“They were encapsulated in glass bubbles before insertion.” He untwisted his torso so he could slide his body under the surface of the water again. “Jessamyne bound me to one of the Great Trees, Calli, and she took— She…” He gestured to his washcloth-covered lap, opened his eyes wide to the ceiling, and spoke forcefully. “We had ritual sex and part of me reveled in the experience and part of me was reviled by it, and I hope to the goddesses and gods that I am never asked or coerced or forced into doing anything like that ever again.”
His words dissipated into the steam coming off the water and the surface of his body. I sat on my heels and stared at his profile. Tension gathered into three deep furrows between his eyebrows. The rest of his features were a series of sharply defined curves, from the sweep of his nose to the little scoop under his bottom lip.
I wanted to kiss the deep plum of those lips but not now, not with what Jessamyne had forced on him. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry, Tanner.” I came onto my knees to gently tease the last bits of flora out of his hair. “I will listen any time you need to talk. And I will set my wild and willing vines on that woman if she shows up here again, as a witch or a tree.”
He almost smiled before he closed his eyes. “Wait until we find out about our friends. And, Calli, she’s my problem. Unless she’s had a complete break from the Keeper tradition, there’s no way she would have participated in the deaths of the hidden folk. She knows they’re crucial to maintaining the sacred trees. I think it makes more sense to focus on the Fae, on what they’ve done and what they’re planning to do.”
Tanner was going pale, even in the heat of the water.
“I think it’s time for you to finish up in here and get some food in you,” I said. “And rest.”
“You’re right.” His eyelids fluttered open, and he stared upward. “I’d like to wash my hair first.”
I uncapped the shampoo. “Give me your hand.”
The blush on his neck deepened. Closing his eyes, he asked, “Would you wash it for me?”
He wouldn’t see my answer. I pressed my lips together and nodded, my sexual attraction toward this man tamped down, lid secured. I concentrated on the micro-movements that would transfer shampoo from the bottle to my hand: pour a healthy dollop into my palm, recap the bottle, and distribute the thick liquid between both palms.
“Could you slide down and get your hair really wet?” I asked.
Tanner drew his knees into his chest, rounded his spine, and sank deeper into the tub. He tilted his head, let the water cover his face, and stayed there, suspended, strands of mink-dark hair calling to be stroked, curled around my fingers, brushed over my bare skin.
“Tanner,” I said, breaking my reverie to tap his shin. “Sit up.”
His features rose above the surface. He wiped one hand across his face, covered his nose and blew out water, and sat up. I spread my fingers through his hair and over his scalp and massaged him clean and free of debris. When I signaled I was finished, he groaned, louder this time, and leaned his head back.
“Thank you,” he mouthed before ducking his head until he was again completely submerged. He managed to rinse his hair, stand, and step out of the freestanding tub without stumbling.
“Bend forward,” I said, handing him a towel.
He caught up most of his wet hair, twisted, and squeezed before letting the towel drop to the floor. I kept an eye on him as he dried his body with a fresh towel and sat on the toilet seat, waiting for my next instruction.
“Brush?” I handed him one with wooden teeth.
Tanner stroked his wet hair and patted the brush on his towel-covered thigh.
“Do you have an extra elastic?” he asked, picking up the brush again. He quickly divided his hair into three sections and fashioned a short, neat braid. I handed him a hair tie. He glanced at me, cut his laugh short as his features arranged themselves into an unreadable expression. “Got any clothes that’ll fit?”
“Wait here,” I said. Tanner and Thatcher were close to the same height, and my younger son had amassed a collection of sweat pants, full-length and cut-off. I found a pair stacked on top of the dryer, along with a T-shirt. Tanner would have to forego underwear.
I handed him the clothes.
“One more thing, Calli. Can you look at my back? My skin feels kind of raw.”
He was right; his skin needed attention. A bottle of wild rosehip oil sat in arm’s reach.
“Put the pants on,” I said. “Then sit down, and I’ll do your back.”
There was no way I could rub the oil directly onto the roughed up patches. I poured the oil into my palm and drizzled it onto his shoulder.
While I patted the areas that looked the most painful, I filled him in on the events he’d missed. “Malvyn took custody of Sallie’s parents. An RCMP officer showed up right after he and James left. All four teens are upstairs, and Rowan stayed here too. She’s sleeping in my office. And I didn’t see Wes or Kaz or my grandfather went I went to the kitchen, but—”
Tanner reached for my hip. “Wait a sec. Did you say your grandfather is here? When did that happen?”
“After you left, when we were still trying to figure out what was what, I heard someone calling me.” I snorted softly as I pushed the bottle of oil away from the edge of the sink and washed and dried my hands. “Seems like that’s becoming a thing. Let’s just yell or whisper ‘Calliope’ until she looks up or looks down or steps onto the porch, and then we’ll throw another curve ball at her, see how she
