I don’t even love Oziel. Hell, I barely tolerate him. Or at least that is what I tell myself because the truth brewing at the back of my mind is not something I’m ready to deal with. But that doesn’t stop my brain from wanting to kill the fucker who shares my husband’s bed.
Now that I’m pissed, I kick off the heaps of blankets—all of which smell like Oziel—and push myself into a sitting position. None of my muscles scream in protest like they did yesterday, which I take as my sign to get a shower in finally. It’s about time. I swear I’m starting to smell myself. Maybe it’s a good thing Oziel didn’t come back to bed last night.
My feet press against the warm stone floor, the heat seeping into my aching bones and soothing the stiffness in my limbs. Oziel’s bed was like a cloud. Soft, enveloping, and far too easy to sink into, but after so many hours wrapped in its embrace, I’m desperate for some sort of movement.
I take another slow glance around the room, noting the luxurious furnishings and lingering traces of Oziel’s presence before finally making my way toward the showers, eager to wash away the remnants of the last few days.
The bathing chamber is surprisingly empty when I walk inside. No rambunctious orgies or lustful moans echoing around the chamber. When I turn the knob, water spouts from the faucet shaped like a wolf’s open mouth. Steam gathers in the stall as I neatly fold my towel and place it upon a bench.
The moment the hot water kisses my skin, I groan. All the collected dirt, blood, and grime from the last few days wash down the drain. I reach for the products lining the shelf. Lavender and honey fill my nostrils as I select a soap to use. It lathers easily, and I scrub my body until my skin flushes a faint pink.
There are more options for my hair. The shampoo holds more oils than I’m used to but leaves my hair smelling like a floral shop and silky to the touch. My poor, neglected hair all but sings out the praises for these homemade shampoos. There’s even a gritty, textured paste I take for the demon's version of sugar scrub, and rub it into my entire body until I’m slick and in danger of slipping around due to the excess oils.
Steam curls through the open shower chamber, thick and swirling. I stand beneath the cascade of hot water, eyes closed, letting it run over my bare skin, content to stay here all day if I could. I just might.
A distant creak of the door has my eyes snapping open, barely containing the urge to cover myself. I don’t know if I’ll ever be used to a communal shower. For a moment, nothing else follows the sound. Maybe I’m hearing things, or maybe someone saw the showers weren’t empty and left. I tell myself it’s nothing, just the shifting of the old iron hinges in the heat. But then, barely audible over the patter of water, comes another sound. Soft. Measured. A footstep on the smooth stone floor.
I turn my head slightly, listening as my muscles tighten. Part of me hopes to see Oziel, his full body on display for me. Would he join me? Would I let him? Yes, I think I would. Purely because I’m just a girl with fucking needs and no other reason.
Soon, a shadow wavers just beyond the steam.
My breath hitches. Someone’s here. Watching.
Oziel? If it’s my husband, he enjoys making my heart speed up. I don’t speak, and neither does the imposing figure standing in the shadows. Something shimmers in the darkness, and my brain is slow to process the mystery figure wielding a dagger.
Definitely not Oziel.
A sense of foreboding washes over me, and I desperately look around for something to use as a weapon. I curse when I come up empty-handed.
The figure takes a steptoward me.
My heart pounds rapidly in my chest. I can feel the presence now, far more sinister than Oziel’s. Definitely not my husband then. Someone else. Someone who wants to hurt me.
There’s only one way to enter and exit the bathing chambers. The door is on the opposite end, but in order to get to it, I have to run past the dagger-wielding shadow. I can be fast when I need to be, but I don’t particularly want to chance running straight into his trap or slipping on the soapy ground.
“Get away from me,” my voice quivers.
I’m greeted with a low chuckle that sends shivers down my spine. Not the confusing shivers Oziel gives me, but ones of terror.
The shadow crouches.
I brace myself, ready to fight my way through.
Time passes slowly, almost as if it has stopped completely. The only sounds are my labored breathing and water hitting the stone chamber.
Just as I think the shadow is about to attack, the door to the chamber opens, followed by the shrill giggles of two she-demons. The shadow retreats, slinking back into the darkness. The mystery person flees as quickly as they arrived, running past the newcomers and out the door. The two female demons don’t seem to notice the dark shadows pass them, too preoccupied with each other.
My body unfreezes as the reality of the situation hits me. Someone tried to attack me, and I’m not stupid enough to wait around for them to come back. I hurry and grab my towel, wrapping it around my soaking wet body. The demon couple is too consumed with oneanother, their giggles slowly turning into moans as I race past them. Wet feet and stone flooring are the worst combination imaginable. My next step has my feet sliding out from under me, and I go down.
Hard.
My body hits the floor with a dull thud. I manage to keep one hand securing my towel while the other one braces my fall. I’ll pay for that later. “Fuck, I hope no one saw that.”
“Miss Sinclair, Lucifer Rising, are you okay, my queen?”
Fuck, someone saw that.
I turn just in time to see Garvan’s lithe figure crouch down in front of me. His eyes wander over my body, but not in a sexual way—with the intensity of a concerned friend, trying to assess the damage. However, I’m still keenly aware that I’m sprawled on the floor with nothing but my towel on.
