“Yourcenturiescall out for one,” he says as he gathers the jars and dirtied rags in his arms and rises from the table.
“So, are you saying that you’renothundreds of years old, then?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he answers with a wink before he waltzes into the bedroom to put everything away.
He’s gone longerthan I would’ve thought it should’ve taken to put everything away and when he returns, he takes in my bedraggled appearance and nods his head towards the bathing room behind him. “You should get cleaned up. I’ll whip up something for supper in the meantime.”
He’s right. I’m sure I look and smell like I’ve taken a swim in a bog… which I did.
I make an attempt to scramble off the sofa, which ends up stiff and stilted, and head into the bathing room, finding a neatly folded pile of clothing and a fresh towel. A floral scent of lavender carries on the steam that I’ve noticed in the room. There are a few candles scattered throughout the room, casting a soft glow. I follow the source to the tub tucked in the corner that’s full with foamy water.
He drew me a bath.
I don’t know why that act brings the prick of tears to my eyes, but it does. It’s something so small but also means so much after the hell I’ve seen in the last twelve hours. Using my uninjured hand I clumsily strip out of my bog-soaked tunic and leggings. Removing my boots, I notice the blade I had has disappeared, likely lost to the bottom of the marshlands.
Fully unclothed, I dip a tentative toe into the water and bite back a moan at the warm, soothing temperature of the water. Stepping in fully, I let my body sink into its soothing embrace, keeping my injured hand above the water. This time, Idomoan. The temperature feels incredible on my sore body and muscles. I dip in so my body from the neck down is entirely submerged. I lean my head back against the edge of the tub, closing my eyes and simply enjoy the feeling. After a few minutes of soaking, I scoot forward enough so that I can dip my head back into the water and wet my hair without washing away the poultice on my cheek. Using my uninjured hand, I attempt to comb through the tangles with my fingers, but it’s a struggle. Doing anything one-handed is difficult. Trying to tame my long hair is damn near impossible.
I let out a frustrated groan and let my hand splash back into the water, giving up. Tears prick my eyes again and I bite my lip trying to hold them back. Ineedto stop crying at every little thing.
A knock on the closed door startles me.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?” Bastian’s voice is gruff through the door.
The prickling burn of tears intensifies at his question. The worst thing you can do for a person on the verge of tears is to ask them if they’re okay. Doesn’t he know that? “Yep, fine!” I squeeze out through the tightness in my throat, my words squeakier than normal. And I know he hears it, especially with his heightened hearing. I’m just hoping he can ignore it.
Please, please, please pretend I’m fine. Leave me to suffer in my self pity on my own, I silently beg.
All that follows for a few heartbeats is silence. It carries on for so long that I think he heard my silent plea and left me alone.
But I should’ve known better than that.
I can hear him clear his throat through the door. “Can I… come in?”
My eyes widen in panic as I process that I’m currently fully naked in this tub. “Um, I’m kind of not so decent right now!”
“I was trying to be polite, let me rephrase. I’m coming in, so cover anything you wish to hide.” His voice carries nothing but command.
I scramble to use my uninjured hand to spread some of the foamy bubbles to ensure that all my delicate bits are concealed. “Fine, come in,” I call back. The door swings open almost immediately. “Why ask for my consent if you intended to enter anyway,Sebastian?” I ask with a scowl, the anger doing wonders for pushing the tears further back.
If he’s surprised at my use of his full name, he doesn’t show it. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You need help,Liv. Just let me.”
“How exactly are you supposed to help me?”
His eyes track around the room and land on the unopened bottle of shampoo before flicking back to my tangled hair. “I’m guessing you can’t quite manage washing your hair one-handed.”
“I’m fine. I can handle it. You’ve already done enough. I don’t want to have to owe you anything more for all you’ve done to help me.” I don’t really know why I’m fighting him. Or maybe I do. Maybe I think we’re getting too close, and we need to put distance between us and this whole thing of him helping to wash my hair feels so incredibly intimate and eats into that distance all the more. We’re hopefully heading out tomorrow and soon I’ll be home. And he possibly has a predestined lover out there waiting on him. Nothing could ever happen between the two of us. Nothingshouldever happen. Not a human and a Fae. We’re not built for anything but being reluctant allies right now.
He rears his head back at my sharp words. “My help doesn’t come with any conditions. I don’t need you to repay me for any of it. I’m offering because I wish to. Not because I expect to claim anything from you in return for it.” His words send shame rolling through me and I sink further down into the water, as if I can hide from him. My anger wilts like a dying bloom. “Now, will you let me help you?”
“Fine,” I mumble, bringing my knees up to my chest, further concealing my bare body. I wrap my good arm around my knees, holding them to me.
He shakes his head in exasperation and heads into the bathing room, kneeling behind me so he can reach my hair. “Stubborn woman,” I hear him mutter, which brings a small smile to my face.
“Demanding male,” I whisper back with no bite.
I keep my back facing him, but I can hear the rustling as he pushes up the sleeves of the loose shirt he must have changed into while I was in the bath. The pop of a cork echoes in the mostly quiet room as he opens the bottle of shampoo and pours a generous amount into his palm.
