ARKEN
Alow groan of pleasure escaped me as I stepped into the water, the swirling steam drifting through the air, gently scented with citrus and spice.
I’d been thumbing through a book I’d found in Kieran’s room as I waited for his excessively large bathtub to fill—the deliciously deep, clawfoot contraption that had quickly become the object ofallmy envy. Unwinding after a long day with a hot bath was my vice of choice—one of them, at least—and the basic porcelain number I had at home had nothing on this thing. In addition to being spacious enough for at least two adults to comfortably share, the hammered copper basin was practically a work of art in and of itself, elegantly designed with curving slopes and ornate feet.
It stood on dark blue stone marble tile that shimmered with subtle pyrite inclusions, the same material that covered the walls in his bathing suite. With the stout grey pillar candles flickering atop wrought-iron candelabras in every corner of the room, the effect was one of being completely ensconced in the celestialdarkness of night. The shelving, vanity, and towel closet were all finely crafted from rich and rare spalted maple, offering a touch of contrast to the otherwise umbral space. Though it was all rather fitting, if you asked me. As dark and luxurious as the man it belonged to.
Said man was, regrettably, not joining me for this bath. After spending nearly three days straight on top of one another, we’d figured that a moment or two of personal space might do us both some good. In reality, I think we were both just trying to catch our breath, finding it nearly impossible to be in the same room together without wanting to fuck—not that I truly had any complaints in that regard. Already, I felt a longing ache between my legs, eager to get back to him. This was but a temporary reprieve, a moment to let my overworked musculature relax and find ease in hot water and bathing salts.
Kieran, on the other hand, had apparently decided to work out even harder in his private training room. I could hear the vaguest sounds of thumps and smacks emanating from down the hall and couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
Ridiculous, absurdly fit bastard.
Setting the intriguing novel about the pirate prince and his lady love aside on a conveniently located side table, I took a deep breath before slipping underwater. Being completely surrounded by liquid warmth like this was a luxury that my own bathing suite could not accommodate, and so I remained beneath the surface for as long as my lungs would allow…and then, secretly, a little longer than that, transmuting the Water aether into Air and sipping it into my lungs.
Oh, how I missed the lakes.
I had spent the summers of my youth in the Brindlewoods, diving around and floating atop the sun-soaked waters of our nearest lakes—we’d had several within walking distance. Something about being close to water had always soothed me,and the weightlessness of being fully immersed in it, gliding effortlessly through the liquid expanse…It was just lovely. A deeply favored sensory pleasure of mine.
Perhaps I had been a siren in another life.
After maybe an hour at most of soaking in silence and letting my mind wander, I began to grow restless. With a contented stretch, I stepped out of the tub, dried myself off with one of Kieran’s delightfully fluffy towels, and dealt with the fuss of wet curls before I went hunting for something clean to wear.
As comfortable as I’d felt spending most of these last few days stark-ass naked before the Source, the Fates, and Kieran Vistarii, it sounded like he was still training. There was no need to distract him from his drills…Yet.
I frowned at the pile of soiled clothing in the corner of the room. If I were at home, it would take me all of five minutes to launder them—there weresomeperks to being a horrific arcane aberration, but alas. I couldn’t risk it. Even with Kieran distracted in the other room, he was far too observant—he would notice and ask questions I couldn’t answer.
Thankfully, one of Fen’s clerics had been kind enough to drop off the leggings, panties, socks, and boots they’d so graciously removed while I’d been unconscious in the infirmary. I figured they would have just disposed of them—burned them, maybe—but no. Other than the shirt I’d been wearing, which had obviously been sliced to shreds and stained by daemon ichor, the rest of my garments had been washed and sent to Kieran’s doorstep in a tidy stack.
How exactly the High Scholar knew I was still at his townhouse was a question for another day. I was just grateful to wriggle into a clean pair of underwear—the soft black cotton number adorned with little lace bows was a comfortable favorite.
With my skin still a bit moist, I had no interest in putting my sweater back on, so I pawed through a few of Kieran’s drawers until I found a neatly folded pile of his sleeveless undershirts.
“That’ll do,” I murmured to myself. The snug-fitting fabric that hugged his torso like a glove was likely the closest I’d get to finding something that fit me in here.
Pausing in front of the mirror inside his armoire, I took in my own appearance with a touch of shameless vanity. While I had always been casually confident in my looks and comfortable with my body, the events of the last few days had left me glowing. My lips were fuller, a bit darker, and swollen from endless kisses, and the apples of my cheeks had taken on what seemed to be a semi-permanent flush, making my freckles more pronounced. Just thinking about where I was about to go had my eyelids lustfully half-lidded, but my golden irises sparkled, surrounded by thick lashes and glowing in the streams of sunlight pouring past Kieran’s curtains. I tilted my head, further exposing my neck and collarbone, examining all the pretty little marks that man had left across pale flesh, and ran a fingertip over the freshest bruise, feeling the way my blood pulsed hot beneath the skin. I couldn’t explain why this habit of his had become such an insane turn-on for me, but even a single brush against that still-tender wound made the muscles between my legs clench.
Tossing the moment aside, I gently closed the armoire and made my way toward Kieran’s training room just a few doors down.
As I padded barefoot down the hall, my toes sinking into the plush rugs carpeting the hardwood floors—also spalted maple, fuckingFates,this man was wealthy—the noises emanating from his training session werenotdoing me any favors.
Heavy, panting breaths and deep grunts paired with the sharp smack of flesh against leather?
Fates fucking help me.
I was going to devour that man. In more ways than one, if I had my way.
As a matter of fact, I had fully intended on launching myself at him the moment I stepped into the room, his workout plans be damned…but as I crossed the threshold, I froze.
Whatever clever remark I’d had in mind slipped from my tongue as my jaw dropped, just a little—my mouth parting as I took in the vision before me with nothing short of awe and utter obsession.
Kieran had his back turned, so he didn’t realize I was leaning against the doorframe and practically salivating over the sight of his sun-bronzed skin coated in sweat, wearing nothing but a snug pair of grey briefs that his thick, muscular thighs appeared to be challenging. And sure, there was something distinctly alluring about watching Kieran’s muscles harden and flex as he sparred with the heavy leather bag that hung from the ceiling overhead, but something else left my mouth dry and other places…wet.
Despite three days straight of relentless sex, this was the first true opportunity I’d had to examine Kieran’s tattoos and the scars covering his back, whispering tales of intrigue andviolence. I had caught glimpses before, of course—the dark, jagged script that covered the left side of Kieran’s back also extended up his neck, often peeking out from the collar of his shirt. I’d viewed them from a distance, naturally, on the days I would watch him in the training fields with recruits for the Elder Guard, and had even stolen a few hungry glances while he’d been cooking breakfast the other morning. Irritatingly, the layout of his kitchen had not worked in my favor, as he’d only needed to turn around a few seconds at a time to fetch ingredients from the cupboards and the icebox.
But now I was only a few feet away, and the glistening sheen of perspiration only seemed to darken those strange tattoos, amplifying the contrast against his golden brown flesh. I could see now that the haunting, jagged-looking markings were indeed some form of script in a language I couldn’t read or recognize. It was unlike any font or calligraphy work I had ever encountered in my studies of ancient text, but it had a distinctly dark sort of flow to it, with what appeared to be briefly separated stanzas. A few sections of his inked back had been marred by a slashing scar or two, suggesting he’d earned those wounds after the fact. Though, speaking of…
It would have been remiss of me not to notice that some of the ink beneath Kieran’s skin appeared to be fading, the edges around some of the black script softening into more of a gray-blue.