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He’d heard her? Fuck.
Instinctively, Caera searched the room for a trap. The door into the office was wide open, so she wasn’t locked in. There was nothing any different in the room aside from the half-naked man lounging on the bedcovers, and the glass of milk and a muffin on the bedside table.
Saul flicked the covers back on her side of the bed and patted the bare mattress beneath. “Back to bed, Caera.”
She inched away, trying to recalculate her plans to include the huge wrench he’d thrown into the middle of them. “I-I shouldn’t…wet hair,” she blurted, grasping for a lifeline. “It’s bad to go to bed with wet hair.”
“Uh-huh.” His lips twitched. “Let’s rectify that, shall we? It’s late, and you need to rest before you collapse.” Swinging those long legs off the bed, he stood and gave her a wink as he passed her on his way into the bathroom.
She told herself to move, to bolt forward and grab some clothes before he came back, but all she could see was the subtle bunch and release of the muscles in his torso beneath the lightly tanned skin.
Her breath caught as she felt his presence at her back. Something dropped lightly over her head, and it took her a panicked second to register the weight of a towel. Before she could squash the anxiety, gentle hands began working the fabric over her head, drying her hair and massaging her scalp at the same time.
Caera’s eyes fluttered as pleasure filtered down from her head, through her neck, all the way along her tense body to her toes. Muscles she hadn’t even known were taut with stress relaxed, and she swayed with the sensation of being tended to so carefully.
“Where’d you get these scars from, little rabbit?”
Lost in his spell, she couldn’t understand the question. “Scars?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“I don’t have any scars on my back,” she mumbled.
“Oh yeah, sweetheart, you do. Lower the towel to your hips.” Saul’s order was quiet, but firm, and she found herself obeying without thinking about the fact she was exposing a very vulnerable part of herself to him. His growl of displeasure seized her muscles again in a heartbeat. “Caera, what the hell happened to you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to turn, but his hands clamped on her hips, keeping her in place. She squeaked and pulled away, only to be hauled back. “Let me go!”
“Shush, little rabbit.” Fingertips stroked over her shoulders, along the sides of her spine. “I’m not going to hurt you. Someone did some damage here,” he murmured, more to himself than her. “Who whipped you, Caera?”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “What part of virgin, no social life, and no friends do you not understand, Saul? My parents’ discipline ran along the same lines as their love—it didn’t exist. I don’t know anyone who owns a whip, and I certainly don’t think I’d be open to someone flaying me bloody with one.”
“Some people don’t give a shit about consent,” he muttered, then spun her around and snagged her wrist, tugging her into the bathroom until she faced the mirror. He didn’t look pleased at all, which made anxiety crawl beneath her skin like ants. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her back to the reflective glass and stood in front of her. “Take a deep breath, then look over your shoulder.”
Caera swallowed hard, troubled by his seriousness. Suddenly, she didn’t want to look.
Arms folded over his chest, face set in somber lines, Saul jerked his chin at the mirror and repeated his orders.
Trembling, she inhaled through her nose, then turned her head to stare at the image of her back in the mirror. Shock lanced through her, followed swiftly by a rapid surge of nausea as her eyes found the silvered marks dissecting her from shoulders to hips. “I-I don’t understand. I’ve never seen those before.”
Why are there so many? How can I not remember them?
“You can’t remember how you got them?”
“N-No. They’re fake. They have to be fake.” Frantically, she reached over her shoulder, trying to claw the marks from her skin and prove she was right, even though the logical side of her brain told her that no one had the time or opportunity to play such a horrible trick on her. “Get them off!”
Saul’s arms came around her, pinning her arms to her sides before she could harm herself. She was so distressed, the contact of his warm, bare chest pressing against her exposed breasts never even connected in her brain.
“Unfortunately, I think they’re a very important part of you,” he told her, lifting her up and carrying her into the bedroom. “They’re not going anywhere, Caera.” The towel dropped away completely as he set her on her feet next to the bed, forgotten when he laid her down on the chilled sheets and drew the covers up to her chin. He sat beside her, his hand between her breasts on top of the covers to hold her down. “Calm. Down.”
She couldn’t. Thoughts tumbling over each other, she couldn’t figure out how she could have forgotten something so horrific that it had left visible scars on her body. Injuries like that weren’t possible to dismiss, the magnitude of pain that came with them would have been unbearable.
Yet she was oblivious.
“Caera,” he snapped as her breath wheezed dangerously. His voice deepened more than one octave, thrumming through her until her attention switched from a complete meltdown onto him. “Calm down, little rabbit. We’ll figure it out, I promise, but you need to take a proper breath and just focus on coming back to me, okay? I can see you spiraling.”
Caera squeezed her eyes shut and did as he told her, schooling the wheezes down to whimpers, and then back to normal. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand—”
“Ssssh. I’m the one who should be apologizing, Caera. Should’ve known better than to spring that on you.” Saul’s voice was regretful as his hands cupped her head, his thumbs against her temples. They began to stroke lightly, back and forth, as he spoke. “It’s a big shock, but it’s okay. They’re old, faded, and healed—we can talk about them when you’re ready.”
