Ana curled her hand before her chest. “Thank you, Ramson.”
She drew the curtains, the light dimming slightly. It took herseveral minutes to wriggle out of her tunic, and then to kick offher boots and pants. The water was bliss, the heat seeping into her bones and warming her to the core. She sighed as she tipped her head back and closed her eyes, lathering soap onto her skin.
There was a sliver of light that fell evenly in the center of her tub. The two sides of the curtains bore a gap in the middle, and through it, Ana saw Ramson’s silhouette as he stood outside,straight-backed and stiff-shouldered.
She couldn’t see him now without remembering that night, the way he’d drawn her against him as though he’d planned to never let her go. One kiss, hasty and clumsy and fumbled in the dark, didn’t mean he still wanted the same.
Even if she did.
Somewhere along this journey, one that neither of them would ever have expected, she had fallen for him. For the way he filled her stubborn silence with jokes, for how his laughs came so easily and so naturally when she kept hers sealed tightly inside. For the times he’d challenged her, utterly unafraid that she held one of the deadliest Affinities in the world. For the jests and banter between them, the way he treated her no differently whereas others would bow at her feet.
Yet…
In the lowlight, through the haze of steam, she caught the glimmer of the siphon on her wrist—a reminder of what had happened to her and whatwouldhappen to her. Ana knew, too deeply, the pain of losing those you loved in your life. Mama, Papa, May, Luka, Markov…she carried their names with her like scars on her heart. The worst phantoms were in one’s mind, and for now, she couldn’t imagine a day when their losses would no longer ache.
If Ramson felt even a hint of anything for her…the thought of him going through what she had with her family, with those she’d loved, filled her with dread.
He had an entire life ahead of him. She was dying.
It wasn’t fair of her to want him.
Ana inhaled deeply. Steam rushed down her throat, and the heat was making her dizzy. She should sleep.
Ana reached for the towel draped over the edge of the tub—and it was then that she realized she’d forgotten to bring a pair of clothes in her haste earlier.
She swallowed, darting a gaze at the curtains that billowed gently in the waves of steam. Then, steeling herself, she grasped her towel and cleared her throat. “Ramson,” she said, wishing her heart would stop pounding in her ears. “Could you bring me the clothes in Daya’s bundle?”
“Yes, meya dama,” came the response, and she heard the scuff of his boots as he crossed the small distance to the pallet.
“Thank you,” Ana said, and rose, wrapping the towel around herself.
She stepped out from the tub the precise moment he stepped through the curtains. They collided in the tight space, she clutching her towel, he with his mouth open as though he’d been about to say something, arm outstretched with the clothes she’d requested.
Shock flooded his face as he regarded her, towel clasped to her chest, water dripping down her hair, and steam rising from her shoulders. She saw his throat bob, heard the sharp intake of his breath.
Instantly, he turned away. “Gods, Ana, I didn’t mean—”
Almost instinctively, she caught his hand. He froze as shepulled him back toward her and closed the gap between them. In the dim light, the tight space behind the curtains, she saw his pupils dilate.
Ana tilted her head to him in the curve of a question.
And he pressed his lips to hers in answer.
He let out a sharp breath as she twined her hands into his shirt. She heard her clothes fall to the floor as his arms came to rest around the small of her back, holding her as though she were made of glass, as though he were afraid that touching her would break her.
Between them, she let her towel fall to the floor. No more questions. No more hesitation.
He thawed quickly, a moan escaping his throat as he buried his hands in her hair, kissing her as though he’d been waiting his entire life. He tasted of salt and sea and a hint of mint, she thought as she let her hands trace the familiar edges of his jaw, the curve of his cheeks, and the crook of his chin, his skin rough in the way she’d always wondered.
The kiss turned hungrier, and in a single motion he lifted her, holding her over him, head tilted to her as though in worship. She wrapped her legs around his waist, the fabric of his breeches coarse and warm against her bare skin.
He carried her to the bed. The fire was dying, the room warmed from the steam of her bath. Gently, he lowered her, the sheets growing wet beneath the water slicking from her body.
She pulled him to her, fingers quick and nimble as she undid the buttons on his shirt. He yielded to her, hands spread out on the bed beside her to shield the weight of his body. She trailed her thumb over the smooth plane of his stomach, fingers making patterns over his skin as she explored.
He paused, catching her hand as it latched on to the leather of his belt. Ramson broke the kiss, panting heavily, sweat dripping down his brow as he looked at her. “Ana.” His voice was husky, low, his mouth parting, his eyes darting frantically over her cheeks, her lips, her eyes. “I…”
She looked up at him, at the curls of hair sticking to his forehead and temples. Waiting.
