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“There’s a well outside,” he offers as I watch him work, disappearing every so often behind the curtain. The only light comes from the fire, and from the red-tinged moonlight outside.
“How did you know about it?” I ask.
He takes a breath, leaning over the tub, shrouded in steam. I don’t think he necessarily wants to respond—but he does. “We used to use this place as a shelter when we would come through years ago.”
I frown. “Who’s ‘we’? And just how long ago was this? You can’t be that old, right?”
“Nah,” he smiles. “I’m twenty-seven, but I’ve seen a lot. In my teens, I—promise me you won’t get mad.”
I raise my brows. “I already think you’re sketchy,” I say. “Not much can change that.”
He barks out a bitter laugh, shaking his head and leaning back against the tub. “You’re not gonna like this, though.”
I shrug. “Try me.”
“Well,” he starts. “I was thirteen when I got my Blessing. And my whole family thought the Angels were real—that they were sent by God, and that we had to take our Blessings and do what the Heavenly Host told us.”
“Okay,” I say, unease building in my chest. “And then what?”
He bites his lip with a sharp canine, then raises his eyes to mine. “How about I finish telling you while you get cleaned up?”
I make to slip off of the bed, but he’s crossing the room in a few quick strides and picking me up in his arms once again, curling me to his warm chest.
“You know, I’m perfectly capable of walking,” I say.
“Maybe I just like carrying you,” he drawls.
I allow it, not fighting him and instead cuddling against his broad shoulders. My clothes aren’t wet after warming myself by the fire, but I find that I’m still filthy from the river, and I’m ready to clean up. Elijah, however, doesn’t seem to care; he buries his face in my hair and inhales like he’s never smelled anything quite so delicious.
“Are you at least going to let me undress myself?” I tease as he puts me down on the floor, my feet finding the cool, worn wood underneath.
His eyes spark with desire.
“Don’t tempt me to do otherwise,” he murmurs.
He smirks and steps backward, closing the curtain behind him. I can still see his silhouette in the flickering firelight, his shadow moving around the room before taking a seat on the sofa in front of the hearth as I start to unbutton my stiff, grimy shirt.
“You were saying?” I ask.
Elijah is quiet for a moment, and I watch his shadow lean toward the flames.
“Get in the bath before it gets cold,” he calls.
I growl a little to myself and he laughs from beyond the curtain; but I do as I’m told, shimmying out of my jeans and finally stepping into the steaming water.
It’s so hot that it tingles on my feet, and I hiss out a breath loud enough for Elijah to hear.
“How is it?” he says.
“It’s perfect,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says.
I know I should get my hair washed as quickly as possible, already seeing the water cloud up with the silt stuck to my skin, but the warmth feels so good that I have to take just a moment.
“Tell me a story,” I say. “I’m sure you remember, but my books are at the bottom of a river.”
“Don’t remind me,” he sighs. “Alright. Buckle up, Sunshine…”
