Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

I was concerned.

The Hyhborn lord was strong, obviously, but he’d been able to take only a few steps outside of the stall before his breathing became labored. He stumbled. I shot forward, folding an arm around his waist, and held on to him as best as I could. My own strength was quickly cracking under his weight, but the wound on his chest was bleeding again and no longer just seeping. It also looked larger. I didn’t think his other injuries fared any better.

“Just a little further,” I assured him, hoping that Finn was right and Jac would be occupied till dawn, because if not . . .

It would be bad.

He nodded, the hair now hanging in stringy clumps around his face. That was the only response I got as we made it out of the barn. As we crossed the uneven ground, I looked to the woods and spotted Iris’s shadowy form grazing.

Gritting my teeth, I forged forward, fingers slipping over his now-slick waist. It felt like an eternity by the time we reached the back door of the blacksmith’s home. The Lord leaned against the cement siding typical of buildings of this age, head hanging limply on his shoulders. “Who lives . . . here? The blacksmith?”

“Yes. He shouldn’t be back for a while,” I assured him. “This isn’t a trap or anything.”

“I would . . . hope not,” he said, tipping his head against the wall, exposing his throat to the moonlight. “You’ve gone to . . . a lot of unnecessary . . . trouble if so.”

Biting the inside of my lip, I turned the handle. Or tried to. My shoulders slumped. “It’s locked.”

“That’s . . . an inconvenience.” He angled his body toward mine. Lifting a fist, he punched the door, just above the handle. Wood cracked and splintered, exploding as his fist went straight through.

My jaw dropped.

He reached into the ragged hole and turned the lock. “There you . . . go. No longer locked.”

I blinked as my fingers fluttered to my throat. That same hand he’d just put through a thick wooden door had been around my throat.

“If I weren’t . . . weakened,” he said, eyeing me from behind a curtain of hair, “I would’ve killed you the moment I had . . . your throat in my hand. You’re lucky.”

My hand lowered as my heart skipped. I wasn’t feeling very lucky at the moment. Instead, I was feeling like I’d really gotten myself in over my head this time.

The Lord pushed open the door, all but stumbling aside at the faint stench of sour ale and decaying food. I gave the space a quick look, making out a small table and unwashed pots and pans stacked in a sink. My gaze lifted to the archway and narrow hall that appeared to lead toward the front, which Jac likely used to meet with clients. Many of the buildings in this area of Archwood were several hundred years old, having survived the Great War. So, they were larger, and had a lot of chambers and were built entirely differently from the way they were today. I turned, spying another door on the other side of the table.

Figuring that led to bedchambers and hopefully a bathing space, I helped the Lord around the wooden table.

“You . . . you weren’t at the tavern,” he rasped.

“How do you know?”

“I would’ve seen . . . you.”

I arched a brow. “I was out for a walk when I overheard what had happened.”

“Where?”

I didn’t answer as I nudged the door open and led him down the narrow hall.

“You’ve . . . been somewhere near . . . a garden,” he said.

My head whipped toward him. “How do you know that?”

“I smell . . . the earth on you,” he said, and I frowned, having no idea if that meant I smelled bad or not. “Hints of . . . of catmint and . . .”

Surprise flickered through me. I had been messing around with the catmint earlier that day. I stared at him. “How do you smell that?”

“Just can,” he mumbled as he slipped from me, swaying. I reached for him, but he waved me off. “I’m okay.”

I wasn’t so sure about that as I glanced ahead. Another door, left ajar, loomed.

His breath was ragged as he used the wall as support. “The catmint?”

“I was trimming some earlier today.”

He made a sound sort of like a hum. “I . . . like the smell . . . of them.”

“As do I.” Blowing out a breath, I pushed the door open. Moonlight streamed in from the window, casting silvery light over a bed and a surprisingly tidy chamber that smelled of fresh laundry.

