Chapter 17 Count the Moths
COUNT THE MOTHS
Marina
Marina enjoyed the view of Acacius’s naked body as he stepped into the hot spring. The crimson water obscured him from the waist down, the surface sloshing around his bare hips.
His skin was a silhouette of beautifully sculpted muscles and sharp angles. It made her painfully aware of how little she paid attention to him during their sexual encounters, too focused on her own climax to care.
However, after their last encounter, she had the bizarre need to nibble on the thick muscle that rippled around his shoulder blade as he lifted his arm, moving to push the loose hairs out of his face.
He looked back at her, as if he could feel her staring. Beads of water dripped over his lips.
Her cheeks flushed, and she cleared her throat. “I enjoy baths, but not ones that appear as if another decomposed in them.”
He cupped some of the cherry liquid in his hand and let it drain between his fingers. “See, the consistency is just like water. It has no viscosity.”
It wasn’t dense the way blood was, but fully transparent. She could see the bony dips of his wrist as the water washed over them.
Her eyes cut up to his as he watched her intently.
White moths fluttered in between them, encircling her in a gentle dance.
She could feel the light breeze of their wings against her hair, the skin of her arms, and on the exposed area of her shoulders where her sleeves hung down.
They came and went through the arched windows.
She let out a soft breath.
Despite the unease twisting in her gut, she was here to distract Acacius and fish for more information. Leaving without gain was not an option, but sitting on the fringe of the spring like a frightened child was even less of one.
Marina slid off her heels and approached the steps.
Fear held her by the throat as she stared down at the vermillion pool, steam steadily rising from its surface.
Don’t be a coward.
It’s only water, as he said.
Her heartbeat sprinted in her chest, and she pressed her tongue against the backs of her teeth, forcing herself to inch closer and closer to the edge. The only thing left to do was to step down.
Acacius said nothing. He stood across the heated basin, continuing to watch her with a durable patience. She envied his courage, something she longed to possess herself.
“Rina.” The water sloshed around him as he glided toward her.
A gnarl formed in her stomach.
The sight of his pinched brow punctured her pride.
She did not want his pity. More than that, it unsettled her, knowing he could see her delicate unraveling.
After all, this is what he wanted—to learn her weaknesses and use them in his vengeful stratagem.
She would not give him more leverage than he already had over her.
She submerged her feet. Gooseflesh sprouted like buds across her skin. The inside of her chest itched.
She swallowed to prove to herself that her throat hadn’t closed up as she held her eyes on Acacius, refusing to fixate on the ruby waves at his waist, those currently swallowing her ankles. He maintained his distance but continued to gently watch her, ever ready if she needed him.
Moths trickled above her. One landed in her hair, and another brushed over her nape. She held on to the physical sensation of their tiny legs tickling her skin.
You will do this.
She trudged further into the hot spring, jaws clenched, holding her arms up, knowing the biggest trigger would be the crimson washing over her hands.
The water invaded her gown, and her tense muscles gave way to the warmth, soothing her stiff nerves. For a breath, her troubles drifted away, and she nearly dissolved into the scalding water.
She slowly lowered her arms, caressed by the soothing temperature, and her fingertips grazed the surface.
A sharp chill etched up her spine.
Without the will to stop herself, she glanced down at the scarlet liquid absorbing her lower half.
Her chest constricted.
It will never wash away.
The wet skin of her fingertips burned, like acid digesting her flesh.
She struggled across the hot spring, passing Acacius in a crazed path for the ledge, and folded over.
Her head hung as she held herself up on trembling elbows against the stone.
Wild tremors wracked her body. Taking deep breaths through her nose did nothing to pacify the palpitations of her racing heart.
Her gaze crawled down to the vivid, sanguine liquid that slithered around her waist. The skin of her cheeks pricked with needles, and the edges of her vision began to burn away like scorched paper.
She slammed her eyes shut.
It is not blood.
It is only water.
Nothing more.
To her surprise, Acacius’s arm wrapped around her waist from behind, and he placed his palm over her sternum, guiding her up until her shoulder blades met his chest. The metal of her necklace stamped into her skin beneath his palm.
“Breathe in,” he instructed, inhaling deeply. “Then out.” He exhaled. “Come on,” he said before another inhale, pressing firmer on her chest. The pressure was grounding, like gravity planting her feet back down against the earth. “Do it with me.”
