“Sam?”
Sam.
Never his full name. Never Samarius.
“It’s nothing,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips instead. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”
Ana’s gaze searched him, but she leaned up on her toes and kissed his cheek, her hand settling on the other. “Yeah,” she said, her voice soft. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll keep this in the oven.”
Sam pulled the shirt off his head and pressed his hands into the sink once he’d closed the door behind him and turned on the shower to its hottest setting. So very unlike the sink at his home in his garden, the one he usually stared out of dusty panes to his favorite flowers. There was blood on his arm still from the morning. Scratches on his forearms from where he’d allowed the soldier the illusion that he could fight him.
The mirror steamed up as he stared at it, watching his tired face disappear beneath the opaque shadow.
He would tell her tomorrow.
He would cherish this last night of domestic life with her, with the illusion that everything around them wasn’t falling apart, that there weren’t assassins on their doorstep and an army threatening the borders. One last night they could simply be with each other, in total oblivious bliss. He didn’t know how she would react when he told her who he was, when she found out he’d known who she was…
Sam sank to a crouch in the shower and let the splintering hot water run over his back. It blistered his skin, the wounds raising and closing, until he couldn’t feel anything other than the steam on his flesh and the numbness of his heart.
The door clicked just as Sam leaned back against the wall, knees pulled into his chest.
Ana stood in the steam, her back pressed to the door as she searched through the fog for him. It reminded him of the first time he saw her. How that fog had surrounded her body as though it found a likeness in her.
“Sam…” she said as she stepped to the glass door.
Their eyes met, and Ana swallowed as she looked him over, but Sam didn’t move. Not even when Ana stripped herself of her clothes and stepped into the tiled shower with him. And especially not when she sat beside him, curled her arm into his, and laid her head on his shoulder.
His throbbing heart slowed, and he actually took a deep breath.
“I used to do this all the time in Icemyer,” Ana whispered. “After a long day… There was something about the hot water over my tired skin that numbed my mind.”
Sam didn’t mean to stiffen, but he couldn’t help it. “How long were you there?” he said softly.
“A while. We fled there after we left Firemoor the first time,” she said, her touch absentmindedly tracing the vine and rose tattoos on his arm. “I would hide in the shower for an hour, until my father would beat on the door and tell me I’d used all the hot water we would have had for a week. He’d make me wash the dishes in the ice water after.”
Sam’s lips twitched like he might smile. He laid his head against hers, inhaling the almond and rose scent of the soap she’d discovered at the apothecary a few doors down as she continued to rub his arm, finally entwining their fingers together.
Sam squeezed her hand and kissed her head before leaning his forehead against her temple and closing his eyes. He wondered if somehow the water would stop time or even push it forward so that he never had to experience the pain of seeing her broken face when she learned he had lied to her all this time.
“Was it a call from him?” Ana whispered, and he knew she meant Death.
“Something like that,” he said.
“I didn’t know it affected you like this,” she said as she wrapped her other hand on top of their entwined fingers.
“Some days are worse than others,” and it wasn’t a complete lie.
Ana reached out for his other wrist and traced the small tattoo she’d given him, a quiet chuckle leaving her. “I can’t believe you let me do this,” she said, smile in her tone.
He sat up then and turned over her wrist to reveal her own healing tattoo. “Look at us, baby,” he whispered, his wrist turned so that they were beside each other. “Look at what we are.” He glanced down at her then, at the smile on her lips that didn’t quite meet her eyes, and he wondered if she was thinking of the assassin from the night before.
One more night. One more night, and then… then he would show her everything.
Sam kissed her temple, her cheek, her jaw, and Ana sank into his embrace. But he didn’t go any further, even though he wanted to. He would do that later after he’d laughed with her while they watched the newest episode of the comedic drama she liked, after they’d eaten and drank and his face hurt from smiling too much. He would kiss every inch of her body, take his time tasting her, fucking her, claiming her. He’d forget everything that had happened that day. He’d forget all his worries and the threats on both of them.
He’d just be with her.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
