“Does it help?” I ask, turning off the taps, and gathering washcloths and soap from a shelf near the tub.
“No,” he replies honestly. “But you do.”
Niko watches me complete the mundane task with the same ardency he’d watched me take him, and a flush rises to my cheeks. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way Niko looks at me. It makes me feel so full, like I’ll combust beneath it.
Heart fluttering ridiculously, I coax him forward and slip into the water behind him. The water is scalding, the wet skin of his back so sinfully good against my chest, that for a wild moment, I consider chucking the soap and throwing myself at him again. I thought the wanting ache would ease if I gave into it, but it’s done the exact opposite: rather than being sated, it’s been set on fire. A smolder whose intensity only grows with every passing moment; with every bit of himself Niko allows me.
Pushing the thoughts away, I measure shampoo into my palms and slide my fingers gently through into his hair.
He freezes beneath my touch, whipping his head to stare at me with an unreadable expression.
“Is this okay?” I ask, suddenly feeling oddly shy. Though perhaps it isn’t odd at all. I’ve been physically intimate with men before, but this part—the softer, quiet moments—is entirely new to me.
And maybe I was wrong for assuming Niko would even want it. For thinking that because he’d given in to his desires, it meant he wanted to be known.
He stares at me for another long moment, before swallowing roughly.
“Forgive me, I—” Pursing his lips, he heaves a leveling breath before beginning again. “You caught me off guard.”
I start to pull away, but Niko’s faster. He grabs my hand and tugs it to him with his own shy smile. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Willa. Your unpredictability is a breath of fresh air.”
Though his words soothe the edges of my worry, I glare at him. “Feral and uncivilized are the words I believe you used,” I remind him, sniffing primly. “More than once.”
His mouth quirks in a fiendish grin. “Is there any part of what just happened between us that would indicate yourcivilityis what I find attractive about you? If so, please allow me the chance to try and imprint upon you again exactly how I feel about your vicious nature.”
My cheeks flush, and his eyes flare madly as he devours the color with his gaze. Appeased and more than a little warm, I turn back to the task at hand. Sighing contentedly, I slide my fingers between the silky strands of Niko’s hair, slowly massaging the shampoo into his scalp. He closes his eyes and leans his head back into my touch as the soap foams up around my fingers.
He winds my legs around his waist, pressing my chest further to his back with a hum of pleasure. He feels so good, so solid and warm, that I have to trap a moan behind my teeth. Trailing my fingers from his scalp to where his hairline meets the swirling tattoos, I take a moment to examine them closely. I’ve never had the luxury of studying them closely, and with a start of excitement, I realize that what appeared to be abstract designs from a distance, aren’t actually made of lines at all. His tattoos are made ofwords.
“What are all these?” I ask, tracing one with a soapy finger. It starts behind his ear, winding in intricate spirals over his shoulder and down his spine.
Niko shivers beneath the gentle touch. “Stories.”
“What kind of stories?”
“The ones that embedded themselves in my heart. It only seemed natural they should be on my skin as well.” Niko exhales a deep breath slowly. “Pan loved stories, as they are the smallest slices of dreams woven together. Listening to them was my favorite part of being with the Strayed. You can imagine with the magic of creation how well he could spin a tale. Heroes and villains, lands of gods and darkness, worlds of water and light. Epic battles and quests. It was my only escape from life in the Hollows.”
He bows his head, dropping his gaze the water. “It’s one of the reasons I never gave up on discovering a way to leave. I wanted to find out for myself if the stories were true.”
I’m breathless as I trace the endless spirals, thousands of words bled from the hearts of others that, through time and distance, have mingled with Niko’s own. It’s the most beautiful thing I could imagine, the sharing of something so intimate, and for a moment, I ache with everything my world has lost because of the death of imagination. The ability to not only create beauty,but toconnect.On a cellular level, to change the very marrow of oneself by feeling another’s heart in their art.
“Do they all have happy endings?”
“No.” Niko is quiet for a long moment, the only sound the soft lapping of the water against the side of the tub. Then he says, “Sometimes words aren’t written to be happy. Tragedy can be just as beautiful.”
He turns to face me slowly, water beading on his dark lashes, clumping them together in an oddly innocent manner for such a cruelly beautiful face. And how fitting, for him to etch beauty onto his skin eternally, when he embodies art itself. His clothes, his demeanor—even his magic. Niko is living, breathing art.
Another reason I’ve been drawn to him since I first laid eyes on his dark beauty. I’d been so starved of anything lovely for so long, living in a drab world of monotony and function. There is nothing remotely monotonous about the Carrion King or the kingdom he rules. They both exist on the fringes of reality, following none of the same rules, and the wildness—the unexpected—is exhilarating.
“If you appreciate beauty so much,” I ask, fumbling my way back to a familiar dynamic. Challenging, bickering—those are far easier to navigate than the raw intimacy expanding between us. “Why haven’t you allowed any color in the Lunaedon?”
It’s an innocent enough question, but as something like shame washes over Niko’s features, I feel as though I’ve pried into something painful. I expect the familiar flare of his temper, a cutting remark to draw my attention away from the things that hurt him. But instead, his gaze remains faithfully on mine as he smiles sadly.
“I was angry—when I first realized what killing the Aeternalis had done. Everyone was so thankful at the time…they thought I’d saved them all. But I couldn’t be grateful, not when I’d sacrificed my freedom, my ship.” He laughs darkly at thesurprised ‘O’ of my mouth. “Yes, Willa, the Indomnitus was mine. Killing the Everlasting stole the ocean from me. I’d never again find the relief of being in other worlds. Away from my magic. Away from my pain. I am anchored to Letum for eternity.”
For a moment, he appears far away from here. But with a shiver, he draws himself back to the present.
“The entire kingdom wanted me to build my palace at the center of Caelum, a shrine to the defeat of the Aeternalis. But I wanted no reminders of what I couldn’t have.”
