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Alayne was silent save for the whisper of her cloak brushing against the frost covered ground beneath her. Ghost’s eyes shone out like a red beacon, drawing her to the entrance of his master’s tent. He let her through with nary a protest, and she gave him a grateful head rub as she passed him by.
Jon was not asleep like she expected. Instead, he was seated at a desk a few paces away from her, and he was reading some sort of correspondence by the dim candlelight. Alayne faltered then. From his creased brow, tousled hair, and weary set of his shoulders, it looked as though Jon had been there a while. She shouldn’t disturb him…but it was too late. Jon already spotted her. “Alayne?” he asked in bewilderment as he rose on unsteady feet. “What are you doing here?”
She had to act fast. Heart pounding in her throat, her right hand reached within the folds of her cloak and enclosed her fist around the handle. When he reached her, she eliminated what little distance lay between them and held the knife in her hand to his throat, the blade glinting in the low light. “I’m stealing you,” she said, breathless with victory.
Jon made no move to disarm her, even though he easily could. His grey eyes were wide with realization. He understood her purpose, then. She let out a small sigh of relief. “Alayne,” he muttered weakly. “We can’t –“
She placed her free hand on his chest to stop his protestations. She could feel his heartbeat through his jerkin. It almost beat as fast as hers. This gave Alayne courage. “Tell me true, Jon. Do you want me?”
He swallowed, the motion jostling the knife. She readjusted her grip; she didn’t want the blade to pierce his skin. “Aye, I do,” he said solemnly.
“And I want you,” she admitted earnestly.
His eyes fluttered closed as if he was overwhelmed by what she said. It almost made her laugh in disbelief. Did he truly not see? She thought she was obvious. “May I steal you Jon?” Feeling daring, she replaced the knife at his neck with her lips, to soothe any accidental hurt it may have caused. He groaned lowly at the contact; the vibration of it made her lips tingle. “Please?” she whispered against his skin.
Jon’s fingers carded through her hair (she was suddenly glad she kept it loose) and tugged until her face was level with his. His eyes were open again, and this time they were completely black with need. Alayne felt as if she could drown in those eyes. “You may,” he growled, before bringing his lips to hers.