Chapter 29
On top of everything, I was deeply irritated with Zion because he could have simply taught me to raise barriers and protect my thoughts.
Instead, he’d let me believe it was dangerous to know about his scheme outside the forests, when in reality, he just didn’t want me to know because he thought it wasn’t safe.
He’d deceived me into thinking there was no other solution, denying me alternatives on a choice that should have been mine.
I was the one who should be choosing my own path, and raising mental barriers was essential to my independence.
I’d already tossed and turned a thousand times, kicked off the covers, fluffed the pillow, and still sleep wouldn’t come.
I was trying to count sheep when I saw the barrier shimmer blue around the room and heard a door close at the end of the hallway.
He’d finally returned, and I sat up in bed, barely able to contain my nervousness.
I waited in silence to see if he would come to me, but ten minutes passed and nothing.
So I got up, stomping, and while the chimera’s eyes went wide near the glass wall, I grabbed a robe to cover my short nightgown and headed into the hallway.
Without bothering to ask if I could enter, I flung open the door to Zion’s room, ready to interrogate him, but I stopped the moment I saw him.
He was submerged in the bathtub at the far right of the room, staring at the opposite wall with a devastated expression.
I took in the scene, somewhat shocked. The water was reddish, hiding everything from his waist down, and the pungent smell of blood had become oppressive.
Not his blood—other people’s. Countless scents rose from that water.
His hair was stiff and matted with the red liquid, a cut slashed across his cheek, and his hands, hanging over the edge of the tub, were raw, as if he’d punched things until his skin couldn’t regenerate on its own.
Only then, looking at him, did I realize that beyond my anger, I was also relieved.
Immensely relieved that he was okay, even though his eyes showed a fragility I’d never seen before.
That alone was enough to make me forget my irritation—any confrontation could wait until tomorrow when his face showed so much suffering.
“What happened?” I asked quietly, feeling bad for invading his privacy like this. Shadows crossed his eyes, which immediately dropped to the red water. Pain and loss—I knew that look. It was the twin of my own when I woke from nightmares about the past.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk,” I murmured softly. “I’m going to stay by your side, okay?”
He didn’t respond, and I approached slowly.
I sat beside the bathtub on a white marble step lined with bath products.
Silence settled over us for a long time as my gaze scanned his body.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak, made no effort to wash the dried blood from his hair. So I reached for a bottle of shampoo.
“I’m going to wash your hair, okay?” I asked gently.
Nothing was okay, and I would understand if he didn’t want me there, but I wasn’t going to leave.
Since Zion didn’t respond, I moved closer, kneeling behind him.
I put my hand in the water—it was ice cold.
Cupping my hands, I poured water over his hair to soften the dried blood, and the tub turned even redder.
I squeezed shampoo into my palms and worked it through his hair.
I massaged carefully, slowly, so it wouldn’t run down his face.
Then I rinsed with the dirty water, wondering if I was cleaning him or making things worse.
“Zion, I’m going to drain this and refill it with clean water.”
Once again, there was no response, so I shifted toward his feet, where the drain was.
I reached into the tub, sinking my arms up to my elbows, and pulled the plug.
The water began to drain, and I moved back to his head.
I applied another layer of shampoo and kept washing until all the water had drained away.
I avoided looking at his body—it felt wrong at a moment like this.
I turned the water back on and plugged the drain.
He was still dirty; the cuts on his face were caked with dirt and only the gods knew what else.
I knelt at the side, facing him, and this time I didn’t ask permission—I just kept working.
I tossed bath salts into the filling water, and soon foam rose to cover his nudity.
I gently cleaned his face, then moved down to his neck, caressed his pointed ears, and discovered cuts there too.
I dared to continue down to his broad, muscular chest. I cleaned everything: shoulders, arms, hands.
From the waist up, he would be clean. I went back to rinse his hair, and when my face came level with his, I found him watching me.
“Most of the squad died tonight.”
I heard the lifelessness in his words, and a bitter, painful sensation spread through my chest. I held his gaze and found myself at a loss for what to say to comfort him.
“I didn’t get there in time and only managed to pull twenty soldiers out.
By the time I reached them, most were already dead.
” Zion looked away, uncomfortable with the confession.
“The few I rescued aren’t doing well. Some might not make it through the night.
Five of them will probably be dead before sunrise. ”
His voice was choked, but I kept rinsing, focusing on keeping contact with him, letting him know through touch that I was there. I wanted to be his anchor that night—he just needed to let me.
“It wasn’t your fault, Zion. Without you, those soldiers wouldn’t have survived. You’re not to blame for what happened to the others,” I whispered, looking him in the eyes.
He met my gaze, an ocean of sadness churning in his eyes. I reached out and touched his wounded cheek. He leaned into my palm, and I flooded him with my power. The wounds vanished quickly, and Zion gasped in surprise.