The Lord shuffled into the chamber. Closing the door behind him, I threw the tiny hook-and-eye lock, as if that would stop a rabbit from getting in, let alone another person.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. I halted, hand pressing against my chest as he grasped his knees, bent slightly at the waist. I started to ask if he was okay, but stopped myself. He wasn’t. At all. Seeing anyone like this caused my stomach to jump all over the place.

Pivoting away from him, I found a lamp near the bed and turned it on. The buttery light lit the space as I crossed the chamber, pushed open the next door, and stepped inside. Relief hit me when I saw the type of shower stall found in the oldest buildings. It wasn’t very large, but it would do. “You can get cleaned up in here.”

“I’m going to need a minute,” he slurred. “The chamber seems to be moving.”

Returning to the bedchamber, I looked around, and spied a cupboard. Hurrying to it, I pulled the lunea dagger from the pocket of my cloak, half surprised I hadn’t stabbed myself with it. I placed it on the cupboard as I spotted a closed jar of what appeared to be water on a small table opposite the bed. I lifted it to my nose, taking a sniff, and when I smelled nothing, I poured a glass and took a drink. “Will this help? It’s just water, but warm.”

“It should.”

I handed him the glass, stepping back. He took just a small sip at first and then downed the entire glass.

“More?”

“I think I . . . should let that . . . settle first.”

Taking the glass from him, I placed it on the table. “Is the room still moving?”

“Unfortunately.” His hands fell to the edge of the bed. “Legs don’t feel attached at the moment and the light— my eyes . . . aren’t quite ready for it.”

I cursed, not having thought of that. “Sorry,” I mumbled, quickly turning the lamp off.

The Lord had gone quiet as I faced him. Trepidation rose as I inched closer to him— one of the most powerful beings in all the realm, and he was . . . he was shaking. His legs. Arms. “Is it the hemlock or the . . . the blood loss?”

“Those things . . . and the lunea. That alone weakens us— sickens us,” he explained. “When any . . . lunea blade is left in us or its wound goes untreated, it turns into a toxin, breaking down our tissues. . . .” His large shoulders curled inward. “Another of my kind would need far more than water and time to heal.”

Meaning that if he weren’t a lord, the injuries would’ve likely ended his life. I felt the need to apologize again but managed to stop myself.

I needed to get him cleaned up and safely out of here before others came to check on him . . . or Weber. “What would they need?” I asked, just in case the water wasn’t enough, as I knelt before him. “To heal?”

“I . . . I would need to feed.”

“Um.” I glanced at the door. “I can probably find you something to eat.”

“I’m not talking . . . about food.”

My brows lifted as I fumbled in the darkness, running my hands over his boot until I found the top. For the short period of time things had been intimate between Claude and me, I’d gained quite a bit of experience undressing a half-conscious man, but I still felt a little out of my element as I grasped the shaft of the boot and yanked it off. “What are you talking about?”

A sudden soft glow sparked to life, drawing my gaze up as I moved on to his other boot. I looked up to see that he’d picked up a candle from the nightstand and had lit it . . . with his touch. My lips parted with a soft inhale at the reminder of exactly what he was. “How . . . did you do that?”

“Magic.”

My brows inched up. I’d never actually seen a Hyhborn use the elements. “Really?”

“No.”

I stared at him a second, then shook my head. Unnerved, I grabbed ahold of his other boot. “Does the candlelight hurt your eyes?”

“No,” he answered.

I wasn’t sure if I believed him as I dropped his boot. I glanced at the bathing chamber, then took the candle from him. “I’ll get the shower ready for you.” I rose. “But I can’t promise it will be warm.”

“It’ll . . . be fine.”

Nibbling on my lip, I reentered the bathing chamber, placing the candle on a shelf. I spared a glance at my reflection and winced. The skin had split along the bridge of my nose and there was already a puffiness beneath my eyes. My nose didn’t appear broken, but I had no idea how I was going to explain this to Grady.

