Chapter 81 – Quinton
QUINTON
Azaria lay sprawled on top of me, her cheek pressed to my chest, her hair a tangle of gold against my skin. I could feel her heartbeat, slow and steady, matching the thrum of my own.
We’d been lying there for maybe thirty minutes. Time felt thick and slow. It didn't matter. The world had narrowed. Just her. Her weight. Her breath. The quiet. And then?—
My vision swam.
Fuck.
It hit me all at once: the crash, the suppression artifact still biting at my core, my body worn out, my nerves shot, every muscle trembling.
The argument, the rawness, the silence, the release, and now this flood of peace—all of it was too much.
I could feel myself slipping. Everything started going fuzzy.
I tried to grip her tighter, holding on, grounding myself in her skin. She noticed. Of course she did.
Her head lifted, bright blue eyes narrowing on me instantly. “What’s wrong?”
I forced a crooked grin. “Nothing. Just… maybe everything all at once.” My voice sounded thin, weaker than I wanted.
She shifted, propped herself up on her elbows so she could see me better, her hair falling around my face. I felt her studying me, searching for the truth I was too tired to hide.
“You look pale,” she murmured, her fingers brushing my cheek. “And don’t you dare say it’s nothing.”
I laughed, but it was more of a rasp. “I promised Elias I’d eat and rest before coming here. I was too impatient.”
She glared at me, but I saw the concern in her eyes. “Idiot.”
“Yeah,” I breathed, dragging a hand up to tangle in her hair. “But your idiot.”
She let out a shaky sigh, the fight in her eyes fading into something softer.
“It’s all right. I’ll look after you.”
I felt like a fool, sprawled naked on Azaria’s floor, but I didn’t care. Not when she touched me like that. Not when she looked at me, not with pity or judgment, but with that healer’s focus I’d only seen her give to others.
“Come, sit up,” she murmured.
Her arms wrapped around mine, guiding me. My muscles were jelly, my limbs slow to obey, but I let her take over. I’d have let her do anything just then. I managed to sit up, every movement making my head swim.
“Sit back against the wall.”
She guided me backward until my shoulders hit the plaster. The cool surface helped. Marginally.
“I’m making you a bath, Quin. Wait here.”
A bath? Gods, I was too tired to argue. I just nodded, let my head drop back, and listened to the water run, to the clink of bottles, the soft scrape of her feet on the floor.
She came back, hair tied back up, all business. She slipped the shirt back on, but it was barely buttoned. The collar was wide open; the hem barely reaching her thighs. Somehow, that was worse than naked.
“Come,” she said, soft as a lullaby. “Let’s get you up.”
Her arm slipped under mine. I stood, swaying, naked as the day I was born, and let her half-carry, half-drag me up the stairs.
“You know,” I rasped, “being hauled upstairs like a corpse wasn’t quite the image I had in mind.”
“You’re heavier than a corpse,” she said. “And corpses don’t complain.”
“Fair point.”
I should’ve been embarrassed. I wasn’t. I just felt safe. Like she was the only person in the world I’d trust to see me like this.
The bath was steaming, herbal scents curling up: mint and something earthy. Rosemary, maybe. The smell filled my lungs and cleared my head.
“I added some rejuvenation salts,” she said, helping me lower myself in. “It’ll help.”
The heat was almost too much, but I sank into it anyway, letting it burn away the ache.
I groaned, letting myself sink deeper. She climbed in after me and washed me.
Just careful movements, wiping the sweat and dirt from my face, my neck, my arms, my stomach.
Then down to my hips, over my thighs. She even cleaned my cock.
Her touch was gentle and practical, but my body still reacted.
She laughed, low and warm. “I think that’s enough of that for tonight.”
I blushed—hells, I actually blushed. “Can’t help it,” I croaked.
She just shook her head, all fond exasperation. “Can you turn for me?”
I did. Let her scrub my back, work her knuckles into the knots at my shoulders, fingers careful but strong.
She asked me to duck under, and I did. Water spilled over my ears as I soaked my hair fully.
She lathered soap into my scalp. Her hands were rough from sword work, callused, but gentle when she washed my hair.
Stars above, that felt so good I could have purred.
I might have. When she rinsed me, I almost drifted off.
