The distance between us is maddening—mere yards separating me from him. Close enough to imagine the way he moves in his private world, the rituals that define his evenings, the quiet rhythm of his breath as he sleeps. It’s dangerous, this pull toward him, and I know I need to steady myself before I do something reckless that I can’t undo.
I shake the thoughts away, forcing my focus elsewhere as I begin removing my clothing. Each piece falls to the floor as I make my way to the waiting bath. The steam rises invitingly, and I pull my hair back, carefully draping it over the edge of the tub to keep it dry. Sliding into the hot water, I let out a sigh, my scarred hands sinking below the surface, hidden from view. The heat soothes my body, but not my thoughts. They betray me, wandering back to Casper, lingering on the what-ifs. What if I gave in to this longing, this maddening need to see him, to feel his arms around me again? My heart stutters at the idea, a thrill I can’t allow myself to entertain for long.
And then, the tent flap rustles.
I freeze, sinking lower into the water as the fabric parts and Jason strides in. My eyes widen in shock, and I instinctively lower myself further, the water rippling as I try to make myself as inconspicuous aspossible. Jason exhales heavily, seemingly oblivious to my presence as he unfastens his cloak and tosses it onto a nearby chair. His boots follow, then his shirt—oh gods, his shirt. My jaw tightens as I stare, unable to look away from his taut muscles and the smooth definition of his shoulders.
He starts to unbutton his pants when I finally find my voice.
“You should know... I’m in here.”
Jason freezes mid-motion, his head snapping toward me as he processes the situation, clearly caught off guard. A grin tugs at my lips, and I sink halfway beneath the water, trying to stifle a giggle. His expression shifts, half amused, half exasperated. He tilts his head, his lips curving into a slight grin as he reaches to zip his pants back up.
“You could’ve mentioned that sooner,” he says, his voice laced with dry humor.
I bite down on my bottom lip, suppressing a laugh as I watch him retrieve his shirt. He pulls it over his head, the fabric stretching over his chest, and I can’t help myself.
“You know,” I say, tilting my chin upward, letting the playful edge seep into my voice, “if I’d known back then that you looked like that beneath all that heroic smugness, I might’ve been tempted to ask you to warm my bed... back then.”
Jason’s fingers still on his shirt, as he tilts his head at me.
“Back then, huh?” he teases.
“Yes,” I reply, sinking a little deeper into the water. “But fortunately, I’ve grown much wiser with age.”
He chuckles softly, then reaches for his cloak, sweeping it over his shoulders.
“Careful, wife, if you keep talking to me like that, I might just take it all off.”
I let out a soft laugh, the kind that feels warm and genuine, before slipping my face just below the waterline, trying to hide the flush that creeps up my neck. When I surface, I hear his chuckle low and easy as he adjusts the clasp.
“I’ll find another place to wash off,” he says, glancing toward the tent flap. “There’s a river around here somewhere.”
He winks at me before stepping out into the early dawn, leaving me alone with the echo of his teasing words. Leaning back in the tub, I press my hands to my face, a laugh slipping through my lips. It’s been so long since things felt this simple, this light. Jason and I used to be like this—always teasing, always playful. A fleeting glimpse of the past, when everything was easier, before duty and betrayal cast their shadow over us. And gods, how I’ve missed it.
As Jason walks out of the tent, I lean forward, grabbing the soap and lathering it across my scarred hands. A cold draft cuts through the air, accompanied by the sound of footsteps returning. Assuming it’s Jason, I place my hands back beneath the water, speaking before looking up.
“You know, you should wear a bell.”
The soft sound of footsteps reaches me, almost drowned by the crackle of the fire outside the tent.
“I’ll wear a collar if you hold the leash,” a voice purrs, low, dark, and wicked
My brows furrow, and I glance around the dimly lit tent. Then, as if the shadows themselves take form, a figure emerges. Dark, disheveled hair. A gaze that’s both piercing and twisted, like a scar etched across his soul.Callum.My hands instinctively dart back beneath the water, hiding my scars as heat rises to my cheeks.
“Get out!”
But Callum’s expression remains maddeningly calm as he leans against the tent post.
“Youget out,” he counters smoothly, a slow grin curving his lips as he pulls a knife from his belt.
With infuriating ease, he twirls it between his fingers. His movements are playful—like a predator toying with its prey. To him, this is nothing more than an idle game. My frustration flares, and with a subtle flick of my fingers beneath the water, my magic responds. The bath ripples, a layer of foam spreading across the surface in an instant, obscuring me from his prying gaze. His eyes flick to the newly formed bubbles, one brow arching in that infuriatingly amused way of his.
“Nice touch,” he says, stepping closer.
The air thickens as he crouches beside the tub, resting one knee on the ground. His hand trails lazily along the wooden rim, his long fingers dipping into the water. The intimacy of the gesture sends a jolt through me, but I refuse to flinch.
“What are you doing?” I finally ask, my voice low and steady despite the chaos inside me.