Going to the shower, I quickly cranked the knobs on the wall. Steady streams of water pounded off the porcelain floor of the stall. I thrust my hand beneath the stream. Blood ran between my fingers, splattering off the floor as I tested the temperature. It wasn’t exactly hot, but it wasn’t freezing. I washed the blood from my other hand, then turned.

The Lord leaned against the doorframe. How he moved so quietly while injured and so . . . well, so large, was beyond me.

“Should you be standing?” I asked.

“The chamber stopped moving.”

“That sounds like good . . .” I trailed off as he swayed away from the doorframe.

His head hung weakly as he reached for his pants. Realizing he was about to undress, I started to turn away. His fingers fumbled, though, nearly useless as he stumbled. “Fuck.”

I snapped forward, catching the Hyhborn. His weight was immense, the bare flesh of his chest hot as I kept my arms around him. “You okay?”

He steadied a little. “Yeah.”

I started to let go, but he began to wobble. “You are not okay.”

“Yeah,” he repeated, reaching around me to plant a hand on the rim of the sink basin.

Throat dry, I looked over my shoulder at the running water, mind racing. I then glanced down at the length of cloak I wore and finally at his pants. I sighed. “Can you hold on to the sink for a moment?”

Head bent, he nodded.

Sliding my arms away, I waited to make sure he wasn’t going to fall. When he didn’t, I toed off my boots and kicked them back into the bedchamber. I unhooked the clasps beneath my neck.

“What are you doing?” he rasped, voice hoarse.

“You need to get cleaned up, right?” I let the cloak fall to the floor. “And it doesn’t look like you’re going to be able to do that on your own.”

“And here I thought . . .” He shuddered, muscles along his arms spasming. “I thought you were planning to take advantage of me.”

I froze. “Are you serious?”

“No.” He seemed to shudder. “The room is moving again, na’laa.”

Damn it. I went still, thinking that it might help if I didn’t move. Wait. What did he call me? “ ‘Na’laa’?”

“It’s Enochian.” One arm dropped to rest on his bent knee. “A phrase . . . in our language.”

I knew Hyhborn had their own language, but I’d never heard it spoken before. “What does it mean?”

“It . . . has many meanings. One of them is . . . used to describe . . . someone who is brave.”

My cheeks warmed for some reason.

“There . . . must be . . . a lot of conjurer activity in your city,” he said after a moment.

Thinking of all the times in the past I’d been accused of being such a person, I glanced at him. “I honestly don’t know if there is,” I answered. “I’m not even sure I believe any of what is said to be done with bone magic is possible.”

“Oh, it’s real.” His arms trembled as he held himself there. “Ingesting our blood would kill a mortal, but smooth . . . it over a wound? A scar? It will be healed. Sprinkle it on barren land and crops will flourish. Bury a hand . . . in freshly plowed soil, and crops will flourish there too, ones insusceptible . . . to drought or disease.” His chin dropped even farther. “Our teeth dropped into water can create coin.”

“Really?” Doubt crept into my tone as I realized his blood had seeped through my cloak and stained the nightgown.

“Really,” he confirmed. “But that’s not all.”

“Of course not,” I murmured.

“Keeping an eye of ours . . . near will warn the wearer of anyone . . . who approaches,” he continued, and I didn’t even want to know how one wore an eye. I could go my entire life not knowing that. “Our tongues will force the truth . . . from anyone who speaks, and weaving strands of our hair . . . among yours? It will ensure one remains . . . in good health as long as the hair stays in place. Our bones . . . can restore one’s health.”

“Oh,” I whispered, somewhat transfixed.

“Burying our fingers and toes . . . will bring water from deep within the land,” he went on. “Strips of our . . . of our skin hung above a door will ward off the nix.”

“That’s disgusting.” A chill swept through me, though, at the mention of the creature. The nix were related to the Hyhborn in some fashion and were found in the woods where usually only long game hunters entered, especially in the Wychwoods— the vast sacred forest rumored to have trees that bled. The woods skirted the territories of the Lowlands and the Midlands and traveled all the way to the Highlands. The creatures found within them didn’t look remotely mortal and were more frightening than birdeaters— ridiculously large and horrifying spiders with claws. I’d never seen one, either a birdeater or a nix.

