He winked at her, and warmth spread through her. For a moment, she forgot about the world outside, harsh and violent.
“Magic. I’ve spent many years designing this space and I have paid a great sum to several witches to make it exactly the way that I want.” He tucked a long strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll be right back.”
He closed the door behind him, and she undressed slowly, achingly, her body bruised and sore. Her brother’s last moments on earth replayed in her mind. She couldn’t stop crying. Couldn’t stop seeing him torn apart. Ravenna pressed her palms against her eyes and let out a ragged moan.
She didn’t know when, she didn’t know how, but one day, she’d have to tell her parents. The twins. Tereza. One day, she would have to tell them they’d lost a son, a brother.
And she didn’t know how she’d survive the telling of it.
When Saturnino returned, she stood in the middle of the room, the dressing gown draped around her. He had a single bucket with him, steam curling above it, and he dumped the contents into the metal tub. The water kept pouring and pouring, until it filled up, almost to the brim.
“Magic,” she whispered.
“A Seaweaver gemstone was used in the spell.” Saturnino stared at her, the bruised temple, the swollen lip.
“Still think I look lovely?” Ravenna asked, a bare whisper.
“Lovelier,” he said in a hushed voice. “It hurts me to look at you sometimes. You are strong and resilient, and yet so fragile. Beautiful and stern, gracious and snappish when you’re cross.” He placed a soft palm against the rapid beating of her heart. “Your beauty shines from within, and it is your heart that has stolen my own.”
Her breath caught. “I have your heart?”
“How can you doubt it, Ravenna?” he said in the same hushed voice. “Everything I once breathed for—power and glory, my life—none of that matters to me anymore if I can’t keep you safe.” He swallowed hard. “Even from me.”
“Saturnino,” she chided softly. “I am safe.”
He gave her a faint smile. “Tesoro, you’re looking at the one thing you’ll never be safe from.” He stepped away from her with visible effort. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be close.”
The door shut behind him. Ravenna played with the knot of her robe, thinking, her face flushed from the rising steam emanating from the bath. She pulled at the fabric, the dressing gown slipped down her body, and then took a hesitant step into the tub. It was the perfect temperature, and she let out a little sigh of bliss.
Ravenna sank fully into the water, leaning back against the edge. Her eyes fluttered closed, but she was acutely aware of Saturnino waiting on the other side of that door. He wouldn’t touch her, not without her consent.
And even then, he might deny her.
She reached for the bar of soap, washing her legs, her arms. The hot water soothed her scrapes, the sore ache near her ribs. The shock was wearing off, and she yearned for connection. After seeing so much death, she wanted to feel alive. She needed Saturnino, his strength, his vitality. She wanted his touch, his arms around her. She wantedoblivion. Anticipation built steadily within her. She knew what she desired. And a single door was the only thing between them now.
“Saturnino,” she called softly.
The door opened a crack. “Yes? What do you need?”
“You,” she said, breathless.
A long beat followed. He must have heard the question in her voice, the subtle note of yearning, because his voice came out stilted, a touch exasperated. “Ravenna.”
“I do,” she said, her voice cracking. “I need you.”
There was a soft thud against the door, as if he’d dropped his head against it. There was a desperate quality to the tone of his voice she found riveting. “Don’t do this to me.Please.”
Ravenna knew when to pivot in a negotiation. “I need help washing my hair.”
Saturnino pushed the door open wider, poking his head inside. His gaze was pointedly fixed toward the ground. “Are you lying to me?”
“Yes.”
He turned his head to glower at her, but his lips froze, parted at the sight of her in the tub. Her long, autumn-colored hair covered her shoulders, the swells of her breasts. Her knees were bent, soapy bubbles freckling her skin. As if pulled by a magnetic force, he drew away from the door, stepping closer to her. He was battle-worn, clothing rumpled, knuckles raw and bruised, slowly healing. A blue-tinged flush crested the bridge of his nose.
“Damn it, Ravenna,” he said hoarsely.
Wordlessly, she handed him the bar of soap.
