Page 50 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

I brace against the wall, panting. Water washes away the evidence.

What the hell just happened?

The thought of being taken like that should repulse me. I’m a dominant fighter. I’ve always been in control. But the image of Garrett overpowering me, claiming me...

I came harder than I had in years.

Fuck.

I finish washing quickly, shame burning in my chest. When I step out, I’m grateful for the mask I pull back on. It hides the flush I can feel heating my face.

I wrap the towel around my waist. My hands shake slightly as I reach for my pack.

Please let him not have heard anything, I pray to Aelfheim’s seventy-seven gods.

When I emerge, Garrett is fully dressed. White long-sleeve shirt, black pants. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a small menu card that must have been left by Muireann.

Thank the gods he’s covered up.

His eyes lift to me. He smiles, easy and warm.

My stomach drops. Can he tell? Does he know what I just did in there?

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Shit. I sound like I’ve been running.

He couldn’t have heard anything. The water was running and the walls are thick enough.

Right?

I move to my pack, acutely aware of his eyes tracking me. I pull on a spare shirt, feeling his gaze on the burn marks scattered across my shoulder. The knife wounds across my ribs from contracts gone wrong.

I angle my body, hoping he can’t see the brand at the back of my neck. The guild’s mark burned into my skin. Property, not person.

My clothes are in worse shape than his. Cheaper material, more worn. But dry is dry.

When I look up, he’s still watching me. Something soft in his expression.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what? Pushing you into a pond?”

“For jumping in after me.” He looks up, and his expression is serious now. No trace of the laughter from before. “Even though I was faking. You thought I was drowning and you just... jumped.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I can’t fucking tell him that the thought of him dying nearly made my heart stop?

“It’s my mission,” I say instead. “Your father paid the guild to keep you alive.”

He stands, moving to the window. The light catches in his hair, turns it gold again as it dries. “If you say so.”

There’s something in his voice. Something that suggests he doesn’t believe my answer, that he can see right through the excuse.

I move to the window as well, but I take the wooden chair beside it. It’s simple, sturdy, probably handmade by someone in the village. I settle in for a long night.

From here, I can see most of the square. The well in the center, the general store, now closed for the evening. Parts of the streets are mostly empty now, just a few people moving about their evening business.

It’s not perfect coverage, but good enough.