Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ROSAMUND
Della finds us outside my room, her gaze instantly turning hostile as it fixes on Valen. “I’ll call Bert to tie him up—”
“Enough of this cruelty,” I say. “Draw him a bath and find him something dry to wear.”
Her eyes widen. “But, my lady—”
“Now, Della.”
“Of course, my lady.” Her cheeks redden. “I’ll call for it.”
The wounded expression on her face will forever haunt me. I’m hurting everyone I love. Maybe it will make saying goodbye easier.
I watch her ring the bell and set about gathering bathing sheets and clothes.
As for me, I take the time to grab the knife from under my pillow.
It’s in a leather sheath with a hole at the top which I use to thread my belt through and secure it at my hip.
I make sure it’s hidden in the folds of my skirt.
Finally, a maid arrives, red-faced and out of breath, and Della gives short instructions for a clean shirt for Valen and locating his own clothes to wash them.
Soon enough, we have three maids inside my room, casting Valen wide-eyed glances and examining a couple of shirts made of rough linen, stained and worn.
Of course they wouldn’t bring fine garments for him.
The maids rush off, and manservants start arriving, carrying buckets of hot water to fill the tub.
And all the while, Valen stands by the window, his face an impassive mask, arms folded over his naked chest.
It’s so improper to have a bare-chested man in my room. Breathtakingly so. I know as much, even if my life up to now has mostly been dedicated to reading, embroidering, sword lessons, and screaming into my pillow at night.
A full life. Ha.
Add the fact that he’s dark fae, a werewolf, and it’s a full-blown scandal, witnessed by all these maids who will soon be gossiping about it in the kitchens and pantries.
More and more buckets are carried into the room by the manservants. A shirt and underpants are chosen and laid out on a chair, beside the folded bath sheets. I kick off my shoes and pad over to the fireplace to warm my hands.
After a while, Della beckons. “It’s all set, my lady. Time to give the young gent… the wolf some privacy for his bath.”
“But who will scrub my back?” Valen asks mildly.
The color on Della’s cheeks darkens. “Mind your manners and your corrupting comments.”
“She’s not a child,” Valen says.
“Stop with your—” She sighs, shakes her head. “Come, my lady. Let’s allow the… the man to bathe.”
Grabbing my hand, she hauls me out of the room, followed by the remaining maids and manservants. She firmly closes the door behind us.
“Now, my lady, why don’t you sit in the green parlor and I bring you dry clothes to change into and something hot to drink while he…” She waves her free hand. “Bathes.”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Who knows what havoc an animal like him will wreak in your room? You should never have let him inside.”
Frowning, I let her drag me into said parlor and walk to the fireplace as she bustles away. She’s right, of course. I know that. Decisions were made on the fly, instinctively, and they were not the best.
How did I stand there in the rain with him unbound? How can I be terrified and also drawn to him? Something is very wrong with me.
Am I drawn to the monsters that haunt me? Is that the answer? Am I broken? Should I be locked up in a tower for my own protection?
Why do I let him get so close? Why do I keep staring at him, wanting him to touch my face again? He was right to call me out on it. Is it fear that I feel, what twists up my insides, or something else?
My toes curl in the thick rug as the flames crackle in the hearth, and I realize I forgot my shoes in my room.
Turning about, I cross the parlor and step outside. The corridor is deserted. Looking right and left, I run toward my room, hissing as my bare soles make contact with the gelid terracotta tiles.
The shoes. Very important.
Who knew I was so good at lying to myself? It’s news to me, too. I’ve never hidden from my fears and coping ways before, though, I realize as I open my door, slipping inside, I did lie to myself before.
I told myself I was getting better, overcoming my fear, my fear of the dark fae, of animals, of other humans, of men in particular—but that was a big fat lie.
I’ve been wearing my dresses like armor, hiding my scars, keeping my distance from everyone, locking myself up inside my room, lost in my books and embroidery.
And now, here I am. And here he is, a tall shadow in the gloom, the flames licking strips of gold over his bare skin.
“Princess,” he rumbles. “What are you doing here?”
“I said, don’t call me that,” I mutter automatically, and start when there’s a splash.
He’s climbing into the tub, I realize, wreathed in vapor from the hot water, and I catch a glimpse of long legs, a muscular ass, and a broad back. I stare at him uncomprehending for long moments.
“Oh, I…” I stammer. “I didn’t realize you had undressed already.”
I’ve never seen a naked man before, and granted, he’s not a human man, he’s a male dark fae, and he’s half-lost in shadow, but… before I realize it, I’m taking a step forward, needing to see more as he sinks into the water.
Are those… tattoos? I’ve heard that the dark fae favor body decoration as much as they like putting metal in their flesh, like the silver rod he has in his tongue.
It’s some perverse love of pain and body modification, a thought I’ve always both abhorred and obsessed about.
They left me scarred, while they have control over the alterations to their bodies.
How is that fair? No matter how interesting the history of scarification, tattooing, and piercing is in the older days of the world, and the way the dark fae have revived such ancient practices.
No matter how good the dark lines look on Valen’s flesh.
“Are you here to help me bathe?” his deep voice rumbles as he sits down inside the tub, the water lapping at his chest. The flames lick at his profile, so patrician and perfect. They dance in his amber gaze, making it twinkle.
“What?” I lick dry lips. “No.”
