Page 125 of A Dance With Fire
“There have been a few upgrades around the place,” the woman stated as she wandered around, slapping her hands along pillows strewn against the small couches. “It’s been so long, dust has accumulated, but there have been renovations. We have plumbing now.”
“We can manage from here, Imogen.” Valerio’s fingers worked at his cloak, pulling it off his shoulders. “We are in your debt.”
Imogen smiled warmly at him. “Long live the Resistance,” was her reply. “Filomena will be up shortly with your dinner. We have dessert as well.” With that, she left, closing the door behind her.
It wasn’t until she was gone that Shula felt she could breathe again. She sucked in a breath and all but clawed at the drawstrings holding her cloak together. Ripping it off, she tossed it on top of Valerio’s and sucked in a breath that scraped against her lungs unpleasantly.
“I worried you were about to drop dead of nerves.” Clay brushed aside her hair from her face. “Relax, Fire Dancer. They’re bringing up dessert.”
The thought of dessert had a calming effect on her frayed nerves. She nodded.
“Now, as much as everyone is anxious to talk about what The Seer said, I think it best if we rest first, don’t you, Valerio?” Clay said.
“As much as I hate to agree with you, I think that’s best. Rest now, gather your thoughts and your strength. Tomorrow we can speak about everything we have learned.” His sharp eyes softened on Shula. “Take a bath, Shula. You look like hell.”
She bristled at the judgment, sure she looked better than Uric, at least. The Fae was still covered in wrinkles and had been wheezing when they’d walked up the stairs.
Before she could say anything, Clay’s palm pressed between her shoulder blades, giving her a gentle shove. “First door on the right. Go.”
A warm bath sounded divine. Water that wasn’t cold, no peeking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t ambushed in the woods by humans or Weylyn’s prying eyes…
“I can see your eyes glowing. Go.” Clay gave her another nudge, and she stumbled forward a step before deciding to go ahead and bathe. She took her pack with her to the bathing room, closing the door behind her.
There was a small unlit oil lamp hanging from a hook on the ceiling. Concentrating, she sent the smallest flame, lighting it. A white claw footed tub sat in the center of the small room, a toilet and sink beside it.
Once the water was filling the tub, Shula undressed looked at her reflection in the single oval mirror there. She did look like hell. Bruises covered her eyes that weren’t just there because of exhaustion. Cuts split against her golden-brown skin, dried blood, dirt and grime staining her cheeks and neck. She got into the tub, reached for the bar of soap there, and scrubbed the dirt from her body, washing her hair and detangling it twice. When she scrubbed herself raw, her stomach demanded she get out and search for food.
Because her clothes were dirty, Shula swallowed her pride enough to tuck a fluffy towel around her body. She’d ask Imogen to wash her clothes or see if she had a tunic and pants she could borrow for the time being.
Hair dripping, she walked back into the room where a table had been placed with heaps of food, goblets of a sweet-smelling wine, and a pitcher of water. A nice, thick stew with cow meat and veggies steamed from bowls sat on the plate in the center of the table, along with buttery bread.
Her companions were already eating by the time she walked in, but they froze as they caught sight of her in nothing but a towel.
Warmth flooded the apples of her cheeks that she ignored. They’d seen her in very little already, but still, their stares made her shift from foot to foot with discomfort. “My clothes were dirty…”
Ryker’s jaw tensed at the declaration.
Clay merely kicked out the chair beside him, gaze dipping back down to his plate. “Come and eat, Fire Dancer. Filomena will bring dessert in a bit.”
Not having to be told twice, she sat next to the Fae, wedged as usual between him and Julius, leaving Ryker, Valerio, and Uric across from them. Weylyn had taken his bowl to the couch, where he hunched over and ate in silence. Always apart from the others, but constantly watching with keen eyes.
But it wasn’t his gaze she felt.
It was Ryker’s.
She tore into a piece of bread and took a generous bite of stew. She’d never tasted anything so delicious, and it was unfortunate that she couldn’t enjoy it because Ryker’s bicolored gaze burned through her skin.
Spoons clattering against bowls filled the silence. A drop of water from her hair dripped down her neck and slid over her collarbones. Her fingers drifted to brush the moisture away, and she noticed Ryker’s eyes following the beads of water trail down the valley between her breasts.
A low growl rumbled in his throat, and that sound was both inappropriate, given everyone around them, and possessive. It was a sound that was strange coming from Ryker’s chest, and yet it was a sound that enveloped her whole body. It made goosebumps rise along her arms, a slow spreading thing that felt like the gentle caress of his rough fingertips trailing along her skin. Like he was touching her with his gaze, staking his claim and undressing her with his eyes.
But that was impossible, wasn’t it?
Ryker hated her, after all.
Nothing in his eyes suggested hatred that moment. And if they did, it was underneath the scorching burn of desire that made her press her thighs together to stave the arousal that shocked its way through her system.
Ryker’s nostrils flared as he scented it, and he bared his canines. It was a primal, animalistic gesture that Shula shouldn’t have found appealing, but the evidence quivered between her thighs.
