His toes find purchase, and he presses himself against the wall, his head turned toward me. In a thousand years, I could have never imagined that Zogar’s eyes could contain this much terror.
My lungs are running out of air, and I tip my head up toward the surface, encouraging him. He starts to climb, but it’s clear that it requires a lot of effort, and he too is running out of air. We’re not more than ten feet from the surface. There’s no chance I will let him drown.
Pushing off the wall for momentum, I shoot up to resurface and quickly refill my lungs. Then I plunge back down. Sinking just below him, I brace my feet on the bottom and push my shoulder against his backside. Usually, everything weighs less underwater—which is why the klericks put bags of rocks on the little girls suspected of heresy—but Zogar feels as ifhe’sconstructed from rocks.
But, with my help, he’s able to climb. The moment his head resurfaces, I feel the change in his body. Releasing him, I shoot up to grab onto the edge beside him, gasping for air, myself. His upper arms are folded on the rock’s surface, his head, facing away from me, resting atop them. His back heaves as he sucks in shuddering gulps of air.
I stroke his shoulder. “You did it. You’re okay.”
His muscles tense under my fingers, almost as if he doesn’t welcome my touch.
“I’m getting out,” I say softly. “Do you need any help?”
He shakes his head, still unwilling, or unable to face me. Bracing one foot on a rough bit of stone, I use my arms to push out of the water and sit on the edge.
Zogar’s hair is a wild tangle around him, his thick purple tendrils nearly black as they coil over his shoulders and onto the rock around his head. I long to run my fingers through it. To test its texture while wet, but he’s like an injured wild animal, and the slightest contact might cause him to flee.
“You can’t swim.” I decide to state the obvious.
His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. At least he’s no longer heaving.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “Had I known?—”
He lifts his head. “I should have told you.” He pulls himself up, crawling forward with his forearms, as if he’s afraid changing his arms’ position would cause him to fall back into the water.
But then he changes tactics. Finding footholds underwater, he pushes up, and the majority of his body flops onto the rock, only the lower portions of his legs now extend over the pool.
I stretch out beside him, softly stroking his back. “Whydidn’tyou tell me? I wouldn’t have urged you to swim.”
He turns onto his side toward me. His eyes are full of shame, and my heart breaks. This man is not used to having any weaknesses, never mind showing one.
“If I’d drowned—” His voice breaks, and his eyes fill with fear again. “You would have been trapped here.”
I stroke my hand along the rigid trail from his neck to his shoulder. “You’re safe now. We’re both safe.”
“Dragons and water don’t mix,” he says.
I slide my hand onto his chest, feeling the thump of his heart below his skin’s damp surface.
“Because it extinguishes your fire?”
He shakes his head. “Because of our bones.”
“I don’t understand.” My thumb brushes over his nipple, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
“When we’re in dragon form, our bones are light. They’re porous to allow flight, but to compensate, in human form, dragon shifter bones are extremely dense.”
I nod. And then realize something else. Earlier, his reluctance to cross the river wasn’t fear that I’d fall in. “I made you cross that river…”
The pain in his eyes expands. “If you had fallen off one of those rocks, I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
“I wish you’d told me.” I stroke his chest. “Nothing could ever lower my high regard for you.” I instantly dislike the formal and unemotional tenor of my words. They didn’t capture how much I respect and admire my husband—how much I’ve come to value him. And how deeply I empathize with his reluctance to tell me he couldn’t swim. How it made him feel helpless to protect me.
WhatwouldI have done had he drowned? Pain pinches the back of my throat.
He pushes back a few strands of wet hair from my cheek. “Shall we move off this cold stone?”
I nod. Together, we stand. Taking my hand, he leads me toward the bed, and my heart thumps even harder, but the mood has shifted. With all that’s happened, I want to talk to him, to hold him, far more than I want to have sex. Although, if sex is what he wants, I won’t object.
