"Then we match." I touch his face, trace the line of his jaw. "Because I'll never forget how your strength kept me whole. How your will held me when I should have shattered. How your power flowed through me like lightning."
He leans into my touch, turns his head to press a kiss to my palm. Then he lifts me again, so gentle, and lowers me into the water.
The heat hits every ache, every bruise, every healing wound. I gasp, and Declan freezes.
"Too hot?"
"Just right." I sink deeper, let the warmth soak into my bones.
He settles on the floor beside the tub, one hand trailing in the water, maintaining contact. Like he can't bear not to touch me. I understand. I feel the same pull, the need to stay connected, to prove to ourselves that we're both here and alive.
"You scared me," he says quietly. "When you walked toward that thing. When you stepped into it. I felt the corruption eating you alive, and I couldn't stop it. Couldn't do anything except try to keep your mind from shattering and pray it was enough."
"It was enough." I catch his hand in the water, squeeze. "You kept me whole. Your strength, your will. I would have died without that. Without you."
"We did it as a team."
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. Not just the battle. Everything. The future stretching out ahead of us, bound by more than just the mate bond now.
Declan picks up soap, starts washing my back. He's careful around my injuries, thorough everywhere else. The washclothmoves in slow circles, and I feel the tension start to bleed out of my muscles. His touch is reverent, gentle, washing away not just the physical grime but something deeper.
He works methodically. My shoulders. Down my spine. Along my sides, careful of the burns. When he reaches for my arm, lifting it from the water to soap from wrist to shoulder, I watch his face. The concentration there. The tenderness. Like I'm something precious that might break.
His hands slide down to wash my legs, and the simple intimacy of it—the care, the reverence—makes my throat tight.
"I thought I lost you," he murmurs, voice breaking.
I turn in the water to face him. His eyes and face are haggard. My fierce Storm Alpha, who shows weakness to no one, has been watching over me for four days.
I pull him toward me, and he comes willingly, leaning over the edge of the tub. I frame his face with wet hands, water dripping down his jaw. "I'm here. Not going anywhere."
Then I kiss him. Softly at first, just a brush of lips. Then deeper. Pouring everything I can't say into it. Love and gratitude and the fierce joy of being alive.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, Declan's eyes have darkened. Heat floods the bond between us, want and need spiraling up fast.
"Get in here," I whisper.
He doesn't need to be told twice. He stands, strips off his shirt in one smooth motion. My eyes trace the lines of his body—the broad shoulders, the defined chest and abs, the way his jeans hang low on his hips. He kicks them off along with his briefs, and then he's stepping into the tub with me, completely bare.
Water sloshes over the sides as he settles in. He doesn't care. He just reaches for me, pulls me against his chest, and wraps his arms around me like he's never letting go.
"I need to feel you," he says roughly. "Need to know you're real. That you're here. That we survived this."
I turn in his arms, straddling his lap. My thighs bracket his hips in the warm water. Every point of contact sends heat through me. His chest against mine. His hands spanning my waist. The hard length of him pressed between us.
The mate bond flares hot, amplifying every sensation. His desire feeds mine. My need fuels his. It's a feedback loop that leaves us both gasping.
I rock my hips slightly, watching his eyes darken further. His grip on my waist tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to ground us both. To remind us this is real. We're alive. We survived.
Then his mouth finds mine again, and this kiss is different. Hungry. Desperate. His tongue sweeps in to claim mine, and I open for him, letting him take what he needs. What we both need.
His hands map my body like he's memorizing it. Sliding up my sides, careful of my injuries. Cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over nipples that harden instantly at his touch. I arch into his hands, gasping against his mouth, and feel his answering groan vibrate through his chest.
"Eliza." My name is a plea and a prayer. "Tell me if I hurt you. If anything...”
"You won't." I cut him off with another kiss. "I need this. Need you."
I reach between us, wrap my hand around the hard length of him. He's hot and thick in my palm, and when I stroke slowly from base to tip, his hips jerk involuntarily. His head falls back against the rim of the tub, exposing the long line of his throat.