“What do . . . they look like? The nix?” I asked.

“Have you . . . seen a Rae?”

I shuddered, thinking of the Hyhborn riders that were more bone than flesh. “Once.”

“Imagine that . . . but thinner, faster, and with sharp teeth and claws,” he told me. “And they can get in your head, make you think you’re seeing and experiencing . . . what is not there.”

I stiffened, breath catching.

“So perhaps . . . knowing what they look like no longer makes hanging our skin at the doors too disgusting,” he remarked. “Then there . . . are our cocks.”

“I’m sorry,” I choked. “What?”

“Our cocks, na’laa,” he repeated. “Being in possession . . . of one will ensure that the owner . . . has a very . . . fruitful union.”

I opened my mouth, but I was at an utter loss for words for several seconds. “There is a part of me— a huge part of me— that regrets having this conversation.”

“There is more,” he said, and I thought his tone had lightened. Almost teasing. “I haven’t . . . even gotten to what our muscles— ”

“Great,” I muttered. “Is the chamber still moving?”

“No.”

Thank the gods. I reached for the straps on my nightgown.

“Our come,” he said, and I halted. “It’s known to be a . . . powerful aphrodisiac. Some mix it with herbs to rub . . . on themselves. Others drink— ”

“I get it,” I cut him off, having heard of potions that promised to increase the pleasure of those who used them. “Just to make it clear, I’m not after your blood or . . .”

“Or my come?” he finished.

“Definitely not that,” I snapped.

“What a shame.”

Shaking my head, I shimmied out of my nightgown. I refused to think about what I was doing as my bare skin pimpled in the damp heat. “I’m undressed, by the way.”

“That sounded oddly . . . like a warning,” he murmured. “As if knowing you’re naked would somehow prevent . . . me from looking.”

“It’s not a warning. It’s just to let you know so you can be polite and not look.”

“I know we . . . don’t know . . . one another, but you . . . should know, I’m not known . . . to be polite.”

“You can try.” I knelt beside him, and hesitated, the reality of what I was doing striking me.

I was undressing a Hyhborn— a Hyhborn lord.

Naomi would be so jealous.

Biting back a laugh, I reached for the flap on his pants and began to unhook the buttons. The back of my hands brushed along something I also refused to think of, causing him to suck in the deepest breath I’d heard him take that evening. “Hold still.”

“I am holding still, but . . . you’re on your knees, your fingers are near my dick, and you’re currently gloriously nude, so . . .”

Undoing the final button, I rolled my eyes. “You can’t even stand on your own two feet and you’re currently regrowing eyeballs. The last thing you need to be thinking about is me on my knees, your dick, or my nudity.”

“I’ve regrown my eyes, na’laa.”

My chin jerked up. The mess of hair shielded his face, but his head was turned in my direction. My gaze dropped to his hands— to his long fingers pressing into the rim of the sink.

“That’s how . . . I know you’re gloriously nude,” he continued.

Muscles curled low in my stomach, stealing the breath I took.

Good gods, that was the utter last thing I needed to be feeling now.

I quickly finished with the last button, maybe a little too roughly because his low groan burned the tips of my ears. I reached to pull his pants down—

“I got this,” he muttered.

I wasn’t sure he actually did, so when I rose, I stood behind him. I kept my gaze trained on his back as he unsteadily shucked off his pants, and I stepped aside once he finished and pushed off the sink. He took a step and began to sway again. I caught him, folding an arm around his waist. My hand flattened against his stomach, and I tensed.

There were no voices.

No images.

Would it be like with a caelestia, where I would have a few blissful minutes of being able to touch them? Though I still had to concentrate to avoid slipping into their minds even in those brief minutes.

