Chapter 10 #2
His touch sends another wave of heat through me, and I have to resist the urge to lean into it. “I’m just—It’s warm out.”
“Is it?” His fingers trail along my hairline, and I see satisfaction flicker in his eyes at my reaction. “I hadn’t noticed.”
He’s teasing me, I realize. Not in a cruel way, but with the kind of gentle mockery that suggests he knows exactly why I’m blushing and finds it amusing. The thought should embarrass me further, but instead, it sends a different kind of thrill through me.
“Maybe I should bathe, as well,” he says casually, stepping backward toward the stream. “I’m probably just as dirty as you were.”
“That’s a good idea,” I manage, trying to sound normal. “I’ll keep guard. Make sure no aggressive fish attack you.”
He smirks at that, already reaching for his belt. “How considerate of you.”
“I promise not to sneak a peek,” I add quickly, turning my back to him with what I hope looks like firm resolve.
“You can look if you want to.” His voice carries a challenge that makes my pulse race. “If you think you can control yourself.”
That sounds like a dare, and my innate rebelliousness rises in my chest. “I have excellent self-control.”
“Do you?” I hear the splash of him entering the water. “We’ll see.”
Unable to resist, I glance over my shoulder. He’s waist-deep in the stream, water lapping at his lean hips, his back to me. The sight of him as he begins washing—all bronze skin and flowing muscle—makes my mouth go dry.
I should look away. I should give him privacy, like any decent person would. Instead, I find myself transfixed by the play of sunlight on his wet skin, the graceful way he moves through the water, the flex of his shoulders as he runs his hands through his hair.
“You’re staring,” he calls out without turning around, amusement clear in his voice.
“I am not,” I lie automatically.
“I can feel your eyes on me, Astra.”
Warmth floods my face, but I don’t look away. “I’m keeping guard, like I promised. I have to watch for threats.”
“Very clever approach.” I see him move deeper into the water, hear the soft sounds of him bathing. “Though I have to question how good a guard you are if you won’t even look at your charge.”
“You’re fine,” I mumble. “You can take care of yourself.”
“Can I?” His voice has dropped to that low tone that makes my breathing deepen. “What if I need help reaching my back? What if I slip on the rocks like you did?”
The thought of helping him—of running my hands over all that warm, wet skin—makes me dizzy. I make myself turn away from him as I say, “You won’t slip. You’re too coordinated.”
“Fine.” His tone cuts off any further discussion.
We fall into silence, broken only by the soft sounds of the water as he bathes.
Despite my determination not to look, I find myself hyperaware of every splash, every intake of breath, every small noise he makes.
My imagination fills in what I can’t see, conjuring images of water streaming over bronze skin, of powerful muscles moving beneath the surface.
The ache in my belly intensifies, accompanied by a restless energy that makes me want to move, to touch, to do something I can’t quite name. I’ve never felt anything like this burning need, this desperate awareness of another person’s body. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
“You can look now,” Lucian calls out eventually. “I’m decent.”
I peek over my shoulder cautiously and see him standing in the shallows, water dripping from his hair and running in rivulets down his chest. He’s wearing his pants again, but they’re soaked and clinging to every line of his body in ways that make my breath catch in my throat.
“Better?” he asks, wading toward shore.
“Much,” I manage, though my voice comes out embarrassingly shaky.
He emerges from the stream like some kind of water god, all fluid grace and masculine beauty.
I watch, mesmerized, as he runs his hands through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face.
Water droplets cling to his eyelashes, and there’s something almost ethereal about the way the fading sunlight plays across his features.
“Your turn to blush,” I say weakly, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
“Do I look like someone who blushes?” he asks, moving toward where I’m sitting.
“No,” I say, and then the next words slip out before I can stop them. “You look like someone who makes other people blush.”
A glimmer of heat flickers in his eyes at that statement. “Do I make you blush, Astra?”
The question is quiet, almost intimate, and it sends heat racing through my veins. “I—No, no, you don’t,” I stammer, but my face burns even hotter at the obvious lie.