She shook pathetically against his broad build, every instinct pleading with her to reject his comfort. But her treacherous body leaned into him, and her focus pinned on the pattern he set, integrating her lungs with his breath.
He rested his cheek against the side of her face, nudging back her hair with his chin. “Count the moths, Rina,” he murmured next to her ear. “Or the beats of my heart. Whichever you prefer. I know you can feel it against your back.”
Her awareness went to the strong stride of his pulse, echoing like timpani through her ribs. The consistent rhythm began to pacify her as her eyes jumped around the vaulted ceiling, tracking the moths.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five…
Acacius slipped his hand down her arm and cradled her knuckles.
Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven…
“It’s not blood. It’s water.” Acacius threaded his fingers through hers. “Allow me to show you?”
In the safety of his grip, an unexpected bravery broke through the palisade of her thick, marbled panic, and she nodded, slowly.
He steered their hands underwater and scooped some into her palm. It trickled in between their curled fingers and splashed into the hot spring, like the floral beverage her father made every year on Astrid’s birthday.
“What does it feel like?” He dipped their hands back under.
Marina concentrated on the texture draining through her fingers. “Like mulled wine.” He was right; it lacked the sugar, the thick adherence.
To trick her brain, she lapped her hand in a tranquil ring, creating small ripples around her fingers—an act she typically did during her baths to silence her busy thoughts.
You are safe.
She let out a long, shaky breath.
Your skin is clean.
The muscles in her diaphragm untensed.
Acacius’s hand slipped from her waist to the slit of her neckline, meeting the bare skin just below where her golden body chain lay.
“The scarlet reminds me of wine as well, but here lately, I think of the ruby jewels you wear instead. I’ve found that I actually enjoy keeping up with them all, your many forms of ornamentation. "
Her heartbeat stuttered, and an ember lit in her chest, like she’d sipped down a cup of hot jasmine tea.
“I enjoy fashion. The art, the connection of it.” Talking helped distract her mind from the tremor of her nervous system.
“I suppose it started when I was a child. I itched to find a way to express myself without angering Mira, since she expected me to withhold my emotions.”
Acacius’s fingertips drew up the line of her throat, gently guiding her head back to rest on his shoulder. “Chaos is birthed from emotion.” He played with the chains on her diaphragm, her skin singing in the strokes of his touch.
She continued to peer up at the moths. “It’s why you’re impulsive, and volatile.”
“Passionate, Rina.”
She laughed quietly, her body’s weight easing against him. He made it too easy to give in. “And what are your passions?”
“Making you pay for your betrayal.” His fingers locked around the base of her throat, applying light pressure. A savage excitement unspooled in her stomach. “Dealing with your sister and her deicidal offspring.”
The breath in her lungs went cold.
It’s not as if his intentions were new to her. Back when she assisted him in locating Ash’s blood, he’d been anything but quiet about his feelings toward her nephew. Back then, Acacius’s animosity meant nothing to her, just like Ash had meant nothing to her as well.
Now, though, hearing that same vehemence ooze from Acacius’s mouth iced away any warmth the moment offered her.
How ignorant could she be?
Acacius was a savage monster, and she was in his arms, right where he wanted her to be.
She swallowed, the movement straining her windpipe against his grip. “You still disapprove of Naia’s divine power, and what Ash’s blood can do?”
“Immeasurably.” The word rolled off his tongue in a low tone.
“And what do you intend to do?”
“Why?” He nuzzled his cheek to her temple, his breath caressing the side of her face. “Still seeking revenge of your own?”
“The impending fall of my life all began with Naia.” Marina spoke her sister’s name with a life-long, practiced resentment. “I could join your endeavor, if you allowed me to do so.”
The opportunity would be a perfect way to extract the necessary knowledge. She would be several steps ahead of him, able to report back his plans to Naia and Ronin.
Acacius went quiet.
Her heart accelerated like a hummingbird’s wing, unnerved by his corrosive silence.
A group of moths swarmed her face like a living breeze, crowding around her.
Several landed in her hair, another on her forehead, her cheeks.
She snapped her eyes to their silken wings, swearing to all gods that if they tried to invade her nostrils, she would slice Acacius to pieces in his own spring with her divine power.