Chapter 19 Reyes
Reyes
After a chilly shower that knocked me out of my head, I tucked myself in for a fitful night’s sleep.
With no pillow, of course, since mine was with Nyx.
There are more around here somewhere, but I’m not sure where I stuck them, so I just balled up an extra blanket and forced myself to rest. I was up before the sun rose to keep my promise to him.
I wait until an acceptable time to go to him, if barely.
Armed with the last two muffins, I make a mental note to bake more soon.
They only last a few days with the grabby hands and enormous appetites in the village, and I can’t exactly ask the others not to eat them since our food stores are communal.
A flash of yellow catches my eye, and I veer off the path to a cluster of Black-Eyed-Susans.
I pull my knife from my pocket and cut one, then duck back to his door.
Feet shuffle from inside as soon as I knock, like he was waiting for me.
I bite my smile between my teeth, but as he opens the door, my jaw drops.
Nyx is shy as he ducks his head, but glances up at me through the veil of his lashes with the most beautiful nervousness I’ve ever seen. “You look…” My brain short-circuits as my eyes move down his frame, and my mouth opens and closes, searching for words and failing to find any that are adequate.
He’s stunning. The cornflower blue shirt is gorgeous against the mossy green of his skin, and the fit is perfect.
The pants are loose on his hips and a little too long.
Tan fabric pools around his bare feet, but he looks complete.
Rested and relaxed and visible, like this whole time, he’s been hiding and has finally stepped into the light.
He’s his own person, not one playing dress-up in someone else’s life and closet.
“Does it look… okay?” he asks, his shaking hands tucking a rogue hair behind his ear.
“Okay? You look amazing,” I breathe, and his cheeks darken in a pleased blush as he absently pushes at another loose strand. “How do they feel?”
“Like they are mine.”
Gods, my heart won’t survive this. “They are yours.”
It’s cemented at that moment. Whatever he wants, it’s his.
The clothes off my back? Done.
Every single bite of my food? Take it, I’ll gladly starve.
The beating heart right out of my chest? Let me just carve that out and serve it on a platter.
My eyes dart over to the counter. The other items I collected for him are lined up in a neat row, and I imagine his crinkled nose as he stood there, examining everything and trying to figure out what it is.
I zero in on one. “Can I do something for you?” I ask. He blinks up at me with a flicker of uncertainty, but nods before I can explain. The trust he places in me is a precious thing—a gift coming from such a battered soul.
He notices the flower and plate with our breakfast, and his eyes move back up to mine. “This is for you,” I say as I offer him the yellow flower. “Hold on to it, because I’m going to need it in a few minutes.” He accepts it with a quick sniff of the petals. “Do you want to eat while I work?”
“Yes,” he answers immediately, then tilts his head. “Work on what?”
I sit the plate with the two muffins on the counter, trading it for the small jar of oil and hairbrush. One benefit of living in a larger camp was the trader traffic. We rarely splurged on luxury items from the cities, but we had a lot to trade. We had access to things that smaller camps didn’t.
I turn back to Nyx, fidgeting with the lid to the oil as he stares at it.
“Your hair,” I say, making sure he understands there’s no judgement in my tone.
I don’t want to make him feel bad about it when he’s already so self-conscious.
“It got really tangled. I know you’ve cleaned it, but it’s hard to get all those knots out, especially when it’s so long. ”
He gulps, fighting his urge to look away even as his eyes appear to get rounder. “You will fix it?”
“If you’re okay with that.” He swallows again, the prominent Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing with the motion. His lip quivers, and gods help me, he looks confused. This simple kindness is more than he knows how to accept, and I struggle to keep my anger at bay.
“Why?” he finally whispers.
“Because I want to take care of you, Nyx. Will you let me…” I trail off, chewing on the inside of my cheek as a grin pulls onto my lips. “How do you say ‘precious’ in your language?”
“Oh,” he breathes with a little squeak, and fuck, if he doesn’t blush even deeper. “Sirrha. It… it means… a treasured thing. This is… what you want?”
“It is,” I say, and I repeat the word, rolling the r like he does. He’s so sweetly excited as he nods.
“Will you let me brush your hair, sirrha?”
“Yes,” he whispers, a touch shakily. His eyes shimmer as he tries to grab at the extra material of his shirt, seeming to forget he’s wearing one that fits.
