Page 76 of The Eternal Mirror
I almost do anyway. But instead, I press my lips together and look around. The rooms are...beautiful. Pink and gold everything. Rich fabrics. Huge bed. Flowers. Even the air smells expensive.
I fucking hate it.
“Were these your mother’s rooms?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t know. She died when I was born.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “I never knew her.”
“Still.”
I become aware I smell of dungeon and desperation. There’s a second door on the far side which I’m hoping leads to a bathroom. “Sit. Relax. Try not to punch anything.”
He eyes me but sits.
The bathroom is absurd. White marble. Gold taps. A tub big enough for a football team. It should probably be filled with unicorn tears and scented rose petals. But I don’t care as long as the water is hot.
Heaven.
I run the water steaming hot and strip off my dungeon chic. Then I slide in and just...breathe. The heat seeps into my bones, washing away grime, blood, and fear. I duck my head. Scrub my hair. Briefly consider staying under until I drown. Apparently, it’s a peaceful way to go.
I come up gasping.
By the time I climb out, I feel vaguely less like roadkill. I grab the nearest towel. It’s pink, of course. Because the universe hates me. I wrap it tight and pad barefoot back into the room.
Khaos is still on the sofa. He looks up, then stands. His gaze slides over me—slow, intense.
“Better?” he asks.
“Cleaner,” I say, running a hand through my damp hair. I suddenly feel shy. The last time we made love, I thought it was theabsolutelast time. And maybe it was. I’m not sure I want to go there. The last few days have shown me what love is. It’s fear and responsibility and a big fucking pain in the ass.
The thing is, I can’t just not love Khaos. I’m not fickle enough to switch it off. Besides: mating bond! But I don’t need it clouding my judgment right now. I can’t make my decisions based on my feelings for Khaos. Not if I want us all to get out of this alive.
From the heat in his eyes, I don’t think Khaos feels the same, though.
He takes a step toward me. I hitch up my towel and tighten the knot, as though that will keep him at bay. He’s so big. I hold my ground as he reaches out and strokes the swell of my breast above the towel. Tingles run through me. My mouth goes dry. He lowers his head, and I know this is the moment I should back away. Stay detached. But it’s not happening. I’m leaning toward him, my whole body yearning for his touch.
There’s a knock at the door.
Khaosti goes still.
I hold up a hand. “Hide.”
He backs up and disappears into the bathroom.
Taking a deep breath, I tighten my towel again, and open the door. A woman stands there, dressed in black, eyes downcast. She has what looks suspiciously like a long pink dress hanging over her arm and is holding a tray with a silver goblet, a jug of wine, huge plates of food—fruit, bread, grilled vegetables, rice. Neither of us says a word. She places the tray on the table and lays the dress across the bed, then backs out of the room with a small curtsy at the door.
“All clear,” I call out to Khaos, and a moment later, I hear the water running.
I pick up the dress. I suppose it’s better than a towel, but it’s marginal. It’s long and clingy and made of some sort of silky material. I pull it over my head, and it fits like it was made for me. The pink silk clings to my breasts and hips.
I’m scowling at myself in the mirror when Khaosti emerges from the bathroom. He’s wrapped in a towel of his own. Pink suits him. It’s tied low on his hips, leaving lots of skin bare and revealing wide, powerful shoulders, the smooth swell of his chest, the truly impressive muscles of his abdomen. My nipples tighten—something that is totally obvious in the thin dress. His nostrils flare, like he’s scenting something he likes.
He comes to a halt, his eyebrows raised, heat stirring in his eyes as his gaze drops down over my body. I cross my arms over my chest.
“I’ve never seen you in a dress before,” he murmurs.