When she finished, I turned, caught her around the waist, and pulled her back into the water, not caring that it splashed over the edge, not caring that she gasped and laughed and nearly scolded me for completely soaking her.
Her back was against my chest. Her skin, warm and soft, pressed against mine. My arms wrapped around her middle, holding her tight. I dropped my head to her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her—soap, salt, something uniquely her.
“Now I feel better,” I murmured, lips brushing her damp skin.
She turned, nuzzled my cheek, her breath warm on my jaw. I could have died in that moment.
Gods, I was a mess. My body was still shaking, nerves raw, but for once I wasn’t angry. I wasn't scared. I was just here with her.
I let myself drift, my arms wrapped around her, the scent of sharp herbs curling around my face, and the solid weight of Azaria pressed against my chest. Every part of me was tired. But here?
Peace.
For the first time in weeks, my blood magic wasn’t clawing for attention. It just was—settled, content, finally sated.
“Let’s go to bed, Quin. The water’s getting cold.”
I didn’t want to move. But she was already shifting, rising from the water, so I followed, because I’d follow her anywhere.
She climbed out first, water slipping down her skin in rivulets, catching the firelight on her thighs and hips. She wrapped herself in a towel; the fabric clinging as she turned back to me, extending a hand.
“Come on,” she coaxed, and I let her pull me up. I felt about as graceful as a newborn foal, but she didn’t laugh. Just steadied me as I clambered out, dripping everywhere.
“Sit on the edge for a moment,” she said, laying a towel down.
I sank down, let my knees fall open, and watched as she dried me.
She started with my hair, her fingers working through the tangles, then moved to my shoulders and chest before drying down my arms. She didn’t miss a spot, didn’t rush.
I leaned into it, let her care. When she finished, she cupped my chin, her thumb brushing my jaw.
“Ready?” she asked, voice low.
I nodded. I was ready for anything, as long as it was with her. I wrapped my arms tight around her middle, soaking in the warmth through her towel, burying my face against her ribs. I didn’t care that we were both half-wet, dripping onto the tiles. I just held on.
Her arm circled my back, steady and strong. Her other hand tangled in my hair, stroking slow, gentle circles. My breathing slowed, matching hers.
I wasn’t going to let her go. Not tonight. Not after weeks of aching for this. I pressed my cheek to her stomach, letting the world narrow to the heat of her skin and the careful drag of her fingers through my hair.
She leaned down, lips brushing the crown of my head. “Come on,” she whispered.
I tightened my grip for just another heartbeat, reluctant, and then I finally let her guide me up, let her lead us toward the bedroom—still wrapped around her, still not ready to lose contact. If she minded, she didn’t say. She just kept her arm around me, steady as a lifeline.
She told me to lie down, and I obeyed, bone-deep tired now, muscles warm and loose from the bath and her hands.
I watched her disappear into the adjoining room, the towel and shirt slipping away, lamplight catching in her hair.
A moment later she reappeared, bare, with her hair loose in a simple braid and her eyes softer than I’d ever seen.
I shifted on the mattress, expecting to pull her into my arms, but she shook her head, a gentle smile curling at her lips. “Let me hold you this time.”
She opened her arms in an obvious invitation.
My throat tightened. But I nodded, shuffling down the bed until my head fit neatly beneath her chin, right against the warm curve of her chest. My right arm curled across her thigh, my palm moving in slow, lazy strokes over her smooth skin.
My left arm wrapped tight around her waist. Our legs tangled naturally, her calf hooked behind my knee.
I pressed my cheek to the softness of her breast and kissed the gentle slope, breathing her in. “Perfect,” I murmured.
Azaria chuckled, the sound vibrating against my ear. Her hand threaded through my hair, stroking slowly.
“Rest, Quin,” she whispered, thumb brushing the line of my temple. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“Azaria,” I murmured, voice already thick with sleep.
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
Her arms tightened around me. “Sleep, Quin.”
I tried to fight it. I did. Tried to hold on, to drag the moment out, to soak up every moment of her holding me; because I’d gone too long without this, too long craving it. But her touch was too gentle, too soothing, and the rhythm of her breath against my hair finally dragged me under.
I fell asleep tangled in her arms, with her heartbeat echoing through my dreams.