Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 292: Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety One

One of her own legs was lifted up and draped heavily and comfortably directly over his hip.

At the same time, Damon’s left arm slid underneath her head and her neck. He was acting exactly like a warm, solid, human pillow for her. His left hand was resting securely on her bare shoulder, holding her firmly against his broad chest.

But that was not all.

His other arm, his right arm, went all the way down her back. His large, warm hand was resting firmly on her buttocks.

He was holding her intimately. And even in his deep, unconscious sleep, his large fingers moved slightly. His hand gently squeezed her soft flesh every now and then, a slow, natural, affectionate reflex.

Camilla lay still. She looked at his hand resting on her. She looked at her leg draped over him.

In her past life, if any man had dared to touch her like this without her consent, if any man had dared to trap her in a bed and squeeze her, the she would have broken his wrist instantly. She would have kicked him off the bed and held a sharp dagger to his throat.

But this morning, lying in the warm sunlight, Camilla did not feel angry. She did not feel the sudden urge to push him away.

She just lay there, breathing softly.

She thought to herself, her internal voice sounding very quiet and deeply honest.

"I don’t mind this at all," Camilla thought in her mind.

She relaxed her muscles. She let her body sink heavier against his chest. The heat radiating from his large body felt good against her cool skin. His strong arms wrapped around her made her feel protected from the entire world outside the bedroom doors.

"Actually," Camilla admitted silently to herself, a very small, soft smile touching the corners of her lips. "I oddly like it. It feels very nice."

She did not complain. She did not try to wiggle out of his tight hold. She simply accepted the warmth and the closeness.

She slowly tilted her head up. She looked closely at his sleeping face.

She studied his strong, sharp jawline. She looked at his thick, dark eyelashes. She looked at the straight slope of his nose.

As she looked at him, she noticed a very small, faint detail on his face that she had never truly paid attention to before.

Right across the bridge of his nose, there was a thin, pale, slightly faded scar line. It was a very old mark, blending smoothly into his skin, but it was definitely there. It was a permanent mark of past violence.

Camilla felt a gentle surge of curiosity. She slowly raised her right hand.

She reached her fingers out. Very gently, making sure her touch was as light as a feather, she brushed her index finger against his skin. She slowly traced the faint scar line on the bridge of his nose.

His skin felt warm and slightly rough under her soft fingertip.

She thought to herself, her internal voice filled with a quiet wonder.

"I wonder how he got this scar?" Camilla thought in her mind. "He is so strong. Who in the world was actually capable of getting close enough to cut him directly across the face?"

Damon was still in a very deep sleep. His breathing was slow and rhythmic. Even when his conscious mind was resting, he could hear her internal thoughts perfectly clearly. The sound of her quiet, curious question echoed softly inside his sleeping brain, completely bypassing his ears.

His subconscious mind simply answered her question.

Damon’s lips parted slightly. He murmured softly in his sleep. His deep voice was very thick, raspy, and heavy with morning sleepiness.

"From the war with the Mercians," Damon murmured quietly. His voice vibrated warmly against her chest.

Camilla froze slightly. Her finger stopped tracing his nose. She was surprised that he had answered her unspoken thought, but she assumed she must have accidentally whispered the question out loud without realizing it.

She kept her hand resting gently near his cheek. She listened to him.

"Their general did that," Damon continued to murmur in his sleep, his voice a low, slow rumble. He shifted his head slightly on the pillow, leaning closer into her gentle touch.

"But..." Damon murmured slowly.

As he spoke the final word, his eyelashes fluttered. The heavy fog of sleep began to lift from his mind.

Damon slowly opened his eyes.

His dark brown eyes, still slightly clouded with sleep, looked forward. They immediately met her gaze.

He looked deeply into her bright, beautiful hazel eyes. The morning sunlight caught the golden and green flecks in her irises, making them shine warmly in the quiet room.

Damon looked at her. He realized she was awake. He realized he was holding her tight against his body. He realized her soft finger was resting near his cheek.

He finished his sleepy sentence. His voice was fully awake now, deep and serious.

"...but he paid with his head," Damon said softly.

He stared into her hazel eyes. He did not move his hand from her buttocks. He did not pull his arm out from under her head. He simply lay there, totally captivated by the peace of the morning and the feeling of her soft body tangled with his.

Damon thought about the violent scar on his face. He thought about his brutal, bloody reputation. He was a man who killed his enemies without hesitation. He was the Tyrant General, a monster to the rest of the kingdom.

A sudden, quiet vulnerability washed over his heart. He worried that his violent past, marked clearly on his face, might frighten her. He did not want her to look at him and see a monster of war.

His look softened even more. His dark brown eyes became gentle, open, and totally sincere. He spoke. His voice was a quiet, deep, hesitant whisper.

"Does it..." Damon asked softly, his eyes searching hers for any sign of fear or disgust. "Does it scare you?"

Camilla lay still in his arms.

She looked into his dark, vulnerable eyes. She heard the quiet insecurity in his deep voice. He was genuinely worried that a small, faded scar would make her afraid of him.

She looked back on her own past. Her own hands were covered in the blood of dozens of dangerous men. She had her own share of scars and knew more about violence and death than any other woman in this entire historical world. A simple battle scar did not scare her at all. It told a story of survival. It showed that he was strong enough to face death and win.

Camilla slowly moved her hand. She gently caressed his warm cheek.

She looked into his deep brown eyes. She slowly shook her head from side to side against his human pillow arm.

"No," Camilla replied softly. Her voice was incredibly sweet and honest.

She brushed her thumb lightly against his skin, right next to the faded line on his nose.

"I think it’s beautiful," Camilla said quietly. " I would love to hear the tales behind other scars on your body."

The quiet bedroom fell into silence.

Damon’s breath caught in his throat.

His heart gave a sudden thump against his ribs. The simple, honest words hit him with a great force. No one has ever been interested in his scars or even told him his scars are beautiful.

Damon did not say another word. He did not need to. He simply pulled her slightly closer, burying his face gently into the soft, warm curve of her neck, surrendering his heart to her.

Just then, a knock came on the door.

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