Page 36 of Fear the Flames
I stiffen in his hold and move my head out of his neck so I can look at him, “No.” I don’t want him to see my naked body or feel his hard muscles pressing against my exposed skin. It’s a feeling I never want to unlock because it’s another part of him I doubt I’ll be able to erase from my memory. “I can stand.”
“There’s glass on the bottom, I don’t want you to step on it,” he bites his lip in contemplation, still speaking in a soft tone while stroking my hair. “Okay, I have an idea.” He reaches down into the tub and lightly brushes his fingers over a spot to make sure there’s no glass there. He holds his hands in front of me while I grip the edge of the tub. “Guide my hands. I don’t want to touch you anywhere that you’re not comfortable. If you step on a piece of glass, then I’ll keep you steady or lift you before it cuts deep. I’ll get close to your face, and I’ll keep my eyes on yours the entire time. Then, once you’re steady, I’ll keep my eyes on yours while I reach for the robe on the hook,” he pauses for a moment, his eyes flashing down to the bruises on my neck before meeting mine again. “Let me help you, Elowen.”
Every instinct I have should tell me to shove him away, to tell him to leave me and join Ryder in securing the perimeter because that’s what will make me feel safest. But it’s not what I want. I feel like I’ve entered some parallel universe because rather than him just being here, I feel like he understands me. His eyes have no trace of judgment in them; he’s not looking at me like I’m broken and need help. I’ve survived this long on my own, and I know damn well I can get through tonight without him—but why should I? He’s my ally, my true ally, and he’s the only person that knows the depth of our deal. He’s looking at me in a way that was most likely reflected on my face in the bakery. I didn’t have to reach out to him, I didn’t have to split an apple tart with him, but I wanted to because I know what it’s like to not know how to ask for help and to feel like you’re screaming in the middle of a room, but nobody can hear you.
He hears the words that I don’t have to say. It’s what pushes me to close my hands around his wrists and guide his hands to my hips. His face inches closer to mine, so close that our foreheads press together. His hazel eyes dilate, and I hear his small intake of breath when I wrap my arms around his neck.
“If your eyes wander, I’ll cut them out myself,” my breathless tone doesn’t convey the gravity of my threat.
“They won’t,” he states in a low, gravelly tone. “Ready?”
“Mhmm,” I don’t trust my voice.
Slowly…so slowly, he tightens his hold on me and eases me to my feet. My eyes stay on his, and his stay on mine, but I don’t think I could look away if I tried. There’s something mesmerizing about the steadiness in his gaze and the way the brown in his irises bleed into green. His breathing deepens when I’m steady on my feet, and his hands linger until he’s sure no glass pierces me under my full weight. Then, just as he promised, his hand reaches to the side without ever taking his eyes off mine. He slides the blue silk robe behind my shoulders, and I glide my arms through the holes. His fingers brush down the sides of my arms while I fasten the sash around my waist.
“There’s glass and blood on the floor. I’m still wearing my boots, so I’m going to carry you.” His raspy voice sends a shock straight through my body and makes me want to press my legs together. How is it that he can make me want to stab him one second and then feel like this? I don’t even want to label exactly what this feeling is. I just know it’s overwhelming, suffocating.
He steps back once I’m clothed and scoops me up bridal style in his arms, carrying me out of the tub. My body presses into his muscles, and my hands loop around his neck. I wonder what it would feel like for him to hold me up in a different position.
No. No. Naughty brain.
I take one last look at the man crumpled on my floor before Cayden turns into his room and carries me toward his bathing chamber.
ChapterEighteen
Idon’t realize I rested my head on Cayden’s shoulder and completely relaxed in his hold until he stops in his bathing chamber while holding my noodle-like limbs.
“Angel?” he asks, a hint of a smile in his tone.
“I’m awake!” I exclaim, yelling at my muscles to wake up. He places me on my feet in front of him and reaches down to turn the dials on the tub.
“Use whatever you want. I’m going to grab you something to change into.” I watch him slip from the bathing chamber before taking in the sights around me. It’s the exact same as my room.
“I didn’t peg you for a gold accent kind of guy,” I remark as he places some clothes on the counter.
“It’s not my normal room. I’ll be out here when you’re done.” He shuts the door behind him, and the running water isn’t loud enough to cancel out my thoughts. He just confirmed what I suspected but didn’t want to ask—he moved rooms for me.
I rinse off and resist the urge to smile while uncapping the soap. I lather myself in Cayden scented suds before rinsing off and stepping out of the porcelain tub to wrap myself in a towel. Padding over to the mirror to assess the damage, my fingers poke at the long black and blue bruises that wrap around my neck. They’re going to be annoying to cover up. I drop the towel and pick up the clothes Cayden laid out for me—they’re his. I look back in the mirror while holding his shirt to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Nope. My doe eyes are staring back at me, Cayden’s shirt in hand, and heart sputtering in chest. The shirt sleeves fall past my hands, and the pants pool around my feet. The only reason they’re staying up is because I pulled the drawstring as tight as possible. I run my hands through my hair and shuffle over to the door.
Cayden is sitting on one of his couches with a glass of whiskey in hand. His gaze lifts from the paper he’s scanning when he hears me. He raises his glass to his smirking lips, “Perfect fit.”
I raise my hands to flip him off, which he can’t see since my hands are covered in black fabric. My body sinks into the couch next to him, but I leave a cushion between us. He leans forward to pour me a cup of tea from the tray he must have ordered. I mumble a thank you when he hands me the warm drink. The liquid feels wonderful on my throat, and I quickly down it before pouring a second.
“What did you mean when you said they never got that close?” His tone is quiet, but I don’t mistake it for calm. Cayden is the type of person to lock down his anger and weaponize it when he needs to.
I lick my lips and place the mug on the table so I can fuss with the sleeves that pool around my hands. There’s no sense in avoiding it. “I’ve encountered assassins before. My father didn’t know for sure if I was dead or alive, so they never came in heavy waves, but they came. I was prepared for them most of the time; I knew when they crossed the Fintan, just like how I knew you crossed the Fintan. They thought they had the upper hand on me, but they’re dead now, and I’m still breathing.” My shoulders shrug; I stopped mulling over assassins years ago when I realized I could be just as deadly as them. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
The last thing I want to do is rehash my past with Cayden. Talking about it can’t erase what happened to me. I want to move forward. Sometimes, when I don’t talk about it, it makes me feel like I can ignore it, even if it’s only for a few moments. Our bodies are maps of our pasts, but not every scar is physically marked along the journey. Those are the scars that bleed like open wounds on bad days.
“Right,” he clears his throat and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, the quiet rage is filed away, hidden from the surface and locked down for later use. “I remember you saying something about my eyes. Did you want to discuss the shade in depth?” I slowly turn my head in his direction. “Brown-eyed barbarian,” a challenging smirk covers his face.
I gasp while reaching for the pillow behind me. So he did hear me! Oh my gods, he’s never going to let me live this down. I smother the smile that covers his face with the pillow. His laughter is muffled by the cushion but floods up to my ears in full force when I pull it back. I smack him with it again—this feels better than it should.
“I am a brown-eyed beauty. You’re the heathen,” I clarify while smacking him again. He grips my wrist before I can hit him a fourth time and plucks the pillow out of my fingers.
“I never said you can’t be both,” he points out while glancing at my smile.
“Let’s talk before someone brings you a report,” I say through my fit of laughter while sitting back down. He takes a sip of whiskey to sober himself. “The night we first met; I heard two people talking about you wanting me because of my dragon link. If that wasn’t Saskia and Ryder, who was it?”
