His hands brushed her hips, then slid around her back to pull her to him, chest to chest, breath mingling.
Her fingers reached for the leather cords at his waist, tugging, pulling. The fabric dropped, and with it, the last of the weight between them.
She lifted up on her tiptoes, and he bent down. She pressed her forehead to his.
And for a moment, they simplybreathed.
“Come,” she whispered. “Before your bath grows cold.”
Auryn placed her hand in his, already anticipating his touch—yearning for the things to come. They stepped into the bathing chamber and approached the wide private pool. The water lay as still as ice, not a single ripple wrinkling its surface. Steam rose from the aquamarine depths. Fragrances crafted to relax the body and soothe the mind.
Kailorien guided her down the wide steps of the tub until the water rose around her thighs, then her hips. Heat suffused her limbs. He moved through the water with practiced ease, sitting against the smooth stone ledge built into the curve of the tub, then spread his big arms, resting them on the surrounding stone.
The hypnotic runes on his skin reflected the light like mirrors—molten lines in obsidian that stole her breath. Muscle rippled like living marble. Bronzed skin seemed to shine, appearing soft and velvety even in the places where scars marred its pristine surface.
His long, onyx hair tumbled past his shoulders and floated in the water. When he turned to offer her his hand, his gaze was darker. Fuller. She’d only read of the ocean in books and stories, but if there was truly something so vast and endless, it must have been what shaped the color of his eyes. In this faint light, his irises glowed a faint azure, and for a moment, Auryn was stunned.
“I forgot how beautiful you were,” she confessed.
The line of his sensual mouth softened. He pulled her close, the water lapping at her navel. His eyes never left hers.
“Let me see you,” he rasped. His large hands traced her form, fingers caressing the strange glowing freckles on her arms and shoulders. Then her belly. Then her waist. She held her breath.
“This was taken from me,” he said. “Your warmth, the feel of your skin, the way these stars map the world's sky. And yet…”
Her throat went dry when he looked up at her.
“Even if I had remembered, my recollections could not have done you justice.”
She stepped closer. Her fingers slid through his damp hair, brushing it back from his face. Her thumbs traced his cheeks, jaw, lips. Each caress seemed to steal just a little more of his breath.
He didn’t stop her. Didn’t rush. With uncanny patience, he allowed her to explore all of him.
“You haven’t changed,” she murmured. “Time hasn’t stolen you from me.”
He leaned in and kissed her chest. Once. Twice. His hands rose to her waist, gripping her with aching tenderness as his lips trailed farther—over her ribs, the base of her sternum, the hollow between her breasts. Callused fingers brushed over the thin golden braid resting on her shoulder, caressing the violet ribbon woven into the strands.
"This braid… " he said, careful. Gentle.
"You don't remember," she sighed.
He shook his head.
"It was a price we paid… at Stonewake."
A furrow cleaved his brow. "There are flashes. Of the battle. Of Astenos with silver wings. And Zarrek…" he paused, his throat tightening. "Zarrek covered us so we could escape."
"Not just," she said, covering his hand with hers over Thessia's braid. She'd Woven it. Preserved it. Ensured it would never fall. "There was a greater price as well."
"Tell me," he murmured, leaning in and kissing the violet ribbon.
She cupped the back of his neck, threading her fingers into the hair there. Gathering a group of silver strands, she tugged them forward.
Long ago, she'd Woven a ribbon into his hair with her magic, just like she'd done with Thessia's parting gift. A promise between the Resh'Agar and a girl from the ice. He glanced at the silver strands, but again, there was no recognition in his eyes. Pain bloomed in her chest. Mourning for yet more pieces of him taken. More pieces lost.
He sensed it. Opened his mouth to speak. But she stopped him with a finger to his lips.
“In the Moores, you always told me stories of your travels. I was relentless in asking for them, but you never complained. Not once.” She smiled, though her eyes stung. "From this day forward, until you remember, I will tell you stories. Of us. Of every piece the magic took.”
