Chapter Four #2
Windswept hair, tear-stained cheeks, dark purple smudges under my tired eyes, bloodied camisole and hands…
Ryc appears in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame. He undoes the first few buttons of his shirt before undoing his cuffs. As I snag a hand towel from its hook and flick on the faucet, he watches me in the mirror with a small smile on his face.
Gods, he’s beautiful.
“I’ll have Oraphia bring you what you need come morning,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.
I nod, remaining silent as I carefully wash the blood from the creature’s feathers.
“What happened to it?” Ryc asks.
“I’m trying to figure that out,” I answer, turning the raven over in my hands. “It was being attacked by crows when I stepped outside.”
I pause, staring at the gashes on its back, between its wings.
They’re deep and jagged, scoring the flesh more severely than any crow could. Moving some of the feathers aside, there are three near identical wounds. Ryc notices the same and his brows furrow.
“Crows couldn’t have done that.”
He’s right.
This looks like the work of talons.
Werewolves, vampires, wraiths… they would be capable of injuries like this. But… there are no such creatures within the city. The bird wasn’t injured when I saw it earlier in the day. And traveling with wounds like these… it wouldn’t have been able to for any distance.
“Did you see where it came from?” he asks, leaning closer to inspect the creature.
He must have the same thoughts.
“No, not really,” I reply. “Possibly from the west? Over the courtyard.”
With a low hum, Ryc flattens his lips into a tight line as he continues to stare.
“I’ll tighten patrols in the city just in case,” he replies.
Reaching, he gently strokes the raven’s wing.
“A pity,” he says. “It would have been beautiful to see in flight.”
“Agreed.” No chance of that now.
Washing away the last of the crimson, I wrap the raven in the hand towel, tucking it tight in the fluffy fabric. Again, I meet Ryc’s watchful eyes in the mirror.
“You should sleep.” I give him a hint of a smile. “You’re a busy Sovereign King these days.”
With a chuckle, he leans close, kissing my temple.
“Don’t remind me,” he murmurs with a smile.
His golden gaze follows me as I cross the bathing room, reaching the shelving on the far wall. Pulling the small wicker basket filled with rolled washcloths, I swing it over the tub and unceremoniously dump them.
Ryc’s brows shoot high. “Oraphia is going to love that.”
I smirk. The human woman assigned as my personal attendant holds no fear of the Sovereign King.
“She’ll understand,” I reply. “The raven needs a place to rest for the night. I can’t just leave it.”
He nods as I sweep past, entering the bedroom proper. With the raven placed safely in the basket, I set it upon the couch, bracing it against an arm with a pillow. This way the basket is less likely to be knocked.
It should be fine here for the night.
A tiny bundle of white, swaddled and sleeping beside the fire.
I’ll burn the corpse come morning.
Until then, one last night of comfort.
The sound of running water prompts me to lift my gaze to the bathing room door.
“What are you doing?” I call the question, straightening myself.
No answer.
Retracing my steps, I peer around the door frame in time to catch Ryc sinking into the steaming tub. My eyes linger on his muscled back with little shame. He peers over his shoulder, catching me in my ogling act.
The grin he gives me is damn near sinister.
He knows exactly what he’s doing—and gods I adore him for it.
“There’s room.” There’s no missing the sultry timbre of the words.
Desirous elation heats my blood and his roguish grin grows.
He enjoys teasing me, tempting me.
And I have to admit, I enjoy it too.
“Is there?” I ask, matching his tone as I approach. “Even with all the washcloths?”
He points toward the wall.
The washcloths sit stacked in a neat row upon the shelf. He moved them. Returned them to where they belong.
“Even with all the washcloths,” he counters, leaning back.
He places his arms along the ledge of the tub, granting me a decadent view of his sculpted shoulders, chest, and waist.
Of course, my eyes linger.
I lift my gaze, daring to meet his gilded stare—knowing the darkened shade of gold I’ll find.
His eyes remain locked with mine as I slip the straps of my bloodied camisole over my shoulders, letting the silk fall. It puddles around my feet and the warmth of his hand finds my hip.
“You are an absolute goddess,” his deep voice rings through our bond. “One I’m going to worship for eternity.”
My breathing shallows as he offers me his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. With no reservations, I take it, and step into the tub, sinking into the deliciously hot water. He pulls me against him, drawing my back to his chest as he curls around me.
Brushing my hair aside to bare a shoulder, he places a gentle kiss upon the nape of my neck, and I melt into his touch, the heat of his lips upon my skin.
“Does that mean you’ll protect me from Oraphia?” I ask, letting my head fall back against his shoulder.
He chuckles, tracing his lips with a featherlight touch dangerously close to the place I’d once been bitten by a vampire. A sharp shiver races down my neck.
“Everyone needs protection from her,” he muses, and I can’t help but laugh. “Except you.” He curls his arms around my waist, drawing me tight. “She likes you.”
“Of course she does.” I braid my fingers into his, taking firm hold. “Anyone with decent taste likes me.”
Ryc laughs, a deep, soft sound. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”
I leave a soft, lingering kiss against his jaw. “May it be the only nice thing I say to you, nyraphim.”
He laughs again as I nip at him. “Indeed, demon,” he smiles.
These last few months have been filled with acclimation and change, that’s for certain. But this… this between us—it’s remained easy, known, comfortable. Despite everything else, we’ve begun building a world together. A world that’s safe and full of love and light.
The kind of world I’d fight the gods for.
Damn the council.
Damn Vaelyn.
Damn everything and anyone that would dare stand in the way of this.
Selfishly, and most certainly foolishly, I’ve grown obsessed and addicted. Ryc has become a cornerstone of my life here, and I don’t want to imagine it without him.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” Ryc says, his voice low. “Meet me in the north lawn. I have a bit of time between meetings and I’d like to see you.”
The heat of the water, having seeped into my very bones, pulls a tired, yet contented sigh from me. “Of course, my light,” I reply, unsurprised by the drowsy sound of my voice.
A quiet, amused chuckle rumbles in his chest.
“Rest, little death,” he encourages. His voice runs over my skin like pure molten gold, sending a slow shiver down my spine.
“Can’t,” I attempt to argue with a tiny, weak shake of my head. “The raven.”
I’ve left it upon the couch.
“It will be fine for one night,” he says and I rest my brow against his jaw. “You’ll see it tomorrow.”
My eyes close, becoming too heavy to open again. Sleep is always easier to find when he’s near. The feel and scent of him have become comfortable and secure.
Unable to form words, I respond with a low, agreeing ‘hmm’ as sleep’s grip tightens.
“I’m going to enjoy spending eternity with you,” he whispers, shifting to place a kiss against my brow.
Yes, eternity.
Nothing less will do.