He pushes out a breath and smooths his palms over his thighs.
“Where…?” He glances around, but before he can get self-conscious about his lack of furniture, I nod towards the bed.
“You sit on the floor, if that’s okay? Actually, wait…” I grab the blanket, folding it into a neat rectangle before placing it on the ground. “There. Now you’ll be more comfortable.”
An amused grin tugs at his lips. “The floor would be fine. I am used to it.”
He doesn’t seem to realize the devastating sadness of his words, and I try not to let their impact show on my face. He’s in a good mood, and I don’t want to take that away from him. “Well, used to it or not, it’s my job to spoil you now.”
“Spoil? Spoil is bad? Rotten?”
I chuckle at his scrunched nose and gesture at my impromptu seat.
It’s strange seeing him in clothes that show off his body, and I can’t help the way I stare as he moves.
“It can mean that, yes. When food spoils, it means it’s gone bad.
But when you spoil someone you lo—care about,” I sputter, cheeks flaming as he sinks onto the blanket. “It means you take care of them.”
“You already take care of me.” He says it with such confidence, like the things I’ve been able to give him are more than tiny offerings. More than just a bumbling man with a hot temper, trying to balance the scales for the one good thing he’s ever found.
“I do.”
“So I am this spoiled?”
“Not yet, but you will be, so get used to it.” The mattress sinks as I knee-walk onto it, stopping in the center. “I’m going to sit behind you, okay? My legs might touch you, and I’ll obviously have to use my hands…”
“Reyes.” The stern exasperation in his voice makes me choke back a laugh, and he peeks over his shoulder at me. “I am not scared of you.”
“I still like to tell you when I touch you.”
“No one else ever bothered,” he mutters, but his tone is more annoyed than upset.
“Well, I’m not everyone else, am I?”
“No,” he agrees in a murmur, and I fight the urge to push him and ask what I am to him, just to savor the sound of his sweet, breathy voice.
Gods, I’m so incredibly fucked.
His shoulders stiffen momentarily as my legs land on either side of him, but they relax as I uncap the oil.
“You can’t tell Ronan I have this,” I tease as I scoop out a finger’s worth and rub it between my palms. “If he hears I have something that would make his hair soft, he’ll fight me for it.
You haven’t seen us in the ring, but just know that I’d lose. Horribly.”
Another of those short, huffing laughs leaves his nose, and the sound lifts me so high I feel like I’m floating.
My hands coast down his hair, stopping at the tangled areas and massaging the oil between the strands before moving on to the next.
He sits perfectly still as I work, although when I graze the edge of his ear, he shivers.
“Does that tickle?” I ask.
“Ears are… what is the word? They feel a lot.”
“Sensitive.” Biting my lip between my teeth, I tease the pointed tip again.
“Sensitive,” he breathes, and gods above, if it doesn’t do something to me. Blood rushes south and spreads as I take a few breaths, trying to calm my body’s reaction.
“This might tug a little, okay? Tell me if I hurt you.” My voice has gone rough, but he doesn’t seem to notice as I swap the jar of oil for the hairbrush. “Lean forward so I can start at the bottom, sirrha.”
His spine curves, and I try not to dwell on the prominent knobs that show through his shirt.
Gaining weight is slow business, and can’t be rushed.
Instead, I focus on the strands of his hair between my fingers, and the steady lift of his back as he breathes.
The closeness is heady, as are the soft noises he makes.
“Tell me something,” he says as I work on an area at the base of his neck that’s particularly knotted.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything… I just like hearing you talk.” My skin flushes, and if he turned around, he’d see the massive grin on my face. “Had you always lived at the camp? The one with the greenhouse?”
“For a long time, yes, but not forever,” I say as I brush.
“I grew up in a place far away from here. It was a small village, not much bigger than this one, close to a military base called Houston. There was a lot of unrest among the people. Half of them wanted to move to the city and work for the mon—for your kind.”
“You can call them monsters. Many of them are.”
He’d know better than most, wouldn’t he?
I clear my throat and continue brushing.
“My parents were part of the group that was pushing to move, but others in the camp didn’t agree with their choice.
I was young, still in my teenage years, so I was too self-absorbed to understand any of it.
My parents tried to keep me out of the drama, but with so few people, I saw what was happening. ”