Not that any of those things are going to happen.
It takes another hour before we find the river running through the edge of another nice clearing. When we do, it’s almost by accident. One second we’re pushing through a tunnel of hedge so thick it’s like walking in a coffin, the next, the world opens up, and there the river is, slicing between the green walls. The clear water is moving fast, and just from looking at it, it’s cold enough to hurt.
Cassius, the water expert, squats and cups a handful, tasting it with a slurp. “Not poison,” he announces, as if we all hadn’t seen him drink from worse since coming here.
The others follow, quick and businesslike, kneeling down and drinking from the stream. I try not to stare at Oberon’s hands, knuckles scraped raw, dirt packed in every groove, veinsbulging under the skin, but I can’t help it. It’s not just the new wounds I’ve noticed that he got from the metal tunnel we’d been trapped in. He’s got scars on his wrists, a little line of burns, and I wonder where they all came from.
Looking away, I kneel down and drink until I’m full. Until the nagging hunger inside of me abates, if only a little bit. When I glance up, the others are standing, watching me with so much interest that I blush and rise from beside the stream.
Cassius is the one who says what I’m thinking. “We should get cleaned up while we can.” He removes his sword belt. “It’s only going to get colder. We should get our stuff clean and dry it out by the fire. Who knows the next time we’ll have access to clean water.”
“Good idea,” Sylvian says, reaching for his shirt.
I shrug off my cloak and reach for the buttons on my shirt too, then freeze, the reality of what I’m doing hitting me. I stop as my mind starts working. I want to be clean. Gods, I’ve never wanted anything more. The dirt clings to me like it belongs there, soaked into my skin, my hair, my bones. My shirt is stiff with it, glued to my back with sweat and grime.
But they’re here. All four of them. Watching.
The thought of stripping in front of them makes my stomach twist. Heat crawls up my neck, sharp and humiliating. I can’t do it. I can’t let them see me like that. Bare. Vulnerable. Scarred. Human.
And yet the filth is unbearable, a second skin I can’t escape. I don’t know how many more days until I’ll have another chance to bathe. How many more nights I’ll have to endure feeling like this, unclean, worn down, less than myself.
So, what do I do?
Ashton, with none of my inner turmoil, starts stripping like a madman. He unbuckles his sword belt and drops it on the ground, then peels off his shirt. His chest is all lean muscle andangles, marked here and there with old scars, but not a single hair anywhere. He catches me looking and grins, flexing just enough to make it a joke. “Like what you see, human?”
I’m not quick enough to stop my face from burning. “Of course not!”
“There’s no harm in it,” he says, taking a step closer to me. “Any woman would look.”
Oberon snorts, the sound sharp as a spark. “Try not to drown yourself with admiration,” he says to Ashton, but he’s pulling off his own shirt too. He’s thicker through the shoulders, broader everywhere, with the kind of body built for breaking things. There’s a line of old scars at his collarbone, lots more across his entire body, plus a few scattered burns. He doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, if I see.
Sylvian slowly begins undressing, watching me with every small flick of his fingers. “Where did you get all the scars, Oberon? Did you like it too rough?”
“Wars with the monsters,” he says simply.
Wars with the monsters?I didn’t know fae had enemies.
To my surprise, Sylvian flinches. “I heard rumors. Rumors about it. That you were taken prisoner for a time…”
“Yes.” Oberon’s hands linger on the front of his pants.
“Sorry,” Sylvian says quietly. Sincerely.
“Is that where your fear of small spaces comes from?” Cassius asks, studying the other man carefully.
Oberon shrugs, not looking at any of us. “Maybe.”
Maybe?My heart aches for him. He was held prisoner? Tortured? No wonder he has some rough edges.
Oberon clears his throat. “Let’s move on.”
Everyone does while they continue to undress, and I stare on, feeling uncertain. I’m not sure exactly how I should handle this situation, but I’m having trouble taking my eyes off all the muscled flesh around me.
Cassius is the last to drop his shirt, and I’m surprised by how pale he is. Just like his pale eyes and his pale hair, his skin is inhumanely light, like milk. I’m studying him closely when he reaches for the buttons on his pants, and I jerk my head away, spinning away from them.
Behind me, I hear the sounds of the four men entering the river, and my face burns at the thought of them naked behind me. This isn’t normal… it can’t be. People don’t just… strip in front of each other.
“It’s safe to look,” Sylvian teases.