“No?” His voice carries dark amusement as he takes in my flaming cheeks. “Then why are you as red as a strawberry right now?”
“I’m not—It’s just—” I bury my face in my hands with a groan. “Don’t be so full of yourself.”
He settles beside me on the rock, near enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin despite his wet clothes. This close, I can see the water droplets still caught in the dark hair on his chest and the way his pants cling to his powerful thighs.
“We should probably head out soon,” I say, though the last thing I want is to move from this spot.
“Probably.” But he doesn’t make any motion to gather our things. Instead, he leans back on his hands, tilting his face toward the sun. “Let me dry off first.”
I nod, content to sit in comfortable silence beside him. The afternoon is warm and golden, with birds singing in the trees overhead and the stream babbling peacefully beside us. It feels like something from a dream: a perfect moment suspended in time.
But underneath the peace, electricity is humming between us. I’m acutely aware of his presence, of the rise and fall of his chest, of the way his wet hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. Every breath brings his scent to me—clean and masculine and utterly intoxicating.
“Astra,” he says quietly, and something in his tone makes me turn to look at him.
His gaze sears me, and what I see there makes my pulse stutter. Desire. A raw, undisguised craving that takes my breath away.
“What?” I whisper.
For a moment, I think he’s going to say something important, something that will change everything between us. But then he shakes his head, and the spell is broken.
“Nothing. We should get moving.”
He stands abruptly. The moment of intimacy is gone, replaced by his usual, brisk efficiency.
I watch him, feeling strangely bereft. Something almost happened just then, something that might have been wonderful or terrible or both. But the opportunity has passed, leaving me with nothing but the memory of the heat in his eyes and the ache of unfulfilled longing in my chest.
“Yes,” I agree softly, gathering my now-dry clothes. He turns around as I dress, and then he takes his shirt from me and pulls it over his head.
“Let’s go.”
But as we head off, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking away from something precious, something I may never find again.
As the town of Turnville comes into view through the trees, a strange hollowness settles in my chest. I should be elated—after all these years of dreaming about freedom, of longing to escape, I’m finally here. One more day, and I’ll be in Andrew’s arms, safe and loved and wanted.
So, why do I feel like I’m walking toward the wrong life entirely?
“Look,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice as I point toward the cluster of buildings in the distance. “We made it. Turnville.”
Lucian doesn’t respond. His jaw is clenched tight, and there’s something dark and volatile in his expression that makes my stomach twist with unease.
I try again, desperate to fill the tense silence between us.
“Andrew will be so surprised to see me. He has no idea I’m coming at all.
” I glance at Lucian hopefully, but he’s staring straight ahead, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he walks.
“I wonder what he’ll say when I appear at his shop.
He’ll probably think something terrible has happened to make me come so suddenly. ”
Still nothing.
“We’ll have the wedding as soon as possible,” I continue, though the words feel strange in my mouth, like I’m speaking a foreign language. “Something small and simple. Andrew isn’t one for big celebrations, and neither am I, really. Then we can start working together in his herb shop.”
I steal another glance at Lucian. His profile could be carved from stone for all the emotion he’s showing, but tension is emanating from him like heat from a fire. There’s something coiled and dangerous in the way he’s moving, like a wild animal barely restraining itself.
The lack of response is starting to unnerve me, so I babble on.
“He’s been expanding the business, you know.
Says there’s a huge demand in the human settlements for natural remedies.
People are tired of the harsh medicines the regular doctors push.
Andrew thinks we could help a lot of people with proper herbal treatments. ”
My voice grows smaller with each word, because even I can hear how hollow they sound.
Every time I try to picture Andrew’s face, to imagine our future together, it feels like I’m grasping at smoke.
The details that should feel real and exciting—our wedding, our life together, the herb shop—seem distant and insubstantial.
“We’ll be happy,” I whisper, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince anymore. “He has promised to protect me, to keep me safe from anyone who may come looking for me. We’ll have a quiet life, a peaceful one. No more danger, no more running.”
The word “peaceful” tastes bitter in my mouth, but I don’t understand why. Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? Safety and security after a lifetime of fear and rejection?