Emberwood I got years of livin' by and how I choose

Caught up in his own muted anguish, Kincaid failed to sense similar emotions in Eleuthera. Even feeling this strange and boundless kinship, and the conviction that their hearts were the same, or at least that they bent and broke to fit perfectly with each other — even all that didn't clue him and start him wondering what demons she might be wrestling with. Rather, he wondered if she might be taking him for a ride.1

Regardless, he was glad to give himself over for the night. Even if this was a trick, Eleuthera had miscalculated; whether it hurt him or not, this night was a precious gift, and the young woman a saint or angel for giving it to him for just a little conversation — or, if she was to be believed, just for being his own fool self.

"You see?" he said, his voice teasing, "Sometimes it pays t'sit and wait for your supper."

The last word was said with a playful growl shaking the timbre of his voice as he ducked his heat to nibble on his "supper's" throat.

They passed an age like this; at times, Kincaid's heart beat wildly out of rhythm, and at others it beat as in time with a sleeping giant's, slow and heavy and strong. It was inevitable that sleep should eventually claim him, even as he fought valiantly to cling to consciousness. When it did, he was still tangled with Eleuthera, his limbs heavy around her.

1 | a figure of speech definitely meaning he thinks she might be tricking him, and not a sexual innuendo