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He fell quiet and then he scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling ridiculous for having said that aloud, but at least she had not heard him.
“Dionysus.”
He turned his head toward the soft sound of his name. Fingers twined into his braids, and lips trailed along his jaw.
“Ariadne?” he murmured, though he recognized her scent, the heat of her touch.
“Dionysus,” she said his name again, and it shivered across his skin. He wanted to capture her lips against his and taste her like he had that night in the pleasure district.
“Ari,” he whispered, and her hold on him tightened.
“Dionysus!” she barked, and he opened his eyes to find her staring at him.
He blinked, realizing he had fallen asleep with his head on her cot.
“You’re awake,” he said, straightening, rubbing at a sore spot on his neck.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“I’m not certain,” he said. “But if I had to guess, an island somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea.”
She frowned and then shifted beneath the blankets, drawing in a harsh breath between her teeth.
“Careful,” he said as she shoved the blankets aside to look at her leg. “I haven’t fully healed you yet.”
He rose onto his knees and placed one hand on her hip, the other just below her knee to keep her still.
“Why not?” she hissed.
“I can’t heal an infected wound, Ariadne,” he snapped.
It took a few more moments for her to relax, and once she did, they both seemed to realize she was naked. He lifted his hands and then quickly covered her again.
“I’ll get you more medicine,” he mumbled, rising from his place on the floor. He crossed to the fireplace and ladled more of the tea into a cup before returning to her and helping her sit up. “It’s lemon balm,” he explained as he placed the cup to her lips.
She held her hands against his as she drank and groaned in disgust as the tea touched her tongue.
“I know it isn’t the best,” he soothed. “But it will take the pain away.”
When she’d had enough, he helped her lie back down, and an awkward silence filled the cottage.
“Do you…remember what happened?” he asked after a moment.
It took her some time to respond and when she did, her voice was a whisper. “Mostly.”
Again they were quiet.
“Did he hurt you before we got to you?” He had to ask. He needed to know.
“Not really,” she answered.
It bothered him that her answer wasn’t a definitive no. He wanted to ask what Poseidon had done, but he also did not want to press. Last night had been traumatic enough.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Dionysus looked at her, but she was staring at the ceiling, a single tear trailing down the side of her face.
Her apology carried the weight of her regret, and it shuddered through him. It wasn’t until she spoke the words that he realized he hadn’t wanted to hear it because he did not deserve it. She’d had to face a horror that went well beyond simple consequences.
