Page 136 of Bound

“Can’t reach over my head, remember?” She reminded him lightly, but her eyes opened and there was a hint of tension there. She did not like limitations. He doubted he would much care for them either.

Washing his hair was a rough, necessary venture. Quick swipes of soap, a haphazard lather, then a dunk in the creek—sometimes the pour of a pitcher if he remembered to bring one.

He would not be so careless with her. She undid the end of her braid herself, then it was left to him to smooth out the rest of the plait. For all their teases of her being an invalid, he could not pretend that he did not feel his own blood heating at the feel of her hair through his fingers. The trust she put in him as she moved away from the edge of the tub to allow him better access to her scalp.

He was doing something, wasn’t he? More than combing his fingers through long, dark hair. Dry at the roots, damp in the middle, sodden at the ends as they tried to meld onto her skin, flushed pink from the heat of the water.

Washing. Yes. Which is why there was soap in his other hand.

“Wait,” Wren cut in, her head turning and eyes narrowing. “Were you about to put that in my hair?”

He glanced down at the soap, his brow furrowing in confusion. It was perfectly ordinary. Dotted with herbs that made it smell nice, but still just... soap.

“Yes?”

She cringed away from him, which was not at all as nice as having her ease against him, all trust and closed eyes and a soft smile about her lips.

“There are potions for hair. Not... not just soap.”

Was that what those bottles were for? He’d seen them in the cupboard, but...

“You label nothing,” Braum reminded her, feeling a tinge of embarrassment at having evidently erred in his task before it had even fully begun. “It makes it rather troublesome for the uninitiated.”

It wasn’t a complaint. Truly it wasn’t. If Kessa had a cabinet of lotions and potions for her hair, he did not remember it. Or perhaps it was something from her mother’s side that made it require more care? It would also explain the silken texture, soft and slippery in the water...

“Teach me,” he entreated, his hand curling about her shoulder. “Please. How to take care of you.”

Her eyes lost their squint. Her mouth wasn’t pinched in that tight line of displeasure. Instead she sighed and put her arms on the edge of the tub nearest to him as she looked up at him. “It doesn’t occur to me to say such things to you. Why do you know what to say? Twists up my insides...”

She was hurt. Even with the murky water and wet hair, he could make out the edges of her bruises. He could not pluck her from the bath. Could not take her to her bed and...

Just a bath. Just a bath.

“Do I?” He asked, his voice low and strained. Just had his muscles felt tense with all he mustn’t do, all the touches he mustn’t give.

Later. This was another lesson in trust, and he would not fail her. It was one thing to threaten her hair with ordinary soap; it was another to go back on his word. His promises.

The weight of that cooled his blood, but only just. Most particularly when her eyes met his in surprise. “You did not know? I was certain you did it on purpose, trying to prove something. Whether to me or to you, I couldn’t be sure.”

He frowned ever so slightly. “Contrary to what you might think, we do not receive lessons in wooing a mate. Most of the work is done for us.” Blood and instincts. Some hints of magic that were bound within his kind, with origins he could not begin to explain.

He did reach for her then, his finger following a drop of water down her neck toward her collarbone. He watched her throat move as she swallowed, watched the way her lids dropped ever so slightly in response. Did that mean she found his touch pleasing?

He hoped so. He knew the faces she made when she was displeased, and they...

They did not look like this.

“Do you mind?” Wren asked, eyes mild, but with a hint of the worry she so often carried. “Having to work harder?”

He leaned close. His knees ached vaguely against the hard floor. He’d purchase a rug for just this spot. Just so he could feel the warmth of her, listen to the slight hitch to her breath as he brought his hand to curl about her ear, to push damp hair away from her face so he could see her all the more clearly. “You are worth it.” And he meant it.

She made to duck her head, to shy away. And if she spoke one word of apology, he was going to have to kiss her to stop the unnecessary flow of words. He was sorry she hurt. Sorry that the circumstances of her birth had meant she thought that family was a temporary affair. Was sorrier still that a bit of scum had preyed upon that. Used it, abused her, and made her afraid of anything more.

But there wouldn’t be more. Because this was a bath, and that meant if he placed a kiss to her cheek, that was just a part of this new ritual they were creating. Together.

And if she shivered a little, it was because she had crept a bit too high from the hot water, and he should coax her to relax. Just a bath.

“Hair or back first?”

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