“I was wrong.” The Lord leaned into me, his hip pressing into my stomach. “I don’t have it.”

I helped him toward the stall, unable to ignore the feel of him. His skin was incredibly warm.

“There’s a small ledge to step over,” I warned him.

He nodded, lifting his foot over the ledge as I followed, keeping my arm around him.

And keeping my eyes trained up, on the white tile of the stall.

The fall of water was a bit of a shock as we stepped under the stream, his body taking the brunt of it. I held on, closing my hand into a fist as he turned and braced a hand against the tile, facing the stream. I looked up and found his head tipped back, exposing his face and chest to the shower.

His groan was . . . it was downright sinful-sounding as water streamed over his face and through his hair. Heat returned, creeping up my throat as my stare followed the water coursing down the corded muscles of his back, cutting trails in the dried blood there and the, well, rather firm curve of his ass.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I ordered myself to get a grip. Hyhborn were nice to look upon. I already knew that. Everyone did. It didn’t matter that it was a nice ass. An ass was an ass. There was nothing spectacular about any ass, including his.

Opening my eyes, I wanted to smack myself as the water swirling around the drain became tinted red. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

My gaze lifted to the hand on the tile. His arm still trembled. Blue and purple blotches marred his flesh. Anger slithered through me. “They really did a number on you.”

“The Fool’s Parsley had . . . kicked in just as I walked out of the tavern. I think they expected it to have a greater effect more . . . quickly.”

He stiffened as I reached around to grab the soap I spotted. The effort brought my bare chest against his back. The contact was brief, but long enough to send a shiver of awareness through me. I grabbed the bar and leaned back.

“That one . . . jumped me.”

“Weber?”

He nodded. “Then the other two joined in. There were two others . . . I didn’t recognize.”

Figuring he might be speaking of Finn and Mickie, I slowly drew my arm from him. When he remained upright, I rubbed the soap between my hands. “When you were jumped— you fought back?”

“Killed one of them . . . before I passed out.”

My breath caught as I halted, suds running down my arm. Okay. Maybe he wasn’t speaking of Finn and Mickie. How many people in Archwood were involved in this? The Baron needed to be warned. Dragging my lip between my teeth, I placed my hand on his back. His muscles bunched under my palm, but he didn’t pull away. I drew my hand over his back, washing away the blood there.

“Those you overheard speaking earlier tonight?” he asked. “Did you . . . hear them say anything else?”

I thought over what I’d heard. “Actually, I did. They spoke of someone they called Muriel.”

The Lord stiffened.

“Do you know who that is?”

“I do,” he said, and didn’t elaborate further.

My nose stung a little as the stream of water reached me. “Has this happened to you before?”

A rough, dry laugh rattled from him. “No. But I should’ve been more careful. Not like I’m unaware of hemlock and its effect on my kind. I was just . . .”

I shifted, running my soapy hand down to his hip and back up, mindful of the bruises as I focused on the feel and texture of his skin. It reminded me of . . . of marble or granite. “What?”

“I was just careless,” he revealed after I lifted my hand.

“Well, it happens to the best of us, right?” I soaped up my hand again and moved to the other side of his back.

His head tipped back again, causing the edges of his hair to tease my fingers as I drew my hand lightly over his shoulder. There seemed to be a . . . a faint glow in his skin, but I wasn’t sure if that was what I was seeing. “Right.”

In the silence that fell between us, I found myself getting a little lost in just touching someone— touching him. I heard and felt nothing. No violent futures or whispers of knowledge— detailed things impossible for me to know. Their names. Ages. If they were married or not. How they lived. Their innermost secrets and desires, which were what Claude found most valuable.

There were just my own thoughts. Even with Claude, I would’ve had to be careful, and by now I would’ve started to hear his thoughts. The only time I experienced this nothingness was when I drank enough to dull my senses, but doing so also dulled everything else, including my memories. When I touched someone, there was no need to picture that mental string, but with this lord, there was nothing.

