Page 23 of Accidentally on Purr-pose

"No." His voice carried absolute conviction. "You honored their sacrifice. You preserved what they died protecting."

She pulled back to look at him, tears streaming down her face. "You don't understand. I had a choice that night—save the Compact or save them. And I chose the treaty over my family."

Izei's hands cupped her face, his thumbs wiping away her tears with infinite gentleness. "You did what you were trained to do and that takes courage. But you don't have to be strong all the time. At least not with me."

The permission to be vulnerable, to let someone else carry part of her burden, nearly undid her completely. "I don't know how to not be strong. It's all I've ever known."

"I understand that. And I also understand what grief feels like," he said quietly, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "When my father died, I never allowed myself to feel that loss or the anger of having impossible responsibility thrust on me. I thought I had to keep moving forward because I had to lead our people, not grieve for what I'd lost."

Through their growing bond, Freesia felt the echo of his pain—years of carrying leadership alone, of believing that showing vulnerability meant failing those who depended on him. The realization that her strong, controlled mate harbored the same fears she did created an unexpected sense of connection.

"You don't have to be strong all the time either," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face. "You can be vulnerable with me if you choose to."

Something changed in his expression—a flicker of surprise, gratitude, and a longing so deep it made her chest tighten. "Thank you for that."

He looked like he wanted to say more but instead helped her to her feet with careful hands. "Why don't you get cleaned up now?"

Freesia glanced down at his blood-stained skin, noting the torn fabric of his clothes and the healing claw marks visible beneath. "Why don't you join me?"

His eyes darkened immediately, his pupils dilating as the mate bond flared between them. "I would like that."

Her heart hammered as she led him into the massive en suite bathroom, a space that rivaled her family's destroyed estate—marble surfaces, gleaming fixtures, and a shower large enough for multiple people. Without ceremony, she dropped the blanket, standing naked before him as his gaze traveled over her body with reverent hunger. The cuts on her arms and chest had already healed to thin pink lines, but dried blood still painted her skin in abstract patterns.

She moved closer to him in the intimate space and reached for the hem of his tattered shirt. "Let me help you."

He raised his arms, allowing her to pull the fabric over his head and reveal the broad expanse of his chest. She could see where claws had raked across his ribs—already healing but still tender.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, her fingers hovering over the marks.

"No," he replied, his voice rough with desire as he watched her touch.

She worked at the button of his cargo pants next, her hands steady despite the electricity crackling between them. When she pushed both pants and boxers down his legs, his arousal was evident and impressive. Her tigress purred with satisfaction, wanting nothing more than to claim her mate properly and forget everything else. But first, they both needed to wash away the violence of the day.

Freesia turned toward the shower, her pulse racing as she reached for the gleaming controls. Multiple shower heads came to life, filling the space with warm steam that smelled faintly of eucalyptus. She stepped inside, letting the heated water cascade over her shoulders, and felt Izei's presence behind her as he followed.

The shower was large enough that they weren't forced into immediate contact, but the intimacy of sharing the space made her skin hypersensitive to every movement he made. Water sluiced down both their bodies, washing away blood and dirt while leaving something much more dangerous in its wake.

This is the point of no return, she thought, her breath catching as she felt his gaze on her back.

Freesia stood under the warm spray, letting the water cascade over her hair and shoulders like liquid forgiveness. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of heat against her skin, on the rhythmic beat against the marble walls, on the steady presence of the man watching her from mere feet away.

Forget the Compact. Forget the rogues. Forget everything but this moment.

It was a luxury she hadn't allowed herself in three months. To simply exist without planning her next move or scanning for threats. To be a woman instead of a queen, a person instead of a Keeper. The urge to step toward him, to bridge the gap between them, was a physical ache in her chest, but her feet stayed rooted. She was afraid—not of him, but of how desperately she wanted him, and what that wanting might cost.

But soon he reached past her to a recessed shelf carved into the marble, retrieving a bar of expensive soap that smelled of sandalwood and rain. His knuckles brushed her hip as he pulled back, and the simple contact sent a jolt of electricity through her system.

"Let me," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the steam.

It wasn't a request. It was a quiet command softened by the reverence in his eyes, and she found herself nodding to give him permission to care for her.

He worked the soap between his palms until a rich lather formed, then placed his hands on her shoulders. His touch was firm and grounding and absolutely perfect. Then he began to wash her, starting at the nape of her neck and working down the tense muscles of her back with a slow, circular pressure that made her sigh. His thumbs traced the line of her spine, finding knots of stress she'd carried for months and easing them away so masterfully.

This is what it feels like to be cared for, she thought, a lump forming in her throat. To let someone else carry the weight, if only for five minutes.

He moved to her arms, his lather-slicked hands sliding from her shoulders to her wrists, washing away every trace of blood and violence. When he finally turned her gently to face him, his gaze held hers with a burning intensity. Then he knelt before her, his movements fluid and unhurried, and began washing her legs with the same meticulous care. His hands moved up her calves, over her knees, along her thighs. It was intimate, worshipful, and it unraveled something tight and guarded inside her.

When he rose again, his hands returned to her torso, sliding over her ribs and her stomach. Then his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts. A sharp gasp escaped her as heat flooded her body, sudden and overwhelming until it centered low in her belly. Her nipples tightened into aching points, and when his soapy palms grazed them, the last of her resistance shattered.