Page 87 of Adam, Mine

Willem placed Elias on the couch so his feet did not have to rest on the dirt floor while they were still wet. Then he did something that made the water drain to nowhere as Elias watched with a little fear.

Suddenly, he looked up and to Elias. “Hmm . . . ,” he said.

Elias blinked back at him in confusion. Then his chest hurt and malaise swept over him. He gasped and pitched forward, catching himself on the couch’s wood armrest. He felt immediately ill and kind of weak. Definitely not back to his normal self but definitely in a way connected to enchantment.

He slammed his eyes closed and plucked his string, sending over anger and confusion. Victor immediately replied with a burst of pleasure and a strange impression. Like he was trying to send an image using the wrong medium. As if he was singing underwater.

Elias didn’t understand. He met Willem’s eyes in terror.

Willem turned off the water and rushed to his side, grabbing Elias’s chin to look at him hard.

“Ah,” he said. “It is okay.”

He returned to the bath.

“Is Victor dying?” Elias panted.

Willem removed the weird brown shift he was wearing to reveal the most frighteningly muscled physique Elias had ever seen.

“He was and is not anymore,” Willem said. “Brogan borrowed some of what you have taken from him to keep him with us. For the journey to Yaroslav’s home.”

Elias groaned angrily and sent Victor back a wave of irritation. Then followed it with exasperation. After another moment, he pushed what he hoped was some kind of greeting to Brogan. He wasn’t happy, but he was thankful.

Willem leaned over and made a closing motion with his hand. The thread stopped midvibration, and Elias crumpled with relief.

“How—?” he started.

Willem shrugged and got into the tub. He ducked his head and popped back up. His dark hair slicked by water made his ears stick out. He looked funny.

“It is interesting that your tether looks like the string of a cittern,” Willem said.

“I didn’t make it that way; Alain did.”

Unlike the other alchemists, Willem did not react to that name. He also hadn’t reacted to the sight of Elias’s chest or back, which in hindsight was more unsettling than if he had.

“He did not,” Willem replied, rubbing himself with soap. “Your soul decides. I wonder how Victor’s end presents to him. Your end gives you a lot of control, you know. Perhaps his makes him helpless. . . .”

Elias did not like that thought.

“Do you have strength yet to stand?” Willem asked.

Elias did. “It is just as if I worked in the field and then stayed up all night,” he said.

“Would you like to wash my hair?”

What a strange question. Without it being put to words, Elias would not have thought of such a thing. Much less if he actually wanted to do it. Even slimmer the chance that he would mention such a desire to a stranger.

“I . . .”

Willem leaned over the edge of the tub and let his terrible, bulging arms hang. “You have the hands of a father who knows how and the eyes of a man who misses it.”

“I am not a father; I do not have children,” Elias said immediately.

Willem closed his eyes. “Strange,” he murmured. “You have the heart of one.”

Oh. This was how Willem and Brogan were the same.

Elias struggled to his feet. He crossed the room to get a chair then returned to Willem’s side. The alchemist of currents leaned back, trusting and pliant.