"Fine." He felt her smile against his skin. "But only because I really do feel gross."
He carried her toward the bathing chamber, each step grounding him further. Reminding him she was solid in his arms.
LXXXI.
DANTE
The bathing chamber was exactly as he'd left it hours ago.
The sunken tub is already filled with steaming water. Servants had prepared it this morning on his orders, just like every morning for the past two days—hoping she'd wake, hoping he'd need it.
The hope had felt like madness at the time—like counting her breaths, like refusing to leave her side.
Now she was here in his arms, solid and real, and the madness had paid off.
He crossed to the tub and set her down on the tiled edge. She steadied herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his forearm. Even that contact sent warmth through him—proof she was here, alive, touching him.
"You had this ready."
"I hoped." He tested the temperature, giving his hands something to do. "Every morning. Just in case."
Her expression softened. "Dante."
His name in her voice. Tender. Aching. His throat tightened and he looked away. Two days of holding it together and now that she was awake, his control was fracturing. "Can you undress yourself or do you need help?"
She tested her arms. Lifted them slightly. The trembling was obvious. "I think I need help."
He nodded. Knelt in front of her, bringing them eye to eye. "Tell me if anything hurts."
His hands found the hem of the sleeping gown—cotton, the one he’d dressed her in two days ago—when her own clothes had been ruined with blood. His fingers brushed her thighs as he gathered the fabric.
She sucked in a breath.
He froze. His gaze flicked up to hers.
Her pupils were dilated. Her pulse visible at her throat, beating faster than it should for someone just sitting still.
She felt it too. This awareness. This hunger to touch and be touched after coming so close to never touching again.
He forced himself to focus. Lifted the fabric slowly, watching her face for any sign of pain. The gown slid up her legs, her hips, her stomach. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers where they accidentally brushed. She raised her arms as much as she could. He pulled the fabric over her head and set it aside.
She sat naked in front of him.
His jaw clenched. His shadows stirred restlessly around his shoulders.
Her skin was pale in the lamplight. Marked with fading bruises around her ribs where Caelum's magic had struck, purple and yellow evidence of how close he'd come to losing her. The bruises were healing but still visible.
Still there. Still proof she'd died in his arms.
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"I'm alright. It looks worse than it feels."
He didn't trust himself to speak, just offered his hand to help her into the water.
She took it. Used his stability to slide into the tub.
The sound she made when the heat surrounded her, a low moan of pure relief, hit him somewhere below his ribs. His stomach tightened. His breath caught. Her eyes closed, head tilting back as she sank down until water reached her shoulders.
