Page 62 of Fallen Nocturne

If I can find somewhere to hide, I might finally discover what he is doing here.

I ease the door open and slip inside.

The cottage is one large room, simple but comfortable. A bed takes up most of the far wall. Firelight flickers to life in the small hearth, casting a warm glow over a sturdy table and chairs. Heavy curtains separate off a washing alcove, creating a small private space away from the rest of the cottage.

Perfect.

I slip behind the curtains silently while his back is turned, pressing myself into the shadowed space. My heart hammers, but I slow my breathing until it makes no sound. Through the thin gap where the curtains do not quite meet, I have a clear view of the room.

Arescaine removes his cloak and drapes it over one of the chairs. He stands before the flames for a long time, staring into them as though he has forgotten where he is.

He moves to the bed and sits on its edge.

The vampire does nothing.

He simply sits there, his shoulders slightly bowed, looking at the floor.

Maybe this is where he comes to be alone. There might be no secret meetings or conspiracies at all. I have followed him into the forest like a complete creep for absolutely nothing.

Then he moves toward the alcove.

Toward me.

I press myself flat against the wall, barely breathing. He passes close enough that I could touch him.

I thank the Seventy-seven that he doesn’t look behind the curtain. He pushes through a narrow door on the other side that I hadn’t noticed, and I hear the sound of water beginning to run.

A washroom.

I exhale with relief.

He begins unlacing his breeches.

Oh no.

I should leave. Right now.

But I don’t move. My feet root to the floor, and my eyes lock on him even as my brain screams at me to look away.

He pushes the fabric down, and I see him. All of him.

My face burns. This is wrong. I am hiding in his private space, watching him undress. I need to leave immediately.

But he is stunning. That is the problem. Lean muscle shifts beneath pale skin, quiet strength etched into every line of his body. I should not be noticing any of it, yet I notice everything.

He turns the tap, and water begins to flow from the malachite-crystal showerhead. Then he steps beneath it and lets the water run over him.

Oh. The vampire is bathing.

Nothing suspicious here. I really should go. His hand wraps around himself and every thought in my head goes silent. My lungs stop working. The first stroke pulls a sound from him so quiet I almost miss it.

His head falls back, dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He closes his eyes, his expression almost pained as he strokes slowly.

I should not be watching this. Yet I cannot stop watching.

His other hand braces the wall, knuckles clenched. The muscles in his arm flex with each stroke.

Arescaine is beautiful.