A shudder rolled through me. Maybe I was just too distracted— too overwhelmed for even my intuition to kick in. I didn’t know, and at that moment, I didn’t care. Closing my eyes, I let myself . . . I let myself enjoy this. The contact. The feel of another’s skin beneath my palms. The way muscles tensed and moved under them. I could do this forever.

But we didn’t have forever.

“What . . . what were you even doing at the Twin Barrels?” I asked, clearing my throat. “It’s not a place frequented by the Hyhborn of Primvera.”

“I’m not . . . from Primvera,” he said, confirming what Mickie believed. “I was meeting someone. They suggested the place.”

I glanced up at the back of his head. “Did you meet with them?”

“No.” He tipped his head to the other side. “And I don’t think they will be looking for me.”

I didn’t need my intuition to figure that whomever he was to meet there might’ve set him up. Could’ve even been this Muriel. “Will anyone be looking for you? Like a friend?”

He nodded. “Eventually.”

That was a relief.

Until he turned in the small stall, and I was suddenly at eye level with the wound in his chest.

My lips parted as I saw that the wound had shrunk again, this time to about the size of a small golden coin. Most of the blood had washed away, except for a few patches here and there, but there was this . . . I squinted. There were these tiny whitish dots scattered about his chest and his stomach—

I didn’t let myself look farther as he shifted slightly. More of the lukewarm water reached me. “What is . . . coming out of your skin? Is it the hemlock?”

“Most of that is gone now,” he said. “You’re seeing the aftereffects of what a lunea blade does. Once the blade hits our flesh, it too acts as a poison. It eats away, reaching our blood, and then . . . burns us from the inside, much like a fever would a mortal. My body is pushing it out.”

“Oh,” I whispered, somewhat fascinated and disturbed by it. By all of this. Everything felt too surreal. The conversation I overheard and the mad flight into the city. Discovering that it was him my intuition had guided me to. Being in the shower with him. . . . His body.

I’d seen a lot of naked men in various different situations. Some like Grady, whose frame was honed from training and handling a sword, and others who were softer than myself, and some even like Claude, who was naturally slender. But this lord was . . . he was different.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze to his. His eyes . . . They were definitely regenerated, and exactly how I remembered them. A burst of swirling blue, green, and brown. They were so strange and so beautiful. I glanced over his features. The bruising had nearly all faded from his face. That wasn’t the only thing now absent.

“The markings on your face,” I said, brows furrowing. “They’re gone.”

His head tilted slightly. “Markings? I’m not sure of what you speak.”

“You . . . you had these marks on your face, along your jaw and temple. Looked like a tattoo,” I told him. “But it appeared to come from within your skin.”

The colors of his irises slowed, then stilled. “I believe you’ve mistaken what you saw,” he said, chin dipping. “It must’ve been blood or dirt.”

“Maybe.” Tiny goose bumps appeared on my flesh, responding to the sudden coolness of the bathing chamber. I took a nervous step back. “I think— ”

“Will you touch me?” he asked.

The breath I took went nowhere as my gaze shot back to his. “What?”

“To continue to bathe me,” he clarified, thick lashes lowered. “I find myself thoroughly enjoying this.” There was a pause. “And I believe you also enjoy it.”

I was thoroughly enjoying this— touching him. I swallowed as I stood there. Strands of wet hair had slipped free, clinging to my cheeks as my grip on the soap tightened. Aiding him didn’t seem all that necessary at this point. His voice was stronger. Based on the rise and fall of his chest and how he was taking fewer breaks between his words, his breathing was no longer labored. He could likely finish cleaning himself, especially if he was capable of thoroughly enjoying this.

But I . . . I was . . . reckless, I was more than a little foolish, and I had an extremely long history of making bad life choices despite knowing better.

And I . . . I could touch him.

Stomach dipping, I placed a soapy hand on his chest. He seemed to inhale deeply, or maybe it was me. I wasn’t sure as I drew my palm over his skin, watching the white beads disappear in the suds. I stayed clear of the wound in his chest and the ones on his arms even though they looked far better, almost completely closed. Lathering the soap once more, I glided my palm over his stomach.

