it so fast he almost choked on it, then dropped his left arm and turned it so the kill marks faced her. “Carve the mark,” he said. He was so hoarse the words almost didn’t come out. “It can wait.” Cyra ran her hand over his short hair. He shivered at the light touch. Her currentgift wasn’t hurting him anymore. Maybe Jorek had given him some relief after all. Or it was just the bread. “Please.” He lifted his head. “Just . . . do it now.” Cyra reached for her knife, and Akos watched her arm muscles contract. She was solid muscle, Cyra Noavek, with not much to spare. But inside, growing softer
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