A foreign emotion congealed in my blood as I stared at her hand beneath mine. I should’ve ached, should’ve tightened with that familiar hunger, that heat, that left me almost fevered when we touched. But this knot in my stomach . . . it wasn’t need. It was something else. Something wrong. While the others had prepared for bed a half hour ago, a general sense of dread had enveloped me. That dread had only intensified when Beau, the last awake, had finally drifted to sleep, leaving Lou and me alone.

Clearing my throat, I squeezed her fingers. Forced a smile. Brushed a kiss against her palm. “We have an early morning. We’ll need to leave Fée Tombe after we free the cauchemar. It’ll be another long few days on the road.”

It sounded like an excuse.

It was one.

A low noise reverberated from her throat. She hadn’t worn her ribbon since we left Cesarine. My gaze dropped to her scar, healing yet still puckered, angry. She stroked it with her free hand. “How does one free a cauchemar?”

“Maybe we can reason with it. Convince it to return to the forest.”

“And if we can’t?”

I sighed. “We can only warn it about the mob. We can’t force it to do anything.”

“And if it decides to eat the mob? If our warning allows it the chance to do so?”

“It won’t,” I said firmly.

She considered me with a half smile. “You’ve developed quite an affinity for us, haven’t you?” Her grin spread. “Monsters.”

I pressed a kiss to her forehead. Ignored the unfamiliar scent of her skin. “Sleep, Lou.”

“I’m not tired,” she purred, her eyes too bright in the darkness. Too pale. “We slept all day.” When her hand crept up my chest once more, I caught it, lacing my fingers through her own. She misinterpreted the movement. Mistook it for an invitation. Before I could blink, she’d hoisted her knee across my lap to straddle me, lifting our hands awkwardly above our heads. When she arched her lower back, pressing her chest into mine, my stomach dropped like a stone. Shit.

I fought to keep my gaze impassive. Of course she wanted to—to touch me. Why wouldn’t she? Less than a month ago, I’d craved her like an addict. The subtle curve of her hip, the thick wave of her hair, the impish gleam in her eyes. I’d been unable to keep from pawing at her every moment of the day—the presence of my own mother hadn’t stopped me. Even then, however, it’d been so much more than physical.

From the very start, Lou had woken me up. Her presence had been infectious. Even infuriated, exasperated, I’d never stopped wanting to be near her.