“You didn't have to do that.” He held my hand in his, as if asking me to stop. “You shouldn't even be here seeing this.”
“I don't need to, but I want to,” I murmured, raising my free hand to caress his face while gazing into those endless heterochromatic eyes.
“You fought for them, saved everyone you could.
It's all right now—the doctors at the border will do their best to keep the wounded alive. Let me stay with you tonight.”
At the mention of the hospital and the wounded, Zion fell quiet and slipped back into his catatonic state. I got up and grabbed two towels, wrapping one around his hair. Then I held the other towel open.
“Come on, get out of that water. We need to sleep.”
He looked at me with surprise, as if he'd never expected anything like this. A knot formed in my throat.
“Come on, big guy. We're spooning tonight,” I teased, trying to coax him out of the water.
He didn't smile at the joke. Instead, he frowned, and the air grew heavy—though not as heavy as his utterly masculine scent filling every inch of the room.
Then Zion gripped the edges of the tub and stood, his gaze still distant.
I closed my eyes, but I wasn't fast enough—or maybe I didn't want to be.
As he rose, my brain registered the chiseled muscles of his abdomen, the V near his hips, and his hard cock emerging from the water.
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to say or do anything.
I stood frozen, because this wasn't the time to think about these things.
It wasn't the time, it wasn't the time. But my mind betrayed me.
Infernal depths. It was big.
It was also thick and beautifully shaped, flushed the same color as my cheeks. Long like the minutes that stretched as he walked toward me while I stood paralyzed, unable to react. My veins pulsed in sync with his, but I couldn't... I couldn't think. Depths, I definitely couldn't think.
I felt the towel slip from my hands as I kept my eyes squeezed shut.
“My bed or yours?” Zion asked, heading toward the closet.
My cheeks heated. I opened my eyes and stared at his back.
When he walked, his muscles flexed, and—glory—it was beautiful.
All of him left me breathless, especially those broad shoulders and that rounded backside sculpted by years of military training.
I knew I shouldn't be thinking about these things, not when he was this broken, but the lust from the bond was beyond reason.
I inhaled and exhaled, clearing my mind.
I'm an anchor! Not a storm, I reminded myself.
While he changed, I went to the bathroom.
There was an air freshener on the sink. I shook the bottle and held it like a weapon, then sprayed the blessed thing throughout the room to cover my own scent, which was rolling off me in waves.
Even embarrassed by the situation, I felt my whole body pulsing—like a magnetic field pulling me directly toward him.
My thoughts wouldn't stop racing to what it would be like to press my body against his.
To avoid doing something inappropriate, I locked myself in the bathroom and paced back and forth, reciting every bone in the human body to distract myself from thoughts of his.
After a few minutes, with my mind calmer and the artificial floral scent irritating my senses, I'd calmed down enough not to seem like a sex maniac.
Then I opened the bathroom door, trying to keep my expression neutral.
Zion, now dressed, had left the closet and was sitting on the edge of the bed.
He was sneezing, sniffing the air, but for the first time that night, his eyes had returned to normal.
“What is this, Kyller?” Another sneeze.
“Um... nothing...” I stumbled over my words. That's when I realized I was still holding the spray, and I hid it behind my back. “The smell was very... um... intense.”
He looked at me tiredly, his expression exhausted, but from the furrowed brow, I'd say he was curious. Curiosity was definitely better than that distant look.
“You don't have to be embarrassed about using my bathroom.”
I blinked a few times, processing his words, then looked at the open door I'd just come through after hiding for about five minutes. I started waving my hands and shaking my head as my cheeks flushed even deeper.
“No, that's not it, I...” I what? Sprayed air freshener all over the room because I was aroused like a bitch in heat? No! It was definitely better to let him think I'd been using the toilet. “Anyway, it doesn't matter. Let's go to my room.”
I set the spray—which I still hadn't let go of—on the edge of the tub and pulled him by the hand, dragging him out the door. When I opened my bedroom door, Kiara was watching us with interest, sniffing the air. It was as if she knew what had happened, and I'd bet she was judging me.
We lay down on the bed and he immediately turned away from me, facing the night outside, illuminated by the pale light of the full moon.
Sadness flooded the partnership bond, and I felt an echo of the pain in his chest. Unable to hold back, I moved closer, pressing my body against his back.
Since I was small, I could only cover half of him.
He stayed motionless for a while, but slowly relaxed against me—a good sign.
Minutes later, the salty scent of tears reached me, and I hugged him tighter.
“I'm here, Zion,” I whispered in his ear, snuggling closer and sliding a hand over his shoulders, down his biceps and forearms until I found his hands. He intertwined our fingers himself—the thick calluses scratching my skin, but I liked the feeling.
“Thank you for staying,” he whispered, his voice sleepy.
“I'll always be right here.”
After a while, his breathing deepened, and I let myself drift off too.