Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Luke woke slowly, aware first of warmth and then of the heavy arm around his waist.
Memory returned in pieces. The warehouse.
Connal injured. Gomez brought into the Unseelie with two broken legs and healed by magic.
Pixies taking over the neighboring chamber.
Luke agreeing to sleep in Connal’s bed because the alternative was an oversized chair and even he wasn’t stubborn enough to pretend that sounded comfortable.
He remembered leaving space between them.
That space was gone.
Luke had somehow ended up half on top of Connal, one leg caught between his and his head resting against the broad span of his chest. Connal’s arm held him securely in place, his hand spread across Luke’s lower back.
Okay. That was new.
Luke lay still while he took stock of the situation. His bruises protested when he breathed too deeply, and his injured hand throbbed beneath its bandage, but nothing felt worse than it had the night before.
Beneath his cheek, Connal’s heartbeat was slow and steady.
Luke lifted his head enough to study him.
Sleep had eased the severity from Connal’s face. His hair had come loose during the night, and the collar of his tunic had fallen open, revealing more of his chest than Luke had seen before. Apparently even asleep, Luke had been curious enough to put one hand there.
His palm rested against warm skin.
Luke should move it.
He didn’t.
The faint pull he’d felt since meeting Connal remained quiet beneath his ribs. Luke still didn’t understand the bond or what it expected from him, but he could no longer pretend it was something only Connal experienced.
The thought should have unsettled him more than it did.
Luke gave himself another moment before concern pushed through the warmth.
Gomez.
Carefully, he eased his hand from Connal’s chest and began untangling their legs. Connal’s arm loosened immediately, allowing him to sit up.
“Where are you going?” Connal said without opening his eyes.
Luke looked down at him. “Were you awake?”
“I am now.”
“That was a suspiciously fast answer.”
Connal opened his eyes. “You were leaving.”
“I’m checking on Gomez.”
Connal’s expression tightened briefly, but he did not reach for Luke or tell him to remain.
“Avaneel came shortly after dawn,” he said. “Gomez slept through the night. He woke demanding food and an explanation for why the flowers above his bed had begun singing.”
Luke paused. “The flowers really sing?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They are pixie flowers.”
Apparently that explained everything.
Luke swung his feet to the floor. “I still need to see him.”
Connal pushed himself upright. “Then go.”
The easy answer caught Luke off guard. Yesterday, Connal would have insisted upon accompanying him—or simply declared that Luke wasn’t leaving at all.
Now he waited.
Luke crossed to the door and entered the corridor. The neighboring chamber stood open, allowing a flood of pixie voices to spill into the hall. He moved close enough to look inside.
Gomez sat propped in the middle of his mountain of pillows, holding court beneath the flowering tree.
A tray rested across his lap while half a dozen pixies competed to offer him increasingly elaborate breakfast choices.
Cosmo lounged in a chair beside the bed, watching the spectacle with open delight.
“And this one has what inside it?” Gomez asked.
“Honey, cream, and moonberries,” a pixie answered.
Gomez pressed one hand to his chest. “You understand me in ways no one else ever has.”
Avaneel noticed Luke at the door. She smiled and gave him a solemn nod, as if confirming that the situation remained under control.
Luke believed her.
He returned to Connal’s chamber without announcing himself. Luke would speak with Gomez soon enough. For the moment, his friend was safe, comfortable, and surrounded by creatures determined to satisfy his every whim.
Connal sat on the edge of the bed where Luke had left him.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“For now.”
Luke closed the door and leaned against it. With the urgency gone, he became acutely aware that he still wore yesterday’s clothes. Smoke, concrete dust, and dried blood clung to him despite the healer’s work.
Connal’s clothing was equally rumpled. The open collar Luke had noticed upon waking had slipped farther to one side, exposing the hard line of his shoulder.
Luke’s gaze lingered.
Connal noticed.
The air between them changed.
Luke cleared his throat. “I need to get cleaned up.”
Connal’s attention remained fixed on him. “There is a bathing chamber through that door.”
Luke followed his gesture toward an arched doorway he hadn’t noticed the night before.
Then he looked back at Connal.
“Show me.”
Connal rose more carefully this time and crossed to the arched doorway. It opened at his approach, revealing a chamber lined with dark stone and thick vines. Steam drifted through the air, carrying the clean scent of rain.
Luke followed him inside.
A broad circle had been carved into the floor, shallow at the edges before deepening toward the center.
