Chapter Twenty-six
I haven’t combusted yet, so that’s good. We burst into the shower house, and Taron carries me to one of the cubicles. His grip is tight. His jaw is clenched. He pulls open the curtain, and sets me inside.
“I’ll wait outside,” he says, “in case you fall.”
He closes the curtain, but his silhouette doesn’t move away. I manage to shed the top layer of my uniform. The vest underneath clings to my searing skin. I can’t get my boots off. My limbs feel like lumbering weights, and I keep losing my balance.
“Um,” I say, “can you help?”
“I’m not sure that’s…”
“HELP!”
The curtain flies back. Taron’s eyes are wide, his breath caught. He scans me as if bracing for the worst. Then he sighs with relief, and the tension leaks from his shoulders.
“Thanks.” I reach for his shoulder to steady myself, and I’m surprised when a firm hand grips my waist.
“Is this OK?” Taron asks as he eases off my boots.
I nod, feeling childish.
“What’s so funny?” he asks when I smile.
Before Taron can escape, I reach behind me and turn on the tap.
“Hey!” he shouts, jumping back as the cold water hits him. Too late. He’s completely drenched.
The water feels good. I lift my face towards it and close my eyes. When I open them again, Taron has kicked off his boots, too, and his jacket, and he’s standing in front of me in his vest and trousers.
The water cascades over his face and glossy rivulets trail down his neck, mingling with the crimson stains that mar his shirt.
“You’re hurt,” I say, putting a hand to his chest. His hand intercepts mine. He holds it gently in his, and I freeze.
Our eyes meet. His stare is intense, so I instead look down at his lips. I’m curious. Is he a good kisser? He seems to be good at most things. I feel brave, stupidly so. Leaning forward, I rise on to my tiptoes.
“What are you doing?” Taron asks.
I peel away from him. “Are you not attracted to me?”
It’s unlike me to be so forward, to lay my insecurities bare. But right now, I’m high on dragon’s poison, grade-three healing tonic and the sting of rejection.
When he doesn’t say anything, I reach out to him, curling my fingers around the drenched fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t resist when I draw him closer, and we stand together beneath the cascade of water. There it is again, the pull between us – it’s magnetic, dangerous.
I trace the path of a stray droplet gliding down his face. It pools in the corner of his mouth, so precariously close to mine. “Taron…”
“Don’t say anything.” His hand trails my cheek, hesitating on my bottom lip. It’s a gesture so tender, so entirely unexpected, that it leaves me momentarily breathless.
My pulse ricochets and my body betrays me. As frissons of electricity prickle down my spine, I take his hand and guide it along the contours of my body.
His palm glides over my stomach, following the curve of my ribs until it rests gently against the softness of my chest.
“You’re still burning up,” he says as he pins me against the slick tiles of the shower wall. Something dangerous and powerful beats in my chest. I lean into his touch.
“At least I haven’t burst into flames yet.”
“Not funny.”
But it is. It shouldn’t be, but I can’t help it. Just like I can’t help the way his frown strikes me as hysterical. I clamp my hand over my mouth, but a snort breaks free, followed by peals of laughter that leave me gasping. Damn you, poisoned dragon’s scale.
He brushes a wet strand of hair from my forehead. His fingers are velvet against my skin, too gentle to belong to a monster. His ice-blue eyes are tender. He leans closer.
I won’t stop him, I think.
To my surprise, he reaches around me to turn off the shower.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Taron says. “You need to rest and let the tonic do its job.”