Holding my lip between my teeth, I brought my hand near his navel. My pulse was ticking rapidly, and my skin felt hot despite the cooling of the water and the air. I closed my eyes as my hand slipped over his hip, along the inside and over the taut muscle there. I didn’t go farther. I wanted to, but that seemed highly inappropriate, all things considered.

The muscles beneath my fingers tensed, and I opened my eyes to see what my hard work had accomplished. The blood was gone, and I no longer saw those tiny specks appearing where the suds had trailed off. Other than the wound, he looked much better. His skin tone had even deepened, more tan than sandy now, and his body . . .

There was still not a single strand of body hair to be seen. It was as if he’d been carved from marble, every line and muscle perfectly defined. My gaze lowered, drawn irresistibly to the . . . the thick, hard length of him.

My gods, I . . . I’d never really thought a man’s cock was all that attractive to look upon, but his was just like the rest of him. Stunning. Breathtaking. Brutally beautiful.

“Na’laa?”

A rush of damp heat flooded my core. “Yes?”

“You’re staring at me.”

My chest rose sharply. I so was. There was no denying it.

“It’s okay.” His breath danced over the top of my head, and my own snagged. Was he closer? He was. “I’m staring at you.”

He spoke no lies. I could feel his eyes on me. I had felt his gaze moving over my brow, down my nose, and over my lips as mine had traveled over his chest. The intensity of his stare was like a caress, gliding lower. The tips of my breasts tingled as his perusal continued, just as mine had, coasting over the curve of my waist, my hips and thighs, and between them, where I ached— where I wanted . . . I wanted him to touch.

“You shouldn’t be,” I whispered. “You’re injured.”

“So?”

“So?” I repeated. There was a dipping, whirling motion in my stomach. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about— ”

“I think you’re quite aware of what I’m thinking about.”

A heady breath left me. “You should have other things on your mind.”

“Not when a beautiful woman stands before me, one who has been brave and kind, giving me aid in my time of need, endangering herself, and asking for nothing in return.”

My laugh sounded shaky. “There is no need for flattery.”

“I only speak the truth.” His words coasted over my cheek, igniting a flutter deep inside.

Each breath I took felt labored. For the hundredth time that evening, I wondered what in the world I was doing. But I was still standing there, pulse racing as my eyes returned to his hand and his fingers, now bent. The tips were pressed into the ceramic—

Air leaked from my lips. His fingers were denting the ceramic tile.

The Lord lifted his hand then, cupping my chin. A strange sound rumbled up my throat, one I didn’t think I’d ever made before. I was barely able to bite back the moan. His touch was featherlight, barely there, but my senses went haywire. I felt it in every part of my being. He tipped my head back. His eyes . . . those colors were a dizzying kaleidoscope, and spots of white appeared in his pupils. Our gazes connected, and I braced myself out of habit, but I . . . I still saw and heard nothing.

His fingers— the same that had just dented ceramic— grazed my cheek, catching the strands of hair there. Soapy bubbles seeped between my fingers as I stood there, heart racing out of control. He tucked the hair back behind my ear, hand then sliding to my jaw, and I swore I felt that light touch throughout the entirety of my body. His other hand found the soap I currently had in a death grip. He pried it from my fingers, placing it on the ledge.

Heat returned, flushing my skin and invading my blood. My chest ached, becoming heavy. Desire, hot and dark, pulsed through me. He barely touched me. Just a featherlight brush against my jaw, and my entire body throbbed. I’d never in my life been so . . . so viscerally affected.

The Lord stepped in closer, as if I had willed him to, and that was just a silly thought, but somehow, I’d moved too. His cock brushed my belly, and I shuddered, the very core of me tightening. Tiny tremors racked my entire body. My fingers practically ached with the want to touch him.

The need to touch him.