Page 131

You did. But that felt too intimate somehow, which was odd considering the things they’d shared, especially since he’d just been inside her. “No, your name is easy enough,” she said, though she doubted she sounded convincing as her cheeks flushed with heat.

“Gideon is easy?” he pressed.

“Wolverstone,” she replied. “A stone wolf.”

“So, in your mind, you called me Wolf? Rather boring. Benign,” he said with a little shrug, as if disappointed.

She laughed, loving his playful side. “Fine, yes, I do have a nickname for you.”

“What was it?” Genuine curiosity shone in his eyes, making him seem rather boyish.

“Bozkurt,” she replied, watching his face change with wonder.

He repeated the name silently, trying it on his tongue. “What does it mean?”

“It means Grey Wolf. And if you still think it’s benign and boring… it’s not,” she assured him. “For the Osmanli people, it symbolizes good luck, strength… and home.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his voice low and breathy as he asked, “When did you first call me that?”

She licked her lips. “The moment I met you. You immediately reminded me of a grey wolf,” she said quietly. “With your silver hair, your predatory gaze, and the grace with which you move.”

“My predatory gaze?”

“The first time I saw you, you were watching Norfolk intently. Like a predator. A hunter. And then when you looked at me…” She paused. “I was ensnared right into your trap. You can be rather dangerous, Bozkurtim. Ruthless.”

“Is that how you see me?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Sometimes,” she admitted without hesitation.

“And other times?”

“Other times, I think you’re quite tender.” She paused, recalling how irritable he had been in the tower and wanting to understand why. “But you haven’t been that way lately. You’ve been distant and irritable with me.”

His eyebrows rose, clearly surprised by her words.

“Come.” He took her hand and led her back to bed.

He settled against the pillows while she propped her head on his shoulder, careful not to touch his ribs.

He held her close, his fingers drawing soothing circles on her upper arm. “The way I’ve been lately has nothing to do with you,” he said.

“Is it because of the Brotherhood? Because we were on the run?”

“No.” He shook his head.

Leila raised her eyes to meet his. He was staring ahead, his gaze distant.

“What is it then?”

He let out a long sigh. “Pain.”

Leila stilled, concerned that she was hurting him. “Then we shouldn’t have— If your injuries still worry you this much—”

His soft chuckle interrupted her frantic words. “No, my little panther.” The strange but affectionate endearment felt oddly comforting on his lips. “Not that kind of pain. The pain that has accompanied me for the past fifteen years: the guilt, the loneliness, the weight of my failures. They’ve eased the more time I spend with you.”

Leila didn’t know how to respond. That was… good, wasn’t it? “You… you want to feel miserable?”

“No,” he said emphatically, then let out a rough chuckle. “I very much don’t want that. But I feel as though the more time I spend with you, the more I’m forgetting Sarah.”