Chapter 35 Thyra
Chapter Thirty-Five
Thyra
Antony’s voice sounds softly in my ear as I tremble within his arms. “I won’t hurt you, Thyra. Not right now.”
If only I could make my mind work, I might consider that he limited his promise to right now, as opposed to ever, but his hand leaves the back of my head to pump a lever on the wall, and a second later, cold water hits my back.
I flinch as the water streams over me, pouring from the wide, speckled spout jutting from the wall above us.
“Accept the cold.” Antony’s command is as quiet as his vow not to hurt me. “It will wipe away the past. I promise.”
With that, he takes another step into the pouring water.
The stream is so wide and so constant that it covers us both. I’m forced to close my eyes as the water beats down on both of us while he holds me.
“Open your eyes,” he says, the same order he gave me in the bloodlands. “Look, Thyra. Look down.”
I try to do as he asks, cracking open my eyelids, burying my head further into his neck to keep the spray out of my eyes. He’s holding my hair out of my eyes, or it would be flat against my face right now.
“Do you see?” he asks, his lips brushing the top of my earlobe. “The blood is draining away. The past is falling away with it, and soon it will be gone, and you won’t have to fear it anymore.”
The blood splashing off us is so dark that I can see the streams of it swirling off our bodies and falling to the smooth floor, flowing around and around Antony’s feet before it disappears through a grate the size of his fist.
As I watch, the darker streams start to lighten. There’s less and less blood in the water.
The awful liquid is washing away, and with it, any hesitancy I had to accept his help washes away too.
While he keeps one hand planted firmly on my back, his other hand rises into my hair, slowly separating the clumpy strands, helping the water ease through them.
I close my eyes, accepting the soothing sensations, the warmth of his palm against my scalp, the careful way he’s stroking down the back of my neck, and then to the side.
I need this comfort, even if it’s delivered by a man I should fear.
His fingertips brush my jaw as he urges me to tip my head slightly, allowing the water to flow across the wounds on my neck and the places he smeared with blood.
I imagine it all washing away. Becoming part of the past.
But I’m acutely aware of the blood trapped between my body and his, where I press against him.
I need it off. I need it to wash away, too.
Without thinking, I plant my hands on his shoulders, my fingers curling at the edge of the harness he continues to wear, before I arch back into the spray, allowing the water to pour between us, hitting his chest and mine.
My pelvis presses hard into his lower stomach while my bare legs wrap firmly around his hips.
I sense his stomach muscles tighten, feeling the tension in his arms while his hands support my back as I lean away from him.
His green eyes glitter at me through the spray. His lips rise, parting to reveal his teeth.
“You will remember only the water running clear,” he commands me, harsher now. “You will remember my hands, and you will remember what you feel right now. Nothing else matters.”
With that, he lowers his mouth to my chest, to the wet material clinging to the top of my breasts.
His lips graze my tunic’s neckline, closing around it, his teeth tugging on it before his mouth whispers down between my breasts, his teeth continuing to pull at the material, nudging it across my skin, making it drag against my nipples before he lets it go.
Heat shoots from my chest to my core, a needy ache building between my legs, my head filling with the impulse to grind my core against him, to ease this ache. Just a little.
To replace the horror with heat.
His mouth works back to my neck, and he slowly draws me back up to his chest, allowing him to narrow the gap between our lips.
I’m forced to close my eyes as the water sprays across my face, and then, I’m in danger of being lost, because his mouth reaches mine.
It’s the lightest touch. The barest whispering connection. But the intense heat flooding my body is intoxicating, overwhelming, needy. Desire mingles with the rush of water, and I don’t feel the cold anymore.
My hands tighten around his shoulders, my fingers curling against his muscles. My toes curl, too.
His hands sweep beneath the back of my tunic, tightening the material across my breasts while his palms knead my aching back and his lips brush across mine again, flooding me with pleasure.
His voice burns through me with a promise that makes my thighs clench. “You will remember only this.”