sister, and then crash when I realize it’s only me. My imitation-Tila hair is a wreck. I try to pat the blue spikes into some semblance of order, and give up.