10. Willow
Willow
After a long soak in the healing baths, the water works the last of the aches from my muscles. While I dry off and get dressed, Rhune and Nyx run off to scrounge something for me to eat. We eat in the kitchen with Dravik, and then he leaves us to check on Cin and possibly head out for a quick hunt.
I’m well-fed, clean, and slightly sleepy, so Rhune carries me in his arms up to the bedroom, and the three of us lie down for some much-needed rest.
Nyx and Rhune are exhausted from healing me, and they fall quickly into a deep, coma-like slumber. Neither of them stirs when I shift to get more comfortable, which tells me exactly how much of themselves they poured into keeping me alive today.
Rhune's arm is heavy across my waist, pinning me lightly to the furs. Nyx is curled the other direction, one hand resting against my hip, fingers slack now instead of gripping like they were a moment ago.
I should be tired too. My body certainly is, but sleep doesn't come as easily. I keep running through everything that’s happened and all the things that led me to be here at this exact moment. The more I think about it, the less it feels like reality.
I lie between them for a while, listening to their breathing, letting the steady rhythm lull me into a peaceful trance. At some point, sleep claims me, but it’s not the kind of rest I desire.
I dream of a Welwig tree hanging from the ceiling of a massive cavern, its horrible roots spreading across the ceiling and bursting through the walls—reaching, searching for something.
The color red pulses in time with the rhythm of my racing heart, filling my veins with poison and casting my skin in the hue of fresh blood.
Pain comes first. Then death. Then destruction.
Someone else’s memories flash through my mind in broken pieces, moving too fast for me to hold on to. None of it makes sense, but the vision burrows into the recesses of my mind, altering my chemistry and changing something fundamental in my soul.
Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t let it go. I can’t forget. And I still don’t know what it means.
There’s a flash, then a sound fills my head—a foghorn screams across the land, warning that the end is near. So very, very near.
I wake up covered in sweat, my heart still slamming against my ribs. The furs beneath me are damp, and my hair is splayed in all directions, with large chunks sticking to my forehead and neck.
I need another bath. Not just to clean off the sweat but also to wash away the remaining memories of that horrible dream.
Careful not to wake my mates, I ease out from under Rhune’s arm and crawl out of bed. Gazing back at them to ensure they’re still sleeping, I turn and quietly pad out of the bedroom, taking the passages toward the healing baths.
As soon as I step into the bathing chamber, the humid air hits me, carrying the faint scent of ancient magic and minerals. The room is dark except for a faint blue glow rising off the pool, bathing the space in a deeply calming hue.
Taking a deep breath, I strip off my suit and wrap a fur around myself like a towel.
My bare feet slap softly against the ice-rock as I cross to the edge of the pool, the only sound except for my quiet breathing.
I sit on the ledge, dipping my feet into the water to acclimate my body to the heat before I plunge in.
“This is nice.” I brace my palms behind me and lean back, breathing in the calm and quiet.
Then a pair of massive, curved horns clears the surface of the pool, scaring the life out of me. I let out an ear-piercing shriek and do the only thing I can think of—splash some water at it.
The wave clears, and Dravik is staring back at me, his face dripping water and mouth pressed into a tight line. “Was that really necessary?”
“Whoops.” I shoot him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t think anyone was down here.”
He frowns. “I am hard to miss.”
“Well, I didn’t think to look under the water. How long were you holding your breath for, anyway?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “A while. It helps me think.”
“Ah… okay…”
We settle into silence, listening to the water lap against the edges of the pool.
After a few minutes, Dravik reaches up to his head, attempting to work some of the tangles out of his long hair.
His thick fingers catch halfway through, and he mumbles a string of curses before pulling his hand out and trying again—unsuccessfully.
I watch him fight the same knot three more times before I finally speak up. "Want some help?"
He glances over, surprised. “With what?”
“Your hair.”
He blinks. “How would you help with my hair?”
I laugh under my breath. “Just come here.”
For a moment, he doesn't move and just studies me with a furrowed brow. Then he pushes off the far wall of the pool, water sliding down his bare chest as he moves closer. He stops just in front of me, bracing one arm on the ledge on either side of my thighs. He doesn’t touch me, but I can feel the heat brimming from his skin, and it takes everything in me to keep from shifting closer, from closing that last little bit of distance between us.
The muscle in the side of his jaw tics as he gazes up at me, the hunger in his eyes sending a wave of heat to my core. “I am here,” he rasps. “What will you do with me now?”
His face is close enough that I can count the individual water droplets clinging to his jaw—close enough that I have to remind myself how to breathe normally. Swallowing hard, I twirl my finger in a slow circle.
“Turn around.” My voice is somehow steadier than I feel. “I’m going to fix your hair.”
Dravik obeys, turning slowly in the water. Instead of moving my fingers across his wings like I want to, I bring my hands to his head, carefully working my fingers through the knots in his long, beautiful orange hair.
