I lean forward and press my lips to the burn on his shoulder. Then the scar on his collarbone. Then a whip mark on his chest.
Kain goes very still.
I kiss each mark I can reach. Not to heal them—I can’t do that—but to honor them. To honor him. To say without words that I see what he endured. That it matters. That he matters.
His breath hitches when I kiss the scars on his wrists—the ones from silver chains, worn raw over and over. His hands tighten on my shoulders, not to stop me, but to steady himself.
When I finally look up at him, his eyes are wet.
Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to.
He takes the soap and begins washing me with the same careful attention. His hands move over my skin like he’s memorizing it. Like he’s trying to map every inch of me in case this is the last time.
Because it might be. This may be all we have left.
The idea makes my chest ache, but I push it away. Right now, in this moment, we’re together. Both here. Both alive.
His hands are gentle on my shoulders, my arms, my back. When he reaches my hips, he pauses, his thumbs tracing small circles there like he can’t help himself.
I turn to face him, and we stand there under the spray, water cascading over us both, just looking at each other.
His hair is plastered to his head. Water drips from his eyelashes. He has never looked more beautiful.
I rise on my toes and kiss him. Softly this time. Slowly. Saying everything I can’t put into words.
He kisses me back with the same gentleness, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close.
When we finally step out of the shower, he wraps me in one big towel and dries my hair with another while I stand there trembling, though not from cold.
I do the same for him, patting the water on his shoulders, his chest, being very careful around his scars even though they’re long healed.
We end up in my bed. No couch for him—my bed. Together. He pulls me into his chest, arms locked around me like he’s terrified I’ll vanish.
“I love you,” he whispers into my damp hair.
The words feel like heavy rocks dropped into the still waters of my heart, sending ripples through everything I thought I’d settled.
I love him, too. Goddess help me, I do. But love isn’t forgiveness, and I’m still so fucking angry. So, I don’t say it back.
I just press my face to his throat, breathe him in—pine, earth, sex, fear—and hold on tighter.
I don’t know how to survive losing him again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anne
I wake to sunlight streaming across my face and my back devoid of the warmth of Kain’s body.
My mind spins, fragments of last night flooding back. The shower. His hands. The desperation. The way he held me after, like I might disappear.
It didn’t mean our relationship was fixed, but I didn’t want him to leave.
An ache throbs dully in my chest. I roll over, sheets tangling around my legs, only to stop in surprise.
He didn’t leave.
Kain sits at the edge of the bed in just his boxers, his jeans bunched in one hand. His other hand is closed around something, his thumb moving over it with slow, deliberate strokes. His shoulders are tense, his head lowered.
