Gently, she drew her hand along the vamp of one sleek, black boot, the craftsmanship of the maker displayed in every inch of the buttery leather. With careful movements, she tugged up the hem of Cyrus’s dark trousers until she uncovered a swath of warm, golden skin dusted with his coppery hair. Focusing her eyes on the buckle she’d sought out, she unfastened the boot easily, then slid the supple article free from his socked foot, also black. Alizeh took the heavy boot into her hand and examined it, helpless to admire the careful, even stitches, the evidence of hours and hours ofhard labor, even as she set it down. She repeated the process once more, on his other foot, and once done, she placed the sturdy pair neatly against the wall.
Then, delicately, she drew one of Cyrus’s arms away from his pillow, and gingerly tugged it free of its coat sleeve. She intended to roll him onto his alternate side, hoping to replicate the action on his other arm, when he suddenly jolted. He drew a violent breath and sat up like a springy child’s toy, startled just as he’d been in the flower field. This time, however, Alizeh knew what to expect. She knew he wasn’t truly awake, and she would avoid being drawn into ephemeral conversations with him.
She doubted he’d remember much of this.
“Alizeh.” He blinked blearily, studying her with red, glassy eyes. There was a desperation in his voice when he said, “Why did you leave me?”
His words were like a shot to the heart.
With effort, she pushed aside this aching sensation, knowing that what he’d provoked in her was the work of a ghost. Never would she have expected an uninhibited version of Cyrus to be so emotional or affectionate, but then—she didn’t actually know what she was dealing with, or what, exactly, he was going through.
Whatever it was,thiswas not the real Cyrus.
“Will you help me?” she said instead. “I was trying to take off your coat.”
He said nothing, just looked at her, then at himself, partly divested of his jacket. In stark, childlike motions he removed the rest of the article, then shoved the garment halfheartedlyaway from himself. It toppled, with a slithering sound, to the floor.
Alizeh promptly scooped this up into her arms, surprised by its weight, and draped it carefully on the back of a nearby chair. She turned around just in time to see Cyrus ripping off his shirt.
Like dew in winter, she froze.
He’d pulled the dark article up over his head, his face disappearing as his naked upper body came suddenly, shockingly into view, and Alizeh, who’d not realized how she was staring, did not stir until she heard the ragged sound of her own breathing. Good God.
Cyrus waspowerful.
She didn’t know how else to describe the sight of him, stripped down to his skin. She didn’t know how to fathom into words the corded muscle that moved as he stretched, the sinewy lines of his body that snaked all the way down his torso. He gleamed in the soft light, the shadows carving him into a wonder so substantial she was disturbed by a sudden, stupid desire to touch him, to see what he might feel like under her hand.
Cyrus paid her no attention.
He pulled the shirt free, his hair suffering in the aftermath, and let the garment fall where it fell, not seeming to care for its fate. Alizeh watched him in a daze as he moved, riveted by the motions of his arms as he unbuckled his sword belt, marveling at the tension in the muscles flexing across his body, the tightly restrained power behind evenhis slightest movements. He let the precious holster and its weapon fall to the ground with a clatter, and Alizeh, who’d been in something of a trance, nearly jumped a foot in the air at the sound. But it was when he began unbuttoning his trousers that she turned sharply around with a stifled cry, covering her entire face with her hands.
Oh, she was ashamed of herself.
She’d been gawking at him brazenly, like an unprincipled deviant, her heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird, so fast it was making her feel ill. Heavens, but she’d forgotten herself. She wasnotan unprincipled deviant. She didnotogle the naked bodies of men under the influence of dark magic.
“Alizeh?” she heard him say.
She made an effort to moderate her voice, but did not turn around. “Yes?”
“Alizeh,” he said again, this time softly scolding.
“Are you,” she said tremulously, “are you decent?”
She heard the low rumble of his laugh. “Yes.”
Terrified, she turned around in slow motion. She discovered him still sitting up but was relieved beyond reason to find that he’d pulled the blanket around his lower body.
“Hello,” she whispered, lifting a hand in greeting, like the veriest idiot.
He only looked at her in response, looked at her with manifest desire, his gaze darkening as he watched her, like he wanted to devour her. His eyes raked her face and body until she felt a liquid heat roil through her, tension coiling taut in her stomach. She took an unsteady step back.
“Come here,” he said roughly.
“N-No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t— I— Cyrus, you’re very tired.”
She watched his chest expand as he breathed, his eyes closing even as he fought it. “I want you,” he said, weakening in that familiar, sudden manner. “Next to me.”
“I’ll come back,” she lied, her heart pounding in her ears. “You rest here until I return.”
