Page 106 of Deathless
"My babushka would have called this a banya," I said. "She believed hot water could fix anything. Broken bones, broken hearts, bad luck."
"Smart woman."
"Terrifying woman."
Diego laughed, and the sound bounced off the rocks. I turned my head. The water beaded on his shoulders. His dark hair clung slick to his skull. The scar on his collarbone, the old one from before I knew him, sat just above the waterline. He'd worn that same crooked grin when we met, when he'd pulled a gun on me and told me to put the sword down.
I reached for him under the water. He came easily, turning into me, and I pulled him against my chest with his back to my front. He settled between my legs and let his weight rest against me. He tipped his head back onto my shoulder.
I pressed my lips to his temple, and his pulse beat under my lips. "You know the story of Koschei the Deathless?"
"The Russian fairy tale?" He shifted against me. "The sorcerer who hid his soul?"
"Da." The Russian slipped out. "My babushka told me that story when I was small. Before the Pantheon."
I stopped, the rest of what I wanted to say jammed somewhere between my chest and my teeth.
"After Nadia," I said. "I thought I'd done that. Become Koschei." I tightened my arms around him. "Hidden whatever part of me could be hurt. Put it somewhere no one would find it."
"And?" Diego asked quietly.
"And then you showed up." I tightened my grip on him.
Diego turned his head and kissed the underside of my jaw. "In the story, doesn't a prince come along and slay the sorcerer?"
"That's how it ends."
"Not very romantic."
"Russian fairy tales aren't romantic. Everyone dies or turns into a swan."
He laughed against my throat. "So what happened to your version? Did the prince slay the sorcerer?"
"The prince was a smuggler with a bad poker face." I pressed my forehead against his temple. "He just kept showing up. And the thing I'd hidden started coming back."
Diego went still in my arms. He turned his face into my neck and pressed his lips against my throat. He breathed slowly against my skin, the way he did when he was keeping himself in check. The water lapped against the stones.
"I love you," I said.
I'd said those words once before, the night before Kiev, with adrenaline driving the confession out of me. This time the only thing driving it was hot water and his weight against my ribs.
"Say that again," he whispered.
"I love you, Diego Reyes." I kissed his temple. "I'm going to be terrible at this."
He turned in my arms, water streaming between us, and cupped my face in both hands. "Te amo." He kissed the corner of my mouth. "Te amo, Jasper. And I already know you'll be terrible at it."
"Thanks."
"De nada." He grinned against my mouth. "You know what I saw in Brussels? When I first looked at you?"
I shook my head.
"A grumpy, chain-smoking Russian with a samurai sword." He tilted his head back to look at me, grinning upside down. "Infuriatingly hot, though. Which was annoying because I was trying to concentrate on not getting killed."
"I’m not that grumpy."
"You absolutely are. You think you're this unreadable ice wall, and then your jaw does this thing when you're angry, and you get this crease right here when you're worried." He touched the spot between my eyebrows. "I had you figured out in three days."
