Page 117 of A Song of Air
“I understand.”
“Only eat and drink what I tell you is safe.”
“Okay.”
“Try not to be alone with my brothers.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Weylyn sighed and dropped his forehead against Bryson’s, taking a moment to breathe her in. She did the same. It was strange that the one person she’d been avoiding for days had suddenly become her tether to life, the one she leaned to. Because they only had one another, it was easy to hold onto him. Because she was unsure if they would live to see the next day, it was easy to picture a life with Weylyn at her side. Her mate. Her Mana-chosen mate...
Something stirred low in her belly, igniting what she swore she wouldn’t feel for him again.
Weylyn must have sensed it too because he groaned, but before he could press closer, Bryson’s palms met his chest and gently pushed him away.
“You owe me an explanation,” she whispered to break the moment, voice hoarse around them.
His eyes were glaringly beautiful in the dark. “I promise, I will give it. For now, let us go back. They are waiting for us. Remember to be cautious, temper your magic, and only communicate here.”
In a shot, Bryson was jolted out of her own mind and pushed back to the present. She blinked and suddenly, creatures began pushing their way into the tent, bringing with them the smell of magic. How it was so strong among the iron, Bryson couldn’t be sure. But it imbued the air. She stared down at the brownies, all in different shades and textures creaking their way through the tent.
Their fingers snapped and a tub appeared with steaming hot water. They began speaking in the Unseelie tongue, a language that was almost as old as the courts, and one Bryson did not understand. It had been spoken earlier and she hadn’t been able to follow along with the entirety of the conversation. They’d switched out between the common tongue, a language spoken throughout all of Illyk, their accents thick and low.
“I will bathe my own mate,” Weylyn declared to the brownies, shooing them away as they began to tug on her pants. “Find us both suitable clothing.”
When he spoke like that, she could almost see how princely he really was.
“Here.” Bryson’s breath suddenly caught as Weylyn appeared in front of her, long adept fingers tugging at the waist of her shirt. She lifted her arms as he tugged the garment off her. Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh as soon as she was exposed. She didn’t shy away as he began undressing her. Meticulously. Slowly. Like he was enjoying it rather than acting like it was a chore.
He untied the drawstring of her pants. As he leaned forward, his nose brushed against her belly, causing Bryson to suck in a breath. He looked up at her, dark lashes shadowing the gold of his eyes. He worked, as though his fingers memorized every curve of her, with his eyes firmly holding her own.
He shoved her pants down the length of her legs, his warm palms tracing her skin down to her ankles, where he helped to pull off her boots, socks, and pants.
Weylyn stood to his full height, purposefully brushing against her body as he went. Her skin felt suddenly far too sensitive, and his clothes scraped against her pebbled nipples uncomfortably. She wanted to peel the clothes from his body, feel his heat envelop her. It didn’t matter that there were brownies tittering about the room, cleaning and leaving the sharp smell of their magic wherever they touched.
She wanted him so much it ached.
Weylyn’s fingers began wresting at his own clothes and she dared herself to watch. Up close his details weren’t so hazy, and she followed the sight of his golden-brown skin being revealed to her. His shirt came off and she was staring at his firm flesh, wanting to reach out and touch it. Before she got a chance, he was shoving his pants down, pulling them and his boots and socks off. When they stood naked before one another, Bryson dared to let her gaze travel down... down...
But then Weylyn picked her up and dunked her into the water. She came up with a sputter and a curse, but he was already hopping into the tub behind her. Together, they made a tight fit, but it was surprisingly comfortable to have him so close.
For a moment, it made her feel less alone in the world they suddenly found themselves in. She was never good at being alone.
Weylyn was surprisingly silent behind her and kept a small bit of space between them. Her back curled and she leaned over her knees, wrapping her arms around them and sighed as he began pouring warm water down her back. He lapped it up with her hair, and each pass of his fingers felt like he was washing away the anxiety as well as the grime.
Her heart pounded an unsteady rhythm against her chest, she was sure he could feel it vibrating in the water.
Scented soap filled her nostrils and seconds later his fingers were in her hair, rubbing the foam there. He scraped his nails softly against her scalp, scrubbing against it until it bubbled. He guided her silently using only his fingers, pulling her back. Her head arched, and he dipped her hair into the bath, rinsing the suds.
When Bryson sat up again, it was to find herself pressed closer against Weylyn’s chest and nearly sitting in his lap.
She gasped when she felt his length press against her backside. She tensed, waiting to see what he’d do, but he didn’t press into her like she’d expected. She was surprised she almost yearned for it. She pressed down against him despite knowing she shouldn’t.
Weylyn’s fingers grasped her shoulders, roaming against her skin in gentle movements, kneading at the tightened muscles there.
She fell into the bliss of the sensation, moaning as he scrubbed the soap across her body. She let him guide her, lift her arms, scrub down her body, across her neck, down over the swells of her breasts. Her eyes closed of their own volition, and she lost herself in the sensation.
But Weylyn didn’t go any further than just washing her. His movements were gentle, firm, and almost clinical. He didn’t linger anywhere, but swiped across her skin with careful precision, slipping his hand around her front and beneath the cloudy surface.