Above it, water fell from the stone ceiling in a warm, steady curtain even though there were no pipes or fixtures anywhere in sight.
The water disappeared through narrow channels around the basin and returned without flooding the room.
Luke stared upward. “You have a shower.”
Connal looked at the falling water. “It is a bathing chamber.”
“It’s water falling from above. That’s a shower.”
“If you say so.”
Luke stepped closer and held his hand beneath the stream. The temperature adjusted immediately, warming against his skin. “Did it just do that by itself?”
“The chamber responds to whoever enters.”
“Magic has made your people incredibly lazy.” Luke glanced over his shoulder and grinned.
Connal smirked. “You travel between floors inside metal boxes. And don’t get me started on the moving staircases.”
“Fair point.”
Connal moved toward a low stone shelf where towels and glass containers waited. He indicated several of them in turn. “These will clean the blood from your clothing. Those are for your skin and hair. The blue vessel contains—”
“Connal.”
He stopped.
“Where are you going?”
“You wished to bathe.”
“I told you to show me.”
“I have.”
Luke stared at him. Connal’s expression remained controlled, but the desire in his eyes made the restraint almost painful to watch.
“You’re really going to make me spell this out?” Luke asked.
“I will not presume.”
The answer extinguished the last of Luke’s hesitation.
“Good.” He stepped closer. “Don’t presume. Ask.”
Connal’s gaze searched his face. “Do you want me to remain?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to touch you?”
Luke’s pulse accelerated. “Yes.”
Connal closed the remaining distance but did not reach for him yet. “How?”
Luke hadn’t expected the question to affect him quite so strongly. No one had ever looked at him as if the answer mattered this much.
“I don’t know yet. I want to find out.”
Some of the rigid control left Connal’s shoulders. “Then we will.”
Luke reached for the open collar of Connal’s tunic. “Any lingering damage I need to know about before I take this off?”
“I am healed.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Connal considered him for a moment. “My strength has not fully returned. Nothing you do will injure me.”
“Tell me if that changes.”
“I will.”
Luke loosened the first fastening, then the next. Connal held himself still beneath his hands.
The fabric parted slowly, revealing smooth golden skin stretched over heavy muscle. A scar crossed one side of Connal’s chest, pale and old, with another disappearing beneath the remaining fabric near his ribs. Luke brushed his fingers over the first one.
Connal inhaled sharply.
“Does that hurt?”
“No.”
Luke traced the scar again. “Good.”
He pushed the tunic from Connal’s shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving Luke free to look his fill.
Connal was built like someone who had spent centuries carrying weapons and using them.
Scars marked his chest, stomach, and arms, each one evidence that even a fae warrior could bleed.
Luke wanted to know where they had come from.
He wanted to know whether Connal’s skin felt this warm everywhere and whether the hard lines of his body would soften beneath Luke’s hands.
For now, he settled for running his palm down the center of Connal’s chest.
“Is this what you meant by learning the differences between us?” Connal asked.
Luke looked up. “I’m conducting important research.”
“And what have you learned?”
“That you wear too many clothes.”
Connal’s mouth curved.
Luke reached for the fastening at Connal’s waist, but Connal caught his hand gently before he touched it.
“May I undress you?” Connal asked.
The careful question sent heat through Luke more effectively than any demand could have.
“Yes.”
Connal released him and reached for the hem of Luke’s shirt. He drew it upward slowly, pausing when Luke lifted his injured hand awkwardly over his head. Once the shirt was gone, Connal’s attention settled on the bruises crossing Luke’s ribs.
His expression hardened.
“Don’t,” Luke said.
“They hurt you.”
“And you nearly collapsed breaking me out of their trap. We can compare bad decisions later.”
“I do not consider saving you a bad decision.”
Luke touched the fading blood near Connal’s temple. “Neither do I.”
Something changed in Connal’s face. The fierce possessiveness remained, but tenderness moved beneath it now, quiet and almost uncertain. He touched Luke’s ribs with extraordinary care. “You are fragile here.”
“I’m human. That doesn’t make me fragile.”
“No,” Connal agreed. “It makes you precious.”
Luke’s breath caught.
He covered Connal’s hand with his own, then kissed him.
Connal answered immediately, one arm settling around Luke’s waist while the other curved behind his neck. The kiss deepened as Luke explored the shape of Connal’s mouth.
It wasn’t enough.
Or was it too much?