I stood by the door, still fully dressed, still fully adult, watching him prepare this ritual with the focus of someone defusing a bomb. Because that's what this was, really—careful deconstruction of all my defenses before the mark could use them against me.
"Come here," he said gently, and I moved without thinking, my body already learning to respond to that particular tone—not quite command, not quite request, something in between that made obedience feel like comfort rather than surrender.
His hands went to the hem of the blue dress, and I raised my arms without being asked. The fabric whispered over my skin as he lifted it away, and I should have felt exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I felt . . . tended. Like a cherished thing being carefully unwrapped.
"Step," he said, fingers at the waistband of my leggings, and I did, one foot then the other, letting him undress me with the same clinical tenderness you'd use with someone injured. No lingering touches, no indulgence of the want that hummed between us like electric current. Just care.
The water embraced me as I lowered myself in, warm enough to make my muscles unlock one by one. I hadn't realized how rigid I'd been holding myself until I wasn't anymore, until the heat worked through me like gentle fingers undoing knots I'd forgotten were there.
"Lean back," Caelus said, arranging himself on a stool behind the tub. "Let me wash your hair."
The first touch of his fingers on my scalp made me make a sound I didn't recognize—something between a sigh and a whimper, all my remaining tension flowing out in a single exhale. He worked soap through my hair with careful pressure,fingertips finding every spot that ached without me having to tell him where they were.
"You know what I saw this morning?" he asked, voice soft enough that I had to focus to hear him. "A cloud that looked exactly like a dragon eating breakfast. It had a fork and everything, though I think clouds make terrible breakfast food. Too insubstantial. You'd be hungry again in five minutes."
The observation was so deliberately silly that I felt my mouth curve despite everything. "Clouds would taste like cotton candy."
"Mmm, but wet cotton candy. The disappointing kind you get when it rains at the fair." His fingers kept working, steady and rhythmic. "Though I suppose if you were a dragon, you could toast them first. Caramelized clouds. That might work."
I found myself thinking about the logistics of cooking clouds, about what temperature would caramelize water vapor, about whether dragon-fire would just evaporate them entirely. Except the thoughts felt . . . different. Softer around the edges. Like I was thinking through gauze, everything slightly muffled and distant.
"The sunrise tastes different in the morning," he continued, rinsing my hair with water that stayed exactly the right temperature. "More silver than gold. Like breathing in possibilities before the day decides what it wants to be."
"How does silver taste?" The question came out smaller than I'd intended, younger.
"Like winter stars and wind chimes. Like the first breath after crying." He moved to wash my shoulders, my arms, still talking in that steady, soft voice. "Gold tastes like honey and thunderstorms. Like laughter that surprises you."
The adult part of my brain—the part that calculated danger and planned escapes and remembered that marks could corrupt—was getting quieter. Not gone, just . . . muted. Like someone had turned down its volume until it was barely a whisper underthe warm, safe, cared-for feelings that were expanding through my chest.
"I'm getting fuzzy," I said, the words slipping out without the usual filters that would have made me phrase it better, more precisely.
"Good," Caelus murmured, his approval making something in my chest glow warm. "That's exactly right. Just let it happen."
Let it happen. Stop fighting. Stop thinking. Just be here, in warm water that smelled like sleep, with gentle hands washing away everything that hurt.
When he helped me stand, wrapping me immediately in a towel so soft it felt like being hugged by a cloud, I was definitely smaller. Not all the way—still aware of why we were doing this, still remembering the danger—but smaller. The thoughts came simpler, more direct. Warm was good. Soft was nice. Caelus—Daddy?—made things safe.
"Good girl," he said, and the praise lit me up from inside like swallowing sunlight. When had someone last called me good? When had I last felt like I'd done something worth praising, instead of just surviving another day?
He dried me with careful pats, then held out the blue dress with its tiny stars. I lifted my arms without thinking, let him dress me like I was something precious that needed tending. The fabric settled around me soft as whispers, and I ran my fingers along the star-embroidered hem, fascinated by the texture.
"Now," he said, leading me to the toy chest, "you need a friend."
The dragons all looked wonderful, but my hands went immediately to a silver one with storm-gray eyes—not the biggest or the best-made, but something about it called to me. Its wings were slightly crooked, and one button eye sat higher than the other, but when I picked it up, it fit perfectly in my arms.
"That's Stormy," Caelus said, and his voice had gone fond in a way that made my chest tight.
"Stormy," I repeated, holding the dragon closer. The name felt right, felt true, felt like something that had been waiting for me to find it.
When he lifted me to sit on the bed—his hands spanning my waist, easy as breathing—both our bodies remembered what we couldn't have. The mark pulsed cold between my shoulder blades. Desire hit like lightning, sharp and immediate, making me gasp. Through the bond, I felt his own want slam into him just as hard, felt him fight it down with will that shook from the effort.
The moment stretched dangerous and taut, his hands still on my waist, my body singing with need that tried to drag me back to adult thoughts, adult wants, adult understanding of what we both desperately craved.
Then he set me down, stepped back, and the moment broke like a soap bubble—there, then gone, leaving only the ghost of what almost was.
"Time for puzzles," he said, voice only slightly rough, and I nodded, holding Stormy tighter.
Puzzles sounded nice. Safe. Something Little Wren could do without Big Wren's wants getting in the way.
