Chapter 22
ELAINA
Xaren carries me through the echoing halls of the Citadel, his arms hard and sure around me. I can feel his fury in the tightness of his muscles, the way his heartbeat hammers against my cheek. The air around him feels alive—too hot, too charged—his Drake must be close to the surface.
The thought should frighten me—he carries a huge, unpredictable beast bigger than a house hidden inside him—one that can breathe fire.
But I know his anger isn’t directed at me.
So the menacing presence has the odd effect of making me feel safe.
No one in their right mind would come after me now—not when I’m in the arms of such a fierce protector.
We get curious stares from the Nobles we pass.
The servants and guards are smart enough to keep from gawking.
I’m sure we’re providing all kinds of grist for the rumor mill that the upper-class lives for here in the Citadel, but at the moment, I don’t even care.
I just want to get somewhere private where I can tend my wounds.
Xaren must think the same, because he takes me straight to his rooms. He says nothing as we descend the stone stairs into the lower keep.
Only when we reach his chamber—his sanctuary carved from black marble and shadow—does he stop.
The door closes behind us with a low thud that seems to shut out the world.
Without a word, he takes me straight to the bathing room.
Steam curls from the deep marble tub as he opens the golden taps and begins to draw a bath.
The water glitters in the witch light, filling the chamber with warmth and the scent of mineral salts, which he adds from a jar which sits on the edge of the tub.
They smell of something darkly sweet—myrrh, maybe.
I hope they won’t make the water sting too much—my legs already feel like raw meat.
Xaren sits me on the edge of the tub.
“Are you all right, little dove?” he asks softly, crouching in front of me. His voice is rough but careful. “What exactly happened?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, my throat tight. “I was going riding and Dorian just… appeared. I think he must have been waiting for me.”
The words catch in my throat as I remember how startled I was—how frightened. I press my lips together, but the tears still come.
“Hey.” Xaren’s tone softens. “It’s all right now, sweetheart. I’m here—I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” He shakes his head, his hand gentle against my knee. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. I should have killed him.”
His eyes flash a murderous gold.
“You can’t kill your own brother,” I object. “You’d be banished from the Kingdom or worse.”
He sighs.
“Like as not, you’re right. I just wish I’d gotten to you sooner.”
“How could you know what he would do?” I manage between sniffles. “And for that matter, how did you even happen to be there at all? Did you hear my screaming?”
He shakes his head.
“I was in here—I couldn’t have heard you no matter how hard you screamed.”
“Then how—?”
“My Drake gave me a warning,” he says, frowning. “He felt you were in trouble.”
I blink through my tears.
“Really? But how could he possibly know that?”
“I told you—he wants you. He’s attuned to you now. Especially after last night.”
Something warm flutters in my chest, but before I can ask more, the tub is full. He tests the water, then turns back to me.
“Come on,” he murmurs. He helps me out of the torn remains of my riding dress.
The fabric sticks to the dried blood on my thighs and I give a little gasp.
Xaren winces in sympathy as he eases it away, careful not to hurt me more than I already am.
When I’m bare, he lifts me gently and lowers me into the bath.
The water stings my raw legs at first—sharp and biting—but then the heat seeps in, soothing the worst of the ache and I feel the healing properties of the salts he put in the water. I hiss under my breath and sink deeper, trying to relax.
Xaren stays beside the tub, sleeves rolled up, focused only on me. He takes a soft sponge and begins to clean the deep gouges that mar my skin. Each touch is gentle, almost reverent. He doesn’t flinch at the sight of the wounds—he simply works until I’m all cleaned up.
When he’s done, he lifts me from the tub and wraps me in a thick towel. His arms are steady, but there’s still tension coiled beneath his calm—anger he’s keeping leashed for my sake. Seeing what was done to me has really affected him.
I look down at myself dismally and feel affected as well. My thighs are a mess of deep gouges and cuts, red and angry. Now that I’m out of the soothing water, they sting fiercely.
I can’t help wondering, how long will they take to heal?
As if reading my thoughts, Xaren says quietly,
“I can heal those for you, little dove—if you’ll let me. The same way you healed my wounds yesterday.”
I glance up at him uncertainly as I remember the way I healed him.
“Um… are you going to cry on me?” I ask. His eyes don’t look to be full of tears—more like they’re full of rage at what was done to me. But when I ask if he’s going to cry on me, a faint, grim smile touches his mouth.
“No, little dove—since my kidnapping, I have no tears left. However, my Drake recognizes you as our mate, so I can use his power to heal your thighs the same way I healed your finger.”
I remember his mouth closing over my fingertip after I’d pierced it with the burr and the small spark of heat as the pain vanished. Realization dawns, and my face warms.
“Do you mean you want to… lick me? There?” I nod down at my inner thighs. I know from speaking to my married sisters that no man would willingly put his head down near his wife’s private parts. That’s considered beneath them.
But Xaren nods.
“Yes,” he says simply. “Will you let me heal you?”
I tell myself he only means the wounds. Just my thighs. Not there—not between them.
“Well, if…if you really want to,” I falter.
“Of course I do.” His voice is steady and low as he meets my eyes. “You’re my wife. My mate. I need to take care of you.”
His sincerity undoes me. I can tell that this desire to take care of me actually is a need—not just a want. He feels deeply protective of me—or maybe his Drake does. Either way, it causes a warm glow to grow in my chest.
“All right,” I whisper. “How do you want to do it?”
“Just stand there,” he murmurs, “And open your towel.”
My pulse quickens, but I do as he asks. The towel falls open, and cool air brushes my skin. My nipples tighten at once and I have to stop myself from closing the towel again.
Xaren kneels before me on the marble floor, his dark head bowed as though he’s considering where to start.
The first touch of his mouth is a shock—warm and soft, followed by a shimmer of heat that sinks into me and blooms outward.
He’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to my wounds and wherever he kisses, the pain fades.
The raw, stinging cuts melt into warmth, replaced by a strange, tingling pleasure that coils low in my belly.
He’s only healing you, I tell myself. That’s all this is—just healing.
But my breath still catches when his cheek brushes the inside of my thigh. The marble beneath my feet feels cold compared to the heat rising inside me.
When he looks up at last, his eyes are half-lidded, both of them golden and glowing. I wonder hazily if his Drake is coming forward somehow—sharing in this experience as Xaren heals me.
“Spread your thighs for me, little dove,” he murmurs. “Let me heal you more.”
The sound of his voice curls through me like smoke and I tremble.
“More?” I look down at my thighs. All the wounds and gouges from the thorns are gone now—my skin is smooth again. “But…I’m already healed.”
“No, you need deeper healing,” he insists and his eyes are half-lidded as he looks up at me. “I can feel your need.”
“I…are you sure you want to…to do that?” I’m still not sure what he intends. I know he doesn’t want to put his mouth on me there—no man would do that, even for his wife. Would he?
“Let me show you how much I want to,” he growls.
Then he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me into the bedchamber.