I take a deep breath and step forward, pulling off my shoes and climbing onto his bed, and just like that, the nearness of Nick pulls all of my focus: his warmth; the bright scent of William’s aether mingling with the detergent smell of fresh clothes; his half-lidded eyes that follow me as I move toward him and watch me as I get settled. It’s too much all of a sudden, and my entire body knows it. I lean back a tiny fraction.

Of course Nick notices. He presses his lips closed to fight a grin, and the expression somehow makes his already handsome face more endearing, more inviting. “You nervous, B?”

“No,” I say, and raise my chin a fraction to feel—and appear—convincing. I’m not sure it works, because he makes a soft, curious sound.

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head to the side in query, but it causes his matted hair to flare up comically. I cringe and laugh.

“You look like a rooster.” It takes everything in me not to stretch up and press it down.

“A rooster?” He tilts his head the other way, sending his hair flopping again. I blow out a laugh, just like he wants me to, and he smiles.

I can’t help it. I lean forward on my knees and smooth his hair down. Once the soft strands lay flat, I notice how carefully Nick watches me, how still he’s gone. His eyes are slate blue with dashes of gray, his lashes fine strokes of paint against his skin.

I wonder if he’s holding his breath too.

I start to pull back, but he catches my wrist with one hand and passes his thumb, calloused and warm, over the inside of my palm. The motion tingles and tickles, until his thumb presses down and sends an arrow of heat from my hand to my toes.

My heart beats so rapidly I’m sure he must see it, feel it through my palm.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” I ask. This close, Nick’s laundry-and-cedar scent is rich enough to make me dizzy. There are other smells that I pull in with a silent breath: green grass on a warm summer day, the slight bite of metal.

His eyes travel an unhurried route over my face, from my brows to my nose. They flicker to my mouth and back up to my eyes and, just like that, my breath is gone again.

“For still being here,” he says, his expression a mixture of wonder and gratitude. “Even after the hellhound, and the uchel, and Felicity being Called, and now a sarff uffern. I never thought we’d be this close to Camlann, but I’m glad you’re here with me.” His eyes lower; he shakes his head. “When we first met, some part of me trusted you. I don’t know why. I just did.”