“I’m sorry. I’m not used to being this helpless.”
Her expression shifted—the exasperation fading into something gentler. She poured something from one of the bottles into the bowl. The scent rose up—fresh, clean, like a dewy bouquet of slumberbell flowers. My shoulders loosened without my permission.
She dipped the rag into the water, wrung it out, and pressed it to my back.
I closed my eyes. Her touch was featherlight as she moved the cloth across my skin. Careful. Each stroke washing away more than just dirt and sweat.
I didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.
Alice rinsed the rag in the clean water, then moved it down my shoulder, along my arm. Soft. Slow.
Since I’d been here, I’d never experienced anything this tender.
She leaned closer, and I caught her scent—that familiar green freshness, like a spring shower in the mountains. My gaze drifted to her lips without my permission.
God, I missed those lips. Missed the taste of her. Missed the way she’d melted into me when I kissed her.
She moved to my other arm and paused. Her eyes lifted to mine, catching me staring. A flush crept up her cheeks, but she didn't look away. “I’m going to clean around your wound. If it hurts too much, tell me and I’ll stop.”
I nodded and lifted my arm. Sharp pain ripped through my side, and I winced.
Alice pressed the cloth gently against my wound, dabbing around the bandages.
A hiss escaped through my teeth before I could stop it.
She froze. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
“I’m fine.” Damn it. She was being gentle—more gentle than I deserved—and I’d made her flinch like she’d done something wrong.
“You keep saying that.” Her voice was soft. Sad. “But you’re not fine. You almost died.”
She dipped the rag in the water again and began moving the cloth across my chest. Slow circles. Her fingers brushed my skin beneath the cloth and heat spread through me that had nothing to do with the water.
I tried to look away. Failed. My gaze traced the curve of her jaw, the soft part of her lips. Dangerous territory.
Her hand stilled. She leaned closer. My breath caught. Was she…? Her brows furrowed as she studied my skin. Not a kiss. She was looking at something. Right. Of course. “Is that a tattoo of the hat on your pec?”
“All my men have this,” I said. “It marks us as family. Even the Uncrowned Seven have it.”
She traced the outline with her fingertip—barely a whisper of touch—and my breath caught. Not from pain. Not from hot desire. Just… want.
Simple and strange.
I searched her face for any sign she'd noticed the hitch in my breathing, the way my muscles tensed under her touch. Herexpression stayed focused on the tattoo. I forced my body to relax, willing my face into something neutral.
Her hand fell away, and she returned to the rag, but something in her movements had changed. Slower. Heavier.
I missed her touch immediately. Which was ridiculous. She was still touching me—just not like that.
She sighed. “It must be nice to have such a strong connection.”
“Didn’t you have that with your coven?”
“No, I’ve never been accepted. The only reason I wasn’t expelled was because of Tinker Bell. Even witches don’t tolerate a witch not in control of her power.”
Something in my chest tightened. Never been accepted. She said it like a fact. Like it was etched in stone. Like something she’d long stopped fighting against.
I knew that feeling. The way loneliness could become so familiar it stopped feeling like pain and started feeling like home. The way you learned to stop reaching for belonging because the rejection hurt worse than the emptiness.
