She’dburned.
He rose from the water in a surge. Breathing hard. Runes pulsing, he grabbed a towel, dried off with jerking motions, and threw on a pair of loose pants. Pulled them on like armor.
When he returned to the bed, she stirred, mumbling. Curled on her side, her skirts bunched halfway up her thighs. She’d come undone. Alone. Helpless. Overwhelmed by a Bond neither of them understood.
“Too much…” she said.
He knelt at the edge of the bed, unsure if he had the right to touch her. His hand hovered above her cheek.
“Auryn,” he rasped. “I’m here. I’m here now.”
Her lips moved.
Then came a whisper, “Kail…I saw it…I’ll stop it…I swear…”
She reached toward the empty air. Towardhim.
He’d thought he could carry this. Could shield her from what he was. From what the Doctrine made him be. But she’d seeneverything—seen him twist his body to pleasure the Companions. Seen himtakethem. Looked into eyes that weren’t his. Heard the voice possessing him.
And worst of all…
Shestill reached for him.
Losing hold of his restraint, he bent forward. Pressed a kiss to her damp brow.
“It isn't yours to stop,” he whispered, throat burning. “It’smine. Mine to destroy before it ever touches you again.”
Her eyes opened. Glassy. Distant.
“Your earring…” her hand fumbled upward, touching the emerald teardrop that always swung from his ear. “You took it off before...why?”
He hovered on a cliffside, trapped between the abyss of truth and the security of a lie that could offer her peace—just some measure of calm in the chaos of her mind in this moment.
His hand stroked damp hair away from her cheek. He forced a smile. “You know I never remove them.”
“Oh,” she sighed. “I must have…dreamed it…”
His heartscreamed.
She didn’t know. She’d thought it washim. Shu’Khan. Holding her. Whispering to her. Mimicking his voice.Letting her believe—
His hand wrapped around hers, and Kailorien leaned in—forehead to her knuckles, his breath ragged. Sweat poured from her in waves, thescent of the ritual paint and the Sahtra smoke lingering like a pall around her. Vargrún's presence—his power—had soaked into her like venom.
He rose, and moving with great care, he gathered her in his arms again. The bathing chamber was still warm from his earlier purge, water running and refreshing constantly in the pool. Steam clung to the tiles, swirling like memory. He kept his clothes on, unwilling to waste time with removing them.
And so, hisatonement began.
Her gown floated like ghost-silk around them, clinging to her thighs, slipping off one shoulder. He tucked it back up, shielding what he could from even his own unworthy gaze.
“You shouldn’t have had to see that,” he whispered. “Not like that. Notever.”
He dipped a cloth into the water and began to clean her. Face first. Then her neck. Behind her ears. Down her arms. Each stroke was silent penance. Ceremonial paint had smudged her cheek, transferring fromhimto her. A mark of shame—his shame—staining her purity. He wiped it away with shaking fingers.
She opened her eyes. “Kail…are we in the bath?”
“I’m just cleaning you, sweetfire. You’re soaked in sweat.”
And other things.
