Magnus shakes his head, grinning like he can’t believe it. “You really hired a PI? Jesus, Hale. You’re obsessed with me, huh?”
The words sting more than they should. I turn away, pretending to inspect his bookshelf. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He pushes off the counter and moves closer, his presence filling the small space. “Not flattery,” he says quietly. “Just fact.”
I ignore him, crossing to the kitchen sink and turning on the water. The pipes rattle. He’s not lying about the noise. I fill up a coffee mug I assume is clean and push it into his hands. “You need a shower,” I say, glancing back at him.
He swallows it down and looks down at himself like he’s just noticing the state he’s in—dried sweat and blood. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Probably.”
“Go.”
He smirks. “What, you gonna stand guard outside the door?”
I take him by the hand, trying not to notice the amount of times he stumbles or leans on me to get to the bathroom.
I sit him down on the toilet and start the water, the pipes groaning in protest.
The sound of the shower is steady now, the smell of steam drifting into the air. I rub my hands together, trying to chase off the cold.
“Alaric.” He’s shirtless, new bruises blooming across his chest. “Thank you.”
Something cracks in my chest. “Of course.”
I help him undress, and he gets in the shower. “Hey?”
“What?”
“Come here.”
I laugh. “I’m fine out here.”
The curtain slides open halfway. He’s dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead, steam rising off his skin. He looks raw and stripped down in every way that matters.
He smirks. “I wasn’t asking, prince.”
“Magnus—”
“Just—don’t argue. Please.”
His voice cracks on the wordplease. That’s what does it. I step forward, pulling off my shirt and pants, leaving my briefs on. The water hits me instantly—hot, relentless, stinging my cold skin.
He pulls me in closer, hands at my shoulders. The shower’s barely big enough for both of us because of the built-in seat protruding from the wall. I can feel the tremor in him even as he tries to hide it.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice muffled by the sound of water.
“You didn’t.”
“I did. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Maybe I wanted to be here,” I say, softer than I mean to.
That stops him. For a second, he just looks at me, really looks, eyes searching like he’s waiting for me to take it back.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, but this time it’s not for me. It’s for himself.
I kiss his cheeks, letting the water warm him up. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. Just… get cleaned up.”
Then he reaches for me—gentle this time. His hand finds my wrist and tugs until I’m closer again.
