Dominic did not hesitate to peel off his blood-soaked tunic, wincing as the fabric stuck to his skin. Then he tossed the shirt, followed by his boots and trousers, leaving him in his undergarments, onto the ground. He stepped into the water, shuddered at the sweet relief of the chill that swept over his burning wounds.
Adara’s tired eyes remained downcast. The slight downturn of her lips indicated that she wanted to argue against stripping down to near nakedness in his presence, but she merely lowered herself to the forest floor at the edge of the pond. She reached for the laces of her boot, and Dominic stopped her. “Let me,” he said softly, glancing at her bloodied arm resting limply in her lap.
She winced as she peeled the fingerless glove off her right hand, revealing marred skin beneath it. Her fingers trembled as she tried to pry off the glove on her left hand, her wounded arm making it impossibly difficult. Dominic took hold of her left hand and slipped off the glove. Their fingertips brushed, sending strange but pleasant sparks through his skin. He tried to ignore the feeling as he placed her glove next to the other.
She didn’t fight him as he undid the laces, slipping off her boots one by one. Adara moved her arm, grimacing at themotion as she attempted to take off her shirt. His hands found the hem of her tunic and she gave him a curt nod. She kept her eyes downcast, like she couldn’t stand to see someone offer help. His eyes remained locked on her face. But he was tempted to let his hands slide across her stomach, trace the curve of her waist, outline the slight swell of her breasts as he gently guided her shirt up over her head, but he refrained from making contact with any part of her exposed skin. Adara’s lips pressed tightly together, holding back a moan of pain as he peeled her sleeve off her injured arm.
He glanced down at the dark pants hugging her thighs, and waited until she slowly nodded, giving him silent permission to help her remove them. He made sure to keep his hands low and his eyes lower as he tugged at the fabric around her knees until he could pull them completely off, leaving her in underwear and a simple brown band of fabric around her breasts.
Adara lowered herself into the pond, shivering at the water’s chilly embrace. She sighed, lifting a hand to wipe the blood from her face, walked away from him, and dipped her head beneath the surface. Dominic did the same, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the sweat and blood clinging to him, though being entirely rid of the blood would have to wait until they got back to the ship, where they could properly bandage their wounds.
Adara slicked her hair back, pulling it over her shoulder to comb through it with her fingers. Without her long mass of hair in the way, Dominic had a clear view of her upper back, sculpted with lean muscle and ink.
And scars. Thick, jagged scars that lined the edges of her shoulder blades, parallel to one another as they plunged down her back, beneath the fabric around her chest. Something inside him lurched, his throat going dry at the sight of them, breath catching in his lungs. So deep, so harshly carved into her flesh, like someone had hacked away at her back, sawing through skinand bone until there was nothing more to destroy, then left to heal terribly on its own.
Inky black flames painted her back in the shape of wings folded against her skin, stemming from those gruesome scars.
“It’s rude to stare, Nite,” Adara uttered, glancing at him from over a bare shoulder.
He shook his head, as if waking from a trance. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I was just curious about your tattoo.”
Adara chuckled, the sound hollow and exhausted, and shook her head. “Honestly, so am I.”
His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t know anything about them,” Adara explained. She turned to face him, pointed to the fire on her chest. “I know I was born with this”—blue flames danced across her fingertips before dwindling to smoke—“for obvious reasons. But that one appeared one day after . . . I’m not sure why I have them,” she admitted. There she went again, her cryptic nonsense about her past. Like a home that he’d never seen on any maps and those mysterious tattoos. He silently questioned if she hated them, if they felt like an invasion of her skin, showing up with no way to be rid of them.
“The gods must have given them to me to remind me of something.” Her reasoning eased his thoughts, knowing that she believed they were something she needed.
She turned her back on him, continuing to wash away the grime sticking to her.
He wondered if it still hurt, the maimed skin of her back. Wondered what sort of injury—no, not injury,torture—she’d endured to receive such savage punishment. Whatever this was, was meant to hurt, to last forever. His chest ached to imagine her, so young, enduring such torment. Who would do such a thing to leave her so irreversibly damaged?
He would, he reminded himself. The King of Keys would leave her in such despair from a broken heart that could never be healed.
Dominic waded closer to her. His fingers drifted up her back, lightly tracing the flaming wings, but straying away from the scars. She shivered beneath his touch, but did not move away.
“Who did this to you?” he whispered. Whoever it was, he wanted to know. It could be valuable information to help him in this war.
No, it was deeper than that. Deeper than needing to learn all her weaknesses so he could expose them. Adara would surely want revenge on whoever hurt her, and Dominic would be willing to help her take it, if she would let him. He, too, had scars that marred his back. Deep, unhealed from being broken open too often. By the way she shuddered at his words, he knew that whoever it was, she was afraid of them. Just as he was afraid of the hand that had given him his scars. Adara shouldn’t have to face the same thing he did alone.
She looked at him over her shoulder, eyes glossy but filled with rage. Not at him, at whoever caused her this pain. “The same person I’m going to kill once we make the Realm Fracturer.”
Sensing she wasn’t going to tell him more, Dominic decided against pushing the subject. “Then we’ll have to survive our search for the other relics.”
Adara turned toward him and nodded with determination. Then her gaze softened, drifting down to the center of his chest, heating his skin. He felt so bare, so vulnerable beneath her gaze, not because of his naked chest, but because it felt like she glimpsed right through him. Like she knew his darkest secrets with nothing more than a simple glance. Like she would reach inside him and find permanent residence, filling the abyss where his heart used to be with her light.
Her eyes landed on the scar that marred the flesh where his heart should have been. “And who,” she started, voice gentle as her fingers skimmed over his chest, “did this to you?”
His magic thrummed in a rhythmic response, pounding against his ribs as if it wanted her touch. But his heart was no longer in that cage. It was at the bottom of the Plagued Sea.
Dominic grabbed her hand forcefully and removed it from his chest. He hated that she dared to so tenderly reach for something that wasn’t there. So many people had grasped for something he could never offer. His jaw tensed as he ground out, “I did.”
Her eyes snapped back up to his face. Shock flashed in her irises. She quickly blinked it away. He let go of her hand. Thankfully, she made no move to touch him again. Though his heart was no longer there, he loathed the thought of anyone being remotely near where it used to be.
“The rumors are true?” she asked. “You really did carve out your own heart?” Her brows knitted together, eyes assessing him as if trying to figure out why he would do such a diabolical thing to himself. She gazed at him with confusion mixed with something like pity.
He nodded slowly. “Of course.”
