Page 139 of Oathborn
“Let me help,” Yansin said. “Magic can only do so much. Where does it hurt the most?”
She’d been so occupied with other thoughts, Zari hadn’t allowed herself a chance to truly assess her own injuries since Yansin had entered her room. Even after Hazelle’s magic took away the worst of the agony, aches still remained, as did the discomfort of sore, exhausted muscles. “My back,” she admitted. “And my shoulders.” Both locations, she realized, would require removal of her tunic for further inspection.
She realized, too, that she had no wish for Yansin to leave, even if she would be in such a state of undress. Carefully, she tugged the tunic off, leaving her torso exposed, except for the fabric wrapping around her chest, covering her breasts.
Once more, Yansin averted his eyes. This time, Zari figured it was out of gentlemanly courtesy. “You vixen,” he teased, “not even providing a man a bit of warning before disrobing.”
“You offered to look at my wounds.”
“So I did. Now, turn around and let me do so.”
“Why?”
“Because, dearest, if I was to look at your face in your current state, I fear I would become rather undone and be of no use to anyone, least of all to you, for a few minutes.”
“Oh,” Zari said, and then, upon a bit more reflection, repeated herself with more emphasis. “Ohh.” The soft laughter that escaped him made her blush all the more. He kneeled behind her, his hands gently sweeping over her shoulders. Though she usually liked her short hair, she suddenly found herself embarrassed by it, wishing she had a cascade of long, flowing locks like the fae she’d met. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled to him.
“For being a vixen?” He kissed her neck. “Never apologize for such a thing.”
“No, no. For, well. I’m… I’m not…” Her tongue seemed to stick to her teeth, and her words caught in her throat. “You’re seeing me now, as you haven’t before and…” Except she’d had short hair as long as they’d known each other. So why were her eyes burning now, stinging with hot, angry tears?
“And I am very much in awe of what I see,” he replied. “For I gaze upon a confident, capable woman, who has traveled countless miles on a noble quest. Who has fought against terrible odds, and survived.” At the end of every sentence, Yansin planted a kiss along her spine, each one a bit lower than the one before. She shivered, awaiting the next, and the next.
He paused, his lips close enough the heat of his breath brushed against her hips. The sensation fanned out across her skin, traveling lower, warming her to her very core. Yansin whispered, “I would have you, Zari, if you wish. However…”
“However…” she echoed his counter, glancing back at him, finding herself enjoying the view a great deal. She felt no more hesitation, no embarrassment, when his appreciation of her was so clear. Instead, she grinned at him, proud of herself for the desire she evoked in him.
She yearned to be like a flame, to wrap around him and ignite them both. If only they could give in to their desires tonight, no matter how impractical. Let the consequences come. They could face them together.
Yansin kissed her neck. “The magic Hazelle used will wear off. You will wake up terribly sore tomorrow and I don’t wish for anything to overtax you.”
“And you think it will?” A challenge curved Zari’s lips.
“Oh,” Yansin grinned at her. “It would be my greatest honor to give you every imaginable pleasure, until you are completely undone, exhausted and sated in equal measure.”
“I don’t suppose you’d settle for anything less.”
“Not at all.” He laughed softly, as his fingers brushed over her shoulder blades in slow loops. “Trust me. Please. Fae bodies heal far faster than humans. Their healing spells are not always a guarantee when applied to a mortal’s body.”
So there were limitations to Hazelle’s magic. The clinical part of Zari’s mind, albeit dimmed by the pleasure he offered, registered that comment with interest. Part of her itched to study magic-based healing, not only out ofcuriosity, but to seek a cure for her father’s condition. “So what will happen to me tomorrow?”
“Hopefully, you take a nice long nap and laze about in this lovely bed.” He laughed, that delightful sound full of sunlight and joy. “Though it will have to be without my dashing company. For now, let me tend to you, rather than court you further.”
As he spoke, his fingers ran gently over her bare skin, like she was a map leading toward treasure. His fingertips applied gentle pressure, seeking the places she was the sorest. With long, sweeping strokes, he kneaded the tired muscles, unknitting all the knots she’d barely been aware of.
When he paused, a faint moan of protest escaped her lips.
Something herbal, a sharp, crisp note followed by the tang of mint fluttered through the air. It was a pleasant, familiar scent. “This will help, as well,” he said, before he applied whatever lotion contained the scent to her skin. Despite craning her neck, all she could see was Yansin, his brow furrowed in concentration, as he worked.
Delight slipped from her in a sigh. “I must learn whatever spell makes such a potion.”
“Spell?” He leaned over her shoulder to show her a small jar made of dark brown glass, with a bright green label on it.
She recognized it instantly as a popular muscle cream. The hospital supply room held rows of it, between cases of bandages and painkillers. “Why that’s—”
“Rhydonian?” This time, it was Yansin who kissed her cheek. “Free of magic? A marvel of modern medicine?” His teasing tone made her wrinkle her nose in delight. The jar of cream was all of those things indeed, and yet, magical on her skin. Or perhaps it was his touch which amplified the cream’s soothing powers.
“Have you had that all this time?” she asked.
