17. Belladonna

17

BELLADONNA

It takes only a few minutes to get the tub filled. Rusalka won’t allow me to undress myself, and I understand why the moment she slides her hands up my sides and guides my shirt over my head.

There’s seduction even in this. It’s there in the way their breath ghosts over my shoulder, a tease at a future kiss, in how their claws play along my stomach before carefully undoing my pants, in the stroke of their tail up my calf, over my knee, to my inner thigh. The touches aren’t overtly sexual, but they’re filled with tenderness and caring. They make my knees go weak.

Still, I catch their hand and lift it to press a kiss to their palm. “I want you to touch me everywhere, but I have to admit I’m nervous about your claws.”

Rusalka’s laugh rumbles through her chest and into mine. “Have faith, little one. As I mentioned before, my people are shape-shifters.” She tugs her hand from mine and holds it up in front of my face. There’s a faint shimmer, the promise of flames, and then her claws melt down to mostly human-looking fingers. They’re too long, an extra knuckle in the place of the sharp claw. A pulse of heat goes through me and centers right between my thighs.

“Oh,” I say faintly.

They finish undressing me and urge me into the bath. “You worked hard in the gardens today. I imagine you’re feeling it.”

Truth be told, I am. I’ve had a job of one kind or another since I was sixteen, but none of them involved much manual labor. I didn’t expect to find such peace in it. Neither did I expect to find such satisfaction in the gardens itself. In knowing that when the seasons turn and turn again, I’ll plant and nurture and harvest a bounty that will feed not only myself but this community. A community that seems to have welcomed me with open arms. Knowing that is more than worth the aching back and the cramping fingers and the dirt that seems determined to work itself into every nook and cranny of my skin. “I like it.”

“I can tell.” They urge me down until I’m submerged up to my chin. “Let the hot water start the process of unwinding those tight muscles, and I’ll take care of the rest. Give me your hand.”

Even though I try to focus, to watch her, my eyes slide shut as she takes a small brush and goes to work on the dirt embedded in my nail beds. The bath and the pampering feel divine. “You aren’t trying to soothe me to sleep so you don’t have to come to bed with me, are you?”

Rusalka’s low laugh makes me open my eyes. Their full lips are pulled in a wicked grin that chases the thought of sleep right from my head. “I’m merely giving you a moment of rest. Enjoy it.”

As if I can do anything else. The heat works into my muscles, then my bones, and Rusalka’s hands do the rest. She washes me. It’s an act that should probably feel wrong or make humiliation lash my skin, but with Rusalka, it’s as natural as breathing. I trust her implicitly.

Maybe that makes me a fool. Only time will tell. If they really want to take advantage of me, it will be easy enough. I’ve given them the lock, the keys, and everything that I am. They wouldn’t even have to work hard at manipulation. They’d merely need to tell me again that my sacrifice would benefit thousands upon thousands of people.

My head lolls on the edge of the tub as they wash my hair. The weight of my tresses is heavy, and, not for the first time, I think about cutting it. I’m not even sure I like long hair; it’s simply been the only option available to me.

Just like that, I’ve made a decision. “I want to cut my hair.”

Their hands are still in the middle of massaging my scalp. “You do?”

“Yes.” It’s the truth. It’s never been truer.

To Rusalka’s credit, they don’t ask me if I’m sure. “How short?”

I start to sit up. “Do you have a knife?”

She grabs my shoulders, keeping me in place. “Let’s make one thing clear, little one. Under no circumstances am I going to hand you a knife and let you hack your own hair off. Tell me how short you would like it, and I’ll cut it for you.”

I twist just enough to see her, to see how serious she is. Another type of care. My heart thumps almost painfully in my chest. “Above my shoulders.”

“After your bath.” They finish washing my hair, their claws once again in evidence and gently massaging my scalp. It almost works to fade the tension of anticipation making me quiver. Rusalka knows. Of course they know.

