Chapter Twenty-five
Twenty-five
Corabeth
Corabeth stood naked in front of the mirror and tried to recognize her own face beneath the dried blood.
Even her eyes seemed strangely dark as she stared back at herself.
Somewhere in the softly lit bathroom behind her, Rooke was filling the large copper bath with steaming water.
The soft gurgle of water filled the room, the sweet scents of bath oils wafted in the air, and Corabeth was bloody from her cheeks to her breasts.
“The bath is ready,” Rooke said from behind her. When she turned to look at his equally naked form, her eyes caught on the crimson streaked across him—a reflection of herself, in more ways than one.
Rooke reached out a hand. Corabeth took it, stepped into the bath, and lowered herself into the water that was hot enough to make her feel as if fire had erupted all across her chilled skin. Then Rooke climbed in himself and sat across from her.
With a cupped hand, he began gently pouring water over Corabeth’s shoulders, chest, and cheeks. The water that ran off her was stained crimson and created a cloud of pink around her.
When Rooke was finished with Corabeth, he turned his attention to himself, washing off the traces of their crime. By the time he was finished, the bathwater around them had turned opaque.
For a long time, the room was silent, save for the occasional dribble of water, a strange kind of distance yawning between them.
Corabeth pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her cheek on her knee. Across from her, Rooke was silent but tense, watchful eyes never leaving her.
Corabeth sighed. “Are we too far gone?” she finally asked without moving.
“In what sense?” Rooke asked in return and tilted his head.
Corabeth shrugged. “Our humanity.”
Rooke had no answer. His lowered gaze became distant as he stared into the bathwater.
“Are you having regrets?” he finally asked.
Corabeth lifted her head. “No,” she said and shook her head, “Not regrets.”
Both of them could sense that something unsaid was left hanging in the air between them.
Corabeth took Rooke’s hand that was resting on the side of the tub into her own hands, admiring how large and strong they were. How much they had already done for her. It was beginning to terrify her how much more they might do.
“Where are the limits of what you won’t do for me?” she asked finally, lifting her gaze to meet Rooke’s.
Rooke considered the question for a moment before answering. "Where are the limits of what you won’t ask of me?”
Corabeth swallowed hard, letting their fingers intertwine in the warmth of the bathwater. “I’m starting to scare myself,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “One of us should have those limits, and I don’t know if I have them anymore.”
Rooke regarded her for a long while. Corabeth did nothing to hide her turmoil, her desperate attempts to grab at some remnants of morality.
“You wouldn’t ask me to kill innocents,” Rooke said, his voice low and sure. So sure, Corabeth almost believed him.
“If you were starving, I wouldn’t object,” she said, “For you, I wouldn’t.”
Rooke pulled on her hand, gliding Corabeth’s body through the water until she was on his lap, her side pressed to his chest. “We’ll be alright,” he murmured, voice smooth like silk.
Corabeth let the words wash over her and, for a moment, let them soothe her soul. With a sigh, she relaxed against Rooke’s body. His hand, warm and wet from the bathwater, brushed her hair over and over again.
“What will happen after?” Corabeth asked, admiring the contrast of her blush hand against the pale, nearly gray complexion of Rooke’s chest. “After the curse is broken?”
“I don’t know,” Rooke said.
“Will you just disappear? Cease to exist? Will you simply turn back into a human?”
“Maybe I’ll finally rest,” Rooke said, his voice suddenly weary.
Corabeth lifted her head from Rooke’s shoulder and studied his features. For the first time, she noticed how timeworn his eyes were. Age didn’t mar his features, but the harsh centuries reflected from the depths of his eyes. His body hadn’t aged, his soul had.
Could a body sustain an ancient soul if it wasn’t compelled by a curse? If there was such discord between the two?
Corabeth had a creeping feeling it wouldn’t be as simple as Rooke turning back into a human.
“And what of me?” she asked in a small voice, struck suddenly by the fear that she might be left behind, alone once more.
To her surprise, Rooke let out a small laugh.
“You will be alright, with or without me, Corabeth,” he said, eyes filled with wonder as he looked down at her, “You’re fierce and strong.
You deserve so much more than a life stowed away in a dilapidated house, tied to a creature that’s compelled to lurk in the shadows. ”
“What are you saying?” Corabeth asked, rearing back from Rooke, brows furrowed. She didn’t like the way Rooke’s words made her stomach churn.
“I’m saying,” Rooke murmured and pressed his forehead against hers, “Whatever happens, it’s what’s best for both of us.”
Rooke’s fingers toyed with strands of Corabeth’s hair that floated in the water around them, almost ethereal in their movements.
“Should I disappear,” he said, “Everything I have is yours. The books, clothes, gold, jewelry. The house itself. Burn it down if you like, I do not care. Just know, it’s yours.”
Desperation wrapped its gnarled hand around Corabeth’s heart and squeezed. Squeezed so hard, for a moment, she couldn’t get a breath in. But she didn’t allow herself to crumble.
Rooke had endured centuries of unimaginable hunger. The curse had changed him to his core, forced him to kill. She knew it would be unfair to ask him to stay, even if it was for her. Because she knew that for her, he might do it.
So Corabeth buried herself a little deeper into Rooke’s arms and pushed the thought from her mind.