Page 46 of Wolfkissed
The color on Della’s cheeks darkens. “Mind your manners and your corrupting comments.”
“She’s not a child,” Valen says.
“Stop with your—” She sighs, shakes her head. “Come, my lady. Let’s allow the… the man to bathe.”
Grabbing my hand, she hauls me out of the room, followed by the remaining maids and manservants. She firmly closes the door behind us.
“Now, my lady, why don’t you sit in the green parlor and I bring you dry clothes to change into and something hot to drink while he…” She waves her free hand. “Bathes.”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Who knows what havoc an animal like him will wreak in your room? You should never have let him inside.”
Frowning, I let her drag me into said parlor and walk to the fireplace as she bustles away. She’s right, of course. I know that. Decisions were made on the fly, instinctively, and they were not the best.
How did I stand there in the rain with him unbound? How can I be terrified and also drawn to him? Something is very wrong with me.
Am I drawn to the monsters that haunt me? Is that the answer? Am I broken? Should I be locked up in a tower for my own protection?
Why do I let him get so close? Why do I keep staring at him, wanting him to touch my face again? He was right to call me out on it. Is it fear that I feel, what twists up my insides, or something else?
My toes curl in the thick rug as the flames crackle in the hearth, and I realize I forgot my shoes in my room.
Turning about, I cross the parlor and step outside. The corridor is deserted. Looking right and left, I run toward my room, hissing as my bare soles make contact with the gelid terracotta tiles.
The shoes. Very important.
Who knew I was so good at lying to myself? It’s news to me, too. I’ve never hidden from my fears and coping ways before, though, I realize as I open my door, slipping inside, I did lie to myself before.
I told myself I was getting better, overcoming my fear, my fear of the dark fae, of animals, of other humans, of men in particular—but that was a big fat lie. I’ve been wearing my dresses like armor, hiding my scars, keeping my distance from everyone, locking myself up inside my room, lost in my books and embroidery.
And now, here I am. And here he is, a tall shadow in the gloom, the flames licking strips of gold over his bare skin.
“Princess,” he rumbles. “What are you doing here?”
“I said, don’t call me that,” I mutter automatically, and start when there’s a splash.
He’s climbing into the tub, I realize, wreathed in vapor from the hot water, and I catch a glimpse of long legs, a muscular ass, and a broad back. I stare at him uncomprehending for long moments.
“Oh, I…” I stammer. “I didn’t realize you had undressed already.”
I’ve never seen a naked man before, and granted, he’s not a human man, he’s a male dark fae, and he’s half-lost in shadow, but… before I realize it, I’m taking a step forward, needing to see more as he sinks into the water.
Are those… tattoos? I’ve heard that the dark fae favor body decoration as much as they like putting metal in their flesh, like the silver rod he has in his tongue. It’s some perverse love of pain and body modification, a thought I’ve always both abhorred and obsessed about. They left me scarred, while they have control over the alterations to their bodies.
How is that fair? No matter how interesting the history of scarification, tattooing, and piercing is in the older days of the world, and the way the dark fae have revived such ancient practices.
No matter how good the dark lines look on Valen’s flesh.
“Are you here to help me bathe?” his deep voice rumbles as he sits down inside the tub, the water lapping at his chest. The flames lick at his profile, so patrician and perfect. They dance in his amber gaze, making it twinkle.
“What?” I lick dry lips. “No.”
“Because it’s terribly inappropriate?”
“Yes.”
“You do everything by the book, don’t you? You’re such a good girl.”