“Because it’s terribly inappropriate?”
“Yes.”
“You do everything by the book, don’t you? You’re such a good girl.”
A startling shiver racks me. “I’m not—”
“Following the rules. Pretending you have no desires. No needs.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“But you wanted to look.” He grins. “That’s why you’re here. So why don’t you come closer and look your fill? I don’t mind.”
My face burns. My heart thuds. He’s definitely wrong. I didn’t come for him, I came to grab my shoes, but I can’t look away. I pad deeper into the room, not even bothering to glance around for my footwear. He’s wrong.
And yet, he’s right. Deep inside, I was eager to observe him undress, find out what is hiding under his clothes. See more of him. See the man underneath the wolf.
He leans back, resting his corded, muscular arms on the rims of the tub, head tipped back. His chest gleams like hammered gold, the tendons in his strong neck gleaming wet. Droplets run down his pectorals, over the grooves and planes of his hard stomach.
Dark ink swirls over one pec, spilling down his side. It’s wings, I think as I slowly circle the tub, feeling like a predator. Me, who’s always been the prey. But also a falling star. A crown. A mountain peak.
The silver in his ear glints as he turns his head to watch my trajectory. Such an elegant ear, its point gentle. So… wolf-like. Even the face holds something lupine in its broad planes and mesmerizing eyes. The grin spreading on his face is definitely wolfish.
Oh Gods, what am I doing?
I start backtracking, but he suddenly shifts forward and grabs my wrist, pulling me closer. Water sloshes over the rim of the tub, soaking into my already soaked dress.
“Your heart is racing,” he says softly. “You’re scared, after all.”
I lick my dry lips. His grip on my wrist is warm and tight, and feels strangely… comforting. “You like that, I bet. Having me scared of you.”
“In the hunt and primal chase, yeah, but not in the bedroom.”
“This isn’t your bedroom, and this isn’t anything to talk about.”
“Come join me in the tub.”
“Stop acting so indecent, stop…” A short breath escapes me when he moves, the water rippling around his muscular torso.
“You’re petrified of me, more frightened even than the animals I hunt for food, and yet determined not to let it rule you. What have my people done to you?”
I shake my head.
“How about you take a bath with me?” he goes on, and I lose the thread.
“What?”
“You’re already wet.” His lashes fan down, and he draws a long breath. “Very wet.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means your body wants me and is preparing for me. Your sweet pussy is dripping wet.”
I jerk back, and he lets go, so that I stumble. “No.”
His grin glimmers, sharp and pleased. “Am I being terribly inappropriate again?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, good. I was afraid I was losing my touch. By the way, you are terribly delicious.”
“Nonsense.” I swallow hard. “You’ve always seen me covered up from head to toe.”
“And how seductive is that? The mystery, the wonder, the fucking secret of your body hidden under all those layers of fabric, the dark lace giving hints of pale flesh underneath, that high collar always buttoned up, making me crave…”
“Yeah?”
“Crave you,” he finishes quietly, his intense amber gaze locked on mine, anger and entreaty battling behind the mirrors of his eyes.
“This isn’t on me,” I whisper, backing away some more. “I don’t dress up for you. To arouse you.”
“And that’s the fucking point,” he says, leaning back once more.
“The fucking crux of the matter. This is who you are. Full of secrets. Full of pain and anger and fear. It’s all there in your scent.
Like a poisonous flower, like a rotten fruit, and yet, it’s so sweet my mouth waters, and my dick hurts from wanting you. ”
“You’re not supposed…” I swallow. “Not supposed to say such things to me.”
“Because I’m your bodyguard? Or because I’m a werewolf?”
“Because I hate you.”
“Fucking Gods…” He groans and reaches down, between his muscular thighs, where… where his cock stands out of the water, thick and hard, the crown dark and is that metal flashing on it?
I keep staring, a throb starting between my legs, pulsing madly. Painfully. What am I doing? Why can’t I look away? Why am I not repulsed and horrified?
Why am I so damn fascinated by every part of him?
This is what keeps happening since the werewolf arrived: my thoughts have gone feral and wild, not obeying reason.
I’m known for being focused and organized, doing everything by the schedule and plan.
I had to become that strict about plans since the panic attacks got too bad.
Having a routine promised safety. Covering all imaginable factors.
Making sure I was ready for anything unexpected. Keeping to the same routes and habits.
So why did I enter my room fully aware that I’d be alone with Valen? No guards outside. No servants inside.
Just me and him.
It’s also a sign of general mental exhaustion of everyone involved, I think, blinking in the dimness, only lit by the jumping flames of my bedroom’s fireplace, that they left no guards with him. Nobody at all.
Unless someone’s hand is still involved in this. Unless someone thought, let the wolf free, and maybe he’ll finish her after all, though, why they’d think that after he saved my life…?
No, it’s probably just a moment of negligence, Della thinking Kier and Bert have it covered, and they, in their turn, certain she has everything under control, as always.
I am the one putting a wrench in their plans. Losing control. And—
The door bursts open, and three burly men walk in. My stepfather’s trusted manservants. I’m so flustered and confused, it takes me a long moment to realize what is happening.
By then, my stepfather appears at the door. “What do we have here? I had been hoping the rumors were untrue. My daughter, alone with this wolf? How disgraceful and disappointing. Take them both away.”