I move slower than I should, savoring the feel of the strands between my fingers.
Now and then, Dravik lets out a low groan, clearly enjoying having someone play with his hair. The sound settles low and warm in my stomach every time, and I have to remind myself I'm supposed to be working.
As I’m nearing the end, I think back to Dagny’s mate, Roark, and his braided hair. I wonder if Dravik would let me try something similar. It would help with the tangles, and he’d probably look super hot in a warrior braid.
Better to ask for forgiveness.
I carefully plait his hair into a braid, working each section over the next with practiced care. Growing up, I used to braid my friends’ hair all the time, and though I don’t often style my own hair this way, I’m glad for the skill at this moment.
Dravik stays still and quiet beneath my hands, save for the occasional low groan when my fingers brush against his scalp.
Once the braid reaches the end, I hand him the edges and show him how to pinch them between his fingers. “Hold this for a second,” I say.
I lean back and carefully tear a thin strip of fabric from my towel. The fur shifts dangerously with the movement, and my face flames as I move to readjust it. Thank God he’s facing the other way…
Clearing my throat, I take the braid back from Dravik, tie the ends in a quick knot, and lay it softly against his spine.
“There! All done!”
Dravik slides his hand over the back, feeling my handiwork. He moves his head side to side, his mouth twitching at the corners. “I like it. Now it will stay out of my eyes.”
“And it makes you look super hot,” I add.
His hand stills. The amusement on his face sharpens, eyes darkening as they drag down my frame. His gaze leaves a trail of fire in its wake, traveling straight to my core, filling me with raw heat and desire.
“Careful.” His voice lowers dangerously. “Your words… they do things to me…”
“What kind of things?”
He just shakes his head, murmuring something under his breath about a dangerous creature. Slowly turning around, he braces his palms on the ledge, his thumbs brushing against my skin and sending a pleasurable shudder down my spine.
Instead of answering, he asks a question of his own, tactfully changing the subject. “So, little one. Tell me. Why are you down here braiding a beast's hair instead of safely in bed with your mates?”
I consider making something up, but there's no reason to. Dravik won't judge me for being too scared to sleep after a nightmare. He would never make me feel small like that.
“I, um… had a bad nightmare. I couldn’t go back to sleep, and figured coming down to the baths might help calm my nerves.”
His jaw tightens, the teasing edge from a moment ago replaced with concern.
"What did you see?" he asks.
I shake my head. "I don't really want to talk about it."
Dravik doesn’t push. He nods, silent, shifting his hand to my knee where his thumb traces slow, gentle circles. His touch is like wildfire, filling my head with a loud whooshing as my heart rages against its cage.
His hand doesn't stop at my knee. It drifts higher, slow enough that I could stop him if I wanted to—but I don’t. I can’t.
His fingers trace the inside of my thigh, gliding higher until they stop just a few inches away from where I actually want him. A whimper tumbles from my mouth, and I try to shift closer, but he holds them just out of reach.
“Is it helping?” he asks, his voice low. “Being here? With me?”
He looks up from his lashes, and my breath catches in my chest. He looks hungry. He looks mad.
“I don’t know.” My heart thuds in my ears. “I’m not exactly calm right now…”
“What are you then, Willow?” He presses up, his lips brushing my ear. “Do you want me? As much as I want you?”
“Yes,” I breathe, the word escaping before I can second-guess it. “Yes, I do.”
His control snaps. Dravik pulls back for a heartbeat, then his mouth is on mine. Fire pulses through my veins as he kisses me, and I lose myself in his touch and the feel of his lips working with mine.
I reach up, fisting his horns and using them as leverage to pull him down, needing more, needing everything he can give me. Dravik groans against my mouth, and his teeth find my bottom lip, giving it a gentle nip before his tongue slides over the area, soothing the ache.
Dravik's hand slides up my spine, fingers splayed wide, and he pulls me flush against his chest, letting out another moan at the feel of my breasts pressed against him. “Gods, you’re perfect,” he growls. “So fucking perfect.”
We break away, and Dravik presses his forehead to mine, panting hard. I tip my head back, softly kissing the tip of his nose, and his eyes flare bright at the small gesture, the veins at the side of his neck flaring. “Gods, Willow… we shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t what?” I ask, nipping the same spot on his nose I just kissed.
He groans, low and rough, his body shuddering with the effort to hold on to his control. “I should get you back to bed. You need rest.”
“What if I’m not tired?” I look up at him beneath my lashes, and he swallows hard, his gaze flicking from orange to black.
“I should get you to bed anyway.”
We stare at each other for a long beat, neither of us making a move to close the distance or lean back from it. The muscle in his jaw twitches, and I watch his expression change the moment he decides to break.
“Fuck it.”
He closes the distance with another bruising kiss that steals my breath.
Somehow, I don’t think I’m getting any sleep tonight.