Taevas sat in her bed like it was a throne. It didn’t matter thathis hair was disheveled, nor that his skin still hadn’t regained the flush of good health. His spine was straight, his brow lowered, and his jaw firm. He balanced one wrist on a raised knee and fixed her with a dark look.
“You have today,metsalill,to run. To hide from me in your garden, or wherever else you choose. When it’s done, it’s done forever.”
Relief made her momentarily dizzy.He’s not leaving. Yet.
Taevas reached for his coffee and raised his cup to her, promising, “After today, I will chase you. No matter how broken my body is, no matter where you go — I will follow. You are queen here, but I am a dragon, and we do not let treasure escape us.”
Something whispered along the paths carved into her flesh. It was the hum of thousands of minds, her ancestors, her grove, as individual and collective as the trees in the forest. It was rare that they stirred all at once, and she wondered fleetingly what had roused them so.
Was it the way her heart jackhammered against her ribs? The flush of her skin? Or was it how easily, how unknowingly Taevas had stepped into the path trodden by so many of her kin before her?
I will follow.
It was what a nymph would say. So why did it feel so much like a threat?
She suspected he was judging her, but Alashiya spent most of her day doing exactly as he seemed to know she would: avoiding him.
Oh, she checked on him, of course. She brought him lunch when she made it and forced more medicine down his throat. Occasionally she popped her head in to find he’d gone back to sleep, or to find that he’d filched books from her collection and buried his nose in them. But for as often as she saw him, theydidn’t truly speak, and he made no further overtures or grand declarations.
He appeared content to wait her out, though she suspected a lot of his blasé attitude was an act. Alashiya couldn’t claim to know him well — though itfeltlike she did — but she saw something in the tightness of his jaw and the tension around his eyes that spoke volumes.
To avoid that, she spent most of the day doing chores around the land that she’d been putting off in favor of getting her work done as quickly as possible. After all, what was the point of that work now? If he’d been commissioning her just to feel close to her, perhaps he didn’t even want the robe. Or worse, she’d put him off herandher work entirely.
Alashiya didn’t want to think about what the future held, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. One seemingly unrelated thought after another tumbled ass-over-tea-kettle into Taevas. Even thinking about work, normally a safe zone for her mind to wander, led her to questioning what things would be like going forward — whether Taevas would still order from her when he returned to his life, if she even wanted him to, and what she would do if he didn’t.
For a decade, his commissions had been nearly her sole source of income. What if all that had been said and done in her home made him feel uncomfortable in continuing? Her stomach bottomed out at the thought.
Mrs. Thompson had once offered to help her set up an online store for her work, but she’d shied away, intimidated by the barrier technology posed. She’d never had cause to use it before, and she’d left school before they did little more than learn to type on mechanical typewriters. Trying to navigate the internet, of all things, in order to make a livelihood sounded as attainable a goal as flying to the moon.
But she might have to try, once Taevas left. Because he had to leave. He wanted to leave. Heneededto.
By the time the sun began its descent into thefiery horizon, Alashiya was dirty and sweaty from a day outside mending fences, checking on the trees, and shoring up her wards, which were now more important than ever.
Anticipation curled in her belly as she pried the broken door from its place and stepped into the kitchen. It was probably her imagination, but she could smell a hint of him in the air as soon as she walked in. A flush warmed her from her toes to the tips of her ears.
Suddenly nervous, Alashiya ducked her head and made a beeline for the bathroom, avoiding any glances in the direction of the living room.
“Oh,”she breathed, stopped in her tracks as soon as she pulled open the bathroom door. Steam billowed out in gauzy waves. That was where the scent was coming from. The bathroom was positively redolent with it and the water vapor smell of a recent hot shower.
He must’ve just stepped out. Fog still clouded the old mirror over the medicine cabinet, and a slow drip of water made a steady beat when it fell from the head of the faucet.
The temperature of her skin heated as the steam cocooned her. Without thinking, she sucked in an even deeper lungful of air, pulling in the essence of the dragon she’d sought to escape. Instantly, she was overwhelmed with images of her dragon in the shower, his powerful body bathed in warm water and the scented oils she kept on the shelf. The memory of his fingers between her legs rushed in, teasing her with how good it could be when neither of them wore clothes.
She imagined the look he’d give her if he was standing in it now — all dark eyes and slow, hungry smile. Her thighs clenched.
From somewhere in the other room, his silken voice called out, “My Shiya?”
Startled, she slammed the door shut. Her cheeks heated to a humiliating degree as she pressed her back against it. Her pulse was almost too fast to be a proper beat anymore. It thrummed between her thighs like a live wire, insistent and dangerous,begging to be touched by someone unafraid of the consequences.
Alashiya took a cold shower.
Unfortunately, whatever calm it gave her was immediately negated by the fact that she’d forgotten to bring a change of clothing with her. All she had was her summer robe, which hung in its normal place on the peg behind the door. She was too used to living alone. It hadn’t occurred to her that she should bring a change of clotheswithher.
The robe wasn’t necessarilyintendedto be indecent, but it wasn’t something she’d ever planned on wearing in front of another soul, either. It was overflowing with repurposed fabric she couldn’t bear to cut more than absolutely necessary. Mrs. Thompson had offered it to her, and she’d fallen in love with the nearly transparent gold voile. Made of light-weight cotton blended with silk, it’d been a perfect and luxurious addition to her summer wardrobe.
Mouth bone-dry, Alashiya donned the robe and tried to arrange the fabric in such a way that it wouldn’t be quite so obvious that it was, save for the spots in which the fabric overlaid itself, decidedly sheer.
Maybe he won’t notice?She stared at her reflection in the mirror for a while, fingers combing oil into her curls in nervous little twists.It’s just a body. One he’s already been more or less intimate with. Who cares if he sees?
