Page 294 of Sorrow & Strangers

He doesn’t say anything. When the portal snaps shut behind me, he pushes to his feet with a controlled grace that is a little terrifying. Prowling over to me, he grabs my hand and drags me into the bathroom. Wordlessly, he lowers himself to his knees and unbuckles the sheath strapped to my thigh. After placing it and the knife on the counter, he unzips my boots and steadies me as I step out of them. Rising to his full height again, he strips me with methodical care, but there is nothing sexual about it.

He turns on the shower and gently guides me beneath the water before stepping in behind me. I think about trying to stop him, but given his anger, I’m not sure that would be wise, so I submit and let him wash me off.

He’s practically vibrating with rage, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying how he’s caring for me. He turns me around so my back is to him, scrubbing shampoo into my hair. As he rinses away the soap, some of his tension lessens, and I can feel it in the way he massages my scalp. His touch shifts from almost rough to gentle, a little more caressing.

The stranger turns the shower off, and I turn around to face him. His hand snaps out, wrapping around my throat and squeezing lightly. “You are . . .” His fingers tighten, digging in and forcing my chin up. I hear him exhale roughly, and he releases me, dropping his hand. I watch him, feeling the amount of effort he is expending to maintain control. We stand like that for a long moment before he pulls me to him, nuzzling his face against the top of my head. “Idiot,” he says, but there is no heat or anger in his words, only relief.

I wrap my arms around his waist, and I don’t even care that I’m naked. I’m just enjoying this moment and the absolute sense of safety that I feel in this male’s arms.

“I am furious with you,” he growls against my ear, squeezing me tighter.

“Why?” I ask, shivering.

He growls and pulls back, conjuring the fluffiest white towel I’ve ever seen and wrapping it around me.

“I was safe,” I say as he steps back from me.

“Then why didn’t you tell me before you went, if you knew it was safe?” he asks, and I can hear the suspicious doubt in his voice.

“I just wanted to do some . . .” I grimace, choosing my words carefully. “Low-key research.”

“Low-key research?” he asks. He takes my hand and leads me out of the bathroom, sitting me at my vanity before starting to brush my hair.

“Well, that was the plan. I wasn’t planning on . . .”

“Planning on?” he asks when I pause, still running the brush gently through my hair.

“Well, I was apprehended,” I say, not looking at him in the mirror. “So I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“Apprehended?” he asks, putting the brush back down and starting to towel-dry my hair.

I grumble under my breath.

He yanks my hair a little, and I moan in response.

“I didn’t realize there was a citywide curfew,” I say when he waits. “So I was ushered into this empty tavern, and the guy knew I wasn’t who I was saying I was.” I glance at him sheepishly in the mirror, embarrassed that my rune hadn’t worked, or if it had, it hadn’t worked well enough for what I needed. “So I had to resort to more . . . colorful methods to gain the information I needed.”

He frowns, and I watch through the mirror as he turns and goes back into the bathroom. He returns, carrying the sheath and inspecting my dagger. “A sunlight rune,” he says, glancing at me. “Creative.”

“Well, it was until he stabbed himself in the heart with it. Fucking asshole,” I grumble, and then I turn in the chair to look at him. “Something is going on, Stranger. There were no signs of mourning. Not one.”

“You think it’s a trap?” he asks, spinning the dagger through his fingers.

I nod and stand up, pulling the towel a little tighter around me as I walk toward him. Stopping in front of him, I take the sheath from his other hand and pull the piece of paper from where I tucked it away. “I also found this,” I say, handing him the flyer, which is now crumpled and smeared with blood.

“A bounty for Alice?” He frowns, studying the flyer. “Princess, has she had any assassination attempts?”

“Recently?”

He nods. “The print date is less than two weeks ago,” he says, showing me the small date beneath her image.

“No, nothing has happened, at least nothing we have noticed,” I say, shaking my head.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” I say. Like I wouldn’t have noticed an assassination attempt on my best friend.

He sighs and puts the flyer down on my dresser. Lifting me against him, he carries me to bed and sits down, arranging me in his lap.