Page 112 of In Between Death and the Devil

Fen came back with a towel that he used to dry me with. “These need to come off.” He touched the front of my breast band. “Do you⁠—”

I lifted my arms, too tired to wrestle with the wet fabric or worry about being naked in front of him.

He kept his eyes on my face as he stripped it from me, then pushed my panties off my hips. They fell to the floor with a wet slap.

I stepped out of them and toed them to the side as he went to his dresser.

He came back with one of his shirts. “Arms up.”

The fabric was soft against my skin as it slid over my body. I was enveloped in his smell and a potent male satisfaction that filled our bond.

Using another towel, he squeezed water out of my braid before he tugged the tie off the end and unraveled it so he could dry it further. He didn’t say a word as he tended to me, but he didn’t try to hide what he was feeling. Fear, worry, satisfaction, curiosity all swirled together.

His ministrations were soothing, his touch methodical and gentle. The shivers that racked my body started to quiet, and the shock of both my memory trip and the near drowning began to fade.

His eyes met mine for a moment, and the way we’d left things unresolved seemed to rise between us. It seemed rather small to me now, but I wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between us. From the look in his eyes, neither did he.

“Sit.” He gestured to the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

I curled up in a corner. The blanket and pillow he used each night sat on the arm nearby. I pulled the pillow under my head and dragged the blanket over me, inhaling his cherry and musk scent. It smelled so good, I wondered if I could swap it out for one on the bed. I was definitely stealing his shirt to sleep in. Snuggling down into my Fen-scented nest, I closed my eyes.

The snap of the door closing made me start. I jerked up to find him coming towards me with a mug of something steaming in his hands.

“Drink this.”

I sniffed it before bringing it to my lips. Lemon, honey, and something herbaceous and fresh. It soothed my scratchy throat and warmed me from the inside out.

Fen sat on the other end of the couch.

I had the urge to scoot over to him, to erase the space between us, but his guarded expression stopped me.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” he asked.

Clutching my mug in both hands, I recounted what I’d seen in the Pool. To my surprise, my eyes stayed dry.

“So the choice was between trying to change the memory or leaving it the same?” Fen frowned.

“Yes.”

“Do you think if you’d taken the ring things would have actually changed?”

“I don’t know.” I stared at the fire, a salamander scampering over the logs. “It felt like I could, but it might have just been a test. To see if I could resist the temptation of undoing what had happened.”

“I’m impressed you did.” There was something in his voice that made me look at him.

“Really? You’re the one who told me I needed to let my family go because they were gone.”

“That doesn’t make the decision easy. If I’d been in your place, I’m not sure I would have resisted.” Grief seeped into his expression and our bond, and I knew he was thinking of his wife. Not just because he missed her, but because he had trouble living with his part in what had happened.

I knew because I’d felt the same about my family. My choice in the Pool of Memory to leave the past where it belonged had dampened those feelings but I realized that, despite his work helping souls work through their shadows, Fen was still haunted by his past. Looking at him now, I think I finally understood just how much.

“I think you would have resisted,” I said.

“Your faith in me is touching, but misguided.” He huffed a laugh, but I felt his pain and shame in our bond.

I put my mug on a side table and turned to him, leaning one elbow on the back of the couch. I wanted to touch him, but I sensed he wasn’t ready for that. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“And you give me too much.” He kept his eyes on his hands in his lap.