“The High Lord called us away before I could tend to your wounds,” he says. “I should have healed you before I ever touched you. I took you selfishly. And I was going to do it again.” He runs a hand over his face. “I should have insisted you complete a regenerative pod cycle before bringing you to the High Lord.”
“No.” My voice is sharper than intended, and I regret it immediately. I wanted him badly in the jungle. The mate bond pulled at me so hard, but it was more than that. “It’s nothing. I’ve had worse. I didn’t even notice until we got back here.”
His jaw ticks. The scar there jumps. He turns away, hands gripping the edge of the table by the window. “You are too stubborn.”
“I’m not so weak I can’t wait,” I say, quieter now.
He looks at me then, his eyes burning again. I can see he wants to argue, to drag me to the regenerative pod, buthe doesn’t. Instead, he comes to stand over me, taking in the bruises on my wrists, the cuts at my brow. His fingers hover, almost touching.
I arch a brow. “You can look, or you can do something. But you’re making me nervous.”
He grunts and sinks to his knees in front of me, lifts my foot, and examines the bruising pooled under the big toenail. The touch is gentle, absurdly so given the size of his hands. He moves up my leg, eyes tracking each mark left by Vorak’s ropes. When he reaches my hip, he stops.
“Here,” he says, voice low. “This needs treatment.” He exhales and sits back on his heels. The mate bond hums between us, a taut wire vibrating in my chest.
I don’t want to be in a medical pod or anywhere without him. I want to be alone with him.
“Can we go to the pool?” The words slip out before I think them through, but they sound perfect to me. “The one in the mating chamber?”
For a second, he just blinks, as if the idea never crossed his mind. Then his eyes darken, and the tension in the room shifts. The ache in my hip is replaced by something hotter, more immediate.
“We can heal together,” I say, letting the suggestion hang.
He stands, towers over me, but the look on his face is not anger anymore. It’s hunger. “Yes,” he says. “We will.”
He scoops me into his arms. The mate bond is a live wire, every nerve ending buzzing with proximity. I nestle into his chest, close enough to feel his heartbeat hammering in time with mine.
The fortress remains on heightened alert. Every corridor is manned, every archway guarded. The warriors posted at the doors snap to attention, weapons ready, eyes averted as we pass.
The door to the mating chamber opens with a hiss of negative pressure.
Inside, the air is warm, thick with the scent of flowers this time. The water from the pool reflects the ceiling in rippling patterns across the walls. The pool’s surface steams gently.
Rythar sets me down at the edge, but doesn’t let go.
I touch the edge of the pool with my toe, hissing at the heat. “You first,” I say, but he only grins.
He strips off his armor, then his shirt, tossing them to the floor. I want to run my tongue over every scar. He steps into the pool like he’s descending from the heavens, water lapping against his muscled form. He turns back to me, hand extended.
I undress slowly as he watches, eyes molten with want.
When I join him, the water soothes as it inches up my body.
We rest on the ledge at the deep end, steam curling off our shoulders, the heat of the water seeping through. The cuts on my hip and arm soften. The bruise on my throat fades away with all the rest of it.
Rythar pulls me close, hands skimming my flanks in a touch that is both assessment and apology. His cock is thick and growing hard against my thigh, but for once, desire is not the first thing in the room.
“The bond is stronger in this room.”
I nod, forehead pressed to his chest.
We hold each other for a while as all soreness drains away. The only sound is the lap of water against stone as the water does its work.
Eventually, I pull back. My eyes search his face for answers as another thread of worry draws taut.
“We need to talk,” I say.
His arms tense, but he doesn’t let go. “Talk.”