In no time, they get me out of the bath and dry me with a large fluffy towel, ignoring my insistence that I can dry myself. I wait for shame to take me in response to my being naked in front of another person without even having the decency to wait for the deepest night. But it’s hard to feel bad when Rusalka is so intent.

They pull out a robe from somewhere and dress me in it. Then they urge me into a chair that I hadn’t noticed before. “Inna is quite good with hair, so they’ll have to clean up this cut tomorrow. But I can manage to get the weight off your shoulders. Will that work?”

“Yes.” She could have told me to wait for Inna to do it right. She could have handed me a knife and let me hack it off myself. She could have done a lot of things, but instead she’s carefully sectioning my hair and running her fingers through it.

I don’t understand exactly what she’s doing until she stops, her fingers a few inches over my shoulder. “This length?”

I don’t care about the specifics, but I suspect they don’t want to hear that. “Yes,” I say hoarsely. “That length.”

Rusalka uses their claws to cut my hair in quick, efficient movements. It feels as though it should take longer, but within ten minutes or so, they run their fingers through my hair again. It’s only when they urge me to the mirror near the sink that I realize they were drying my hair and that the heat I felt wasn’t solely from their skin. They come to stand behind me, expression carefully gentle. “What do you think?”

I touch my hair gingerly. It’s got so much more volume like this, bouncing above my shoulders with every movement. It feels like?.?.?. freedom. “I love it.”

“Good.”

I keep staring at myself in the mirror. The length of my hair is the only thing that’s changed, and yet that’s not the truth, is it? Everything has changed. Isn’t it time I embraced that change fully? Before doubt can seep in, I turn and take Rusalka’s hand. They allow me to lead them back into the bedroom and to the bed. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

She opens her mouth like she might argue but pauses and studies my expression. “Just remember that you can stop this at any moment, regardless of what’s happening.”

“Rusalka.” I wait for them to look at me. “I trust you. I want this. I promise I’ll communicate if anything doesn’t work for me.”

They smile slowly and curl their fingers through mine. “Then I’ll trust you to be honest with me.”

“I will. I promise.” I take another step toward the bed. “Please, Rusalka. I’m relaxed and seduced, and I need you right now.”

Their smile gains the wicked edge I’m quickly learning to crave. “Oh, little one, there will be nothing rushed about this.” They step closer, guiding me back onto the bed, then follow me down. Rusalka is already athletic and taller than me, but with their body pressing mine into the mattress, they feel so much?.?.?. more. I don’t know how to explain it; I only know that it makes me go soft and melty.

They brush my hair back from my face, spreading it out over the pillow, their amber eyes hot enough to truly melt me. “You please me so greatly.”

My heart thumps so hard, it’s a wonder they can’t see it trying to beat itself out of my chest. I lick my lips. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You’ve done everything.” She brushes a light kiss to my brow, my cheekbone, my jaw. “You’re so selfless and kind. Curious and brave. Able to have your worldview challenged without it crushing you.” She strokes her hand down to my hip and presses me harder to the mattress. “Smart. Strong. Beautiful.”

I almost tell them that they don’t have to lie to me, but I manage to stop the words before giving them voice. Rusalka’s praise makes me uncomfortable in the way being perceived always has, but that doesn’t mean they’re lying. It doesn’t mean they’re wrong.

She doesn’t give me time to think too hard. She kisses me. I thought the lead-up to getting into bed was a seduction. I’m a fool. This kiss is a thousand times more seductive. It starts off slow and almost tentative, a leisurely exploration of my lips. Then she teases my mouth open and kisses me.

I don’t mean to move. One moment I’m gripping their biceps, and the next my hands are in their short hair and I’m trying to wrap one leg around their hips. Rusalka tenses their hand, keeping my hips pinned to the bed despite my writhing. It creates the tiniest distance between us. Too much. I hate it.

I break the kiss enough to gasp, “More.”