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I unbuckled my scabbard and kicked off my boots. A shower would do us both good.
Without looking at me, without saying a word, he rubbed the soap over his hands like they were still bloodstained. He stopped only to wash the rest of his skin, then returned to his hands, scrubbing under his fingernails to rid himself of imaginary dirt.
My clothes already wet, I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his back. He turned around and captured me in a kiss. It was a desperate kiss, filled with everything we wanted to say to each other. Everything we couldn’t admit out loud.
He broke away. “Wait.”
“What?”
“Why aren’t you naked?”
I glanced at him through my wet eyelashes. “Can’t you help me with that?”
He stripped off my clothes and tossed them out of the shower, though he still wouldn’t look me in the eye. His body was trembling from lingering adrenaline.
“I can’t stop remembering,” he said.
“Remembering what?”
“What it felt like to be surrounded by the dead.”
My throat clenched. I didn’t know what to say to that.
He leaned against the wall. His fingers splayed on the marble of the shower. I lathered the soap, then ran my hands along his shoulders. He let me massage away the tension still tight in his muscles. My fingertips lingered on the scars crisscrossing his skin.
“Ardis,” he said.
I froze. Had I touched a scar he didn’t want to remember?
He turned to me and looked deeply into my eyes. “Help me forget.”
26
Ikissed him on the lips, on the cheekbones, and on the water that clung to his eyelashes. Wendel let out a shuddering sigh. He curled his arms around my waist and buried his face in the curve of my neck. He kissed me there, his lips lingering on my skin.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“Why?”
“There’s something wrong with me.”
My stomach plunged. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t stop thinking about death. About the things I’ve seen. About the things I’ve done.”
I pulled away from him. “What are you saying?”
He stepped closer to me, his eyes locked on mine, water trickling down his face. “I’m saying I’m frightened of what I might do. Of what I might become.”
“You’re not a monster, Wendel.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I feel like I’m losing control. I feel like…” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “I feel like the dead are calling to me, whispering in the back of my skull.”
I shivered. He was right. I didn’t understand what he was going through. I didn’t know what it felt like to have such a connection to death and darkness.
“You’re more than just a necromancer.”
“I…I’m afraid I can’t be anything else.”
