“You started to burn yourself,” he says, lifting my hand off his chest.
The skin tingles sharply, and I jerk it out of his grip – opening one eye to take a look. Long lines, like bolts of lightning, run up from under my fingernails – some of them past my elbows.
“Same as last time,” I say.
“You didn’t notice this happening?”
I shake my head, my eyelids drooping closed again. “It doesn’t hurt – just don’t touch it.”
So he presses his thumb into the nearest one.
I groan but don’t fight him. The same as when my arm was broken and he worked the damaged muscles. Killian equals pain equals familiar.
I close my eyes at about the same time as he lets go of my arm and asks, “Are you going to fall asleep on the floor?”
“Maybe.”
He brushes his hand through my hair again, then starts to get up.
I groan, rolling onto my back and opening my eyes as he straightens to his full height.
“Bad mallow.”
Killian points squarely at his own chest.
“All-Mighty, All-Deadly, All-Inspiring, All-Feared, All-Empowered, Omniscient Lilian,” he says.
I manage to control the explosive grin on my face long enough to point up at him and say, “I’ve promoted you to Mallow.”
He smiles then offers me his hand. I’m a little nervous when I slip mine into his, ready for pain. He grips my hand and pulls me up, sending scorching pain through the burnt lines in my skin and cutting all thought off.
As soon as I’m on my feet, he lets go.
“Bearable,” I tell him, inspecting them.
He waves towards the shower.
Shower, yes, please, I think, walking with my head down and my arms up, inspecting the marks – then run into a stupid wall.
I growl, and Killian’s hand settles onto my shoulder. Leaning into the touch, I let him steer me forwards.
Nothing signifies the end of the bedroom and the beginning of the bathroom. The timber floor is still the same. The timber walls are still the same. Just a drain to one side, a showerhead protruding at about Killian’s height, and a tap. A railing for the towels. A small sink and a box with a pit-hole for a toilet. Which Seth informed me runs into the same system as the shower drain and flows down to disperse on the far side of the field.
“You guys have amazing plumbing,” I mutter, tugging my shirt over my head – which leaves my top half covered by only a breastband.
Just like that, no second thought. Like the man isn’t even there. Which is insane, because even before the bubble I could sense these guys were dangerous and deadly and something more than mortal. Something I should be careful of.
Killian leans himself against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, one leg over the other, looking very relaxed. His dark blue dyed cotton shirt is tucked into the front of his black pants. Leather has replaced the cotton from the knees down, with several brass buckles. The buckles around his chest normally hold an assortment of weapons, but right now they’re empty.
“Martin had a washhouse for the servants outside, but we fetched buckets by hand for him to bathe inside by the fireplace,” I explain, trying not to look at the way his biceps bulge when he has his arms like that.
Or the fact that he’s watching me get undressed.
Which, oddly, I don’t mind... or to be more precise – I enjoy it.
“You get more done in a lifetime when you live ten times longer and rarely sleep,” he says. “Building shit.”
His dark eyes, with their emerald sheen, are failing to hide a sparkle which has nothing to do with plumbing.
I drop my pants and flick the tap on, let it warm up, then adjust the water. Droplets run over my hands, weaving a sting along the jagged red lines. I cling a little too hard to the enjoyment of it, the sizzle of pain. The way it makes me feel alive. Killian is casually standing there – his presence drawing goosebumps down my spine even though I’m not quite naked yet. I still have my breastband and braies on. I turn the water up higher, finding the burn, then unbuckle the dart cuffs from my wrist and ankle.
“Are you showering in those?” he asks, accepting the role of keeping the weapons safe.
“Nope.”
I pull the breastband over my head and slip the braies down my hips without a second thought.
He growls, twisting so he’s facing the other way, still leaning against the wall with one shoulder. He obviously wasn’t expecting me to do that.
“Killian, you’ve seen me naked before,” I point out.
“But you ask us to turn around.”
Which is sweet, that he’d honor that even when I haven’t asked.
I shrug, which he doesn’t see. “I’ve got a three step radius and a potion that makes me feel like crap. I’m not in the mood for caring about the direction you face. Plus, it’s not as nice talking to your back.”
He turns around, and I feel a zing of… pleasure is the wrong word. Excitement isn’t quite it either. It’s like a confirmation that he still exists. That I still exist. That the Power Blocking Potion hasn’t taken everything away.
I grab the soap and build a lather in my hands, paying extra attention to my face and hair, where there might still be smears of blood.
Blood.
Bleeding. Bleeding also felt good. Alive. The pain was pleasant – empowering – seductive.
He growls, and I jump, shattering the memory.
“Hurry up.”
Yes, Shade. Hurry up. Stop thinking of all the ways your soul feels hollow. All the ways more pain would fill that hole right now, I think, pressing harder than I need to over the lightning on my arms. The sting is gentle, distracting.
Like a beast being tamed, it settles inside my chest. I savor it as I turn to put the soap back on its shelf and dig a little deeper into my feelings. Into wanting these
