She froze.
Alarik stood near the far bench, his torso bare, shirt draped over the seat’s edge. Candlelight cast golden slants across his skin, carving sharp reliefs along his shoulders and back. Faded scars traced their way across his body—whispers of battles long past, etched into the sinew of someone built for endurance.
He reached for something on the bench, his movements slow, unhurried, unaware of her presence.
For a man who carried himself with such quiet intensity, he seemed unburdened here—at ease in a way she’d never seen before.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She had come to the bathhouse to avoid Kaelen, only to stumble upon his brother instead.
Still, a strange warmth curled through her chest, pooling low in her stomach. She should look away, step back—but instead, she watched, rooted to the spot. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, a low groan slipping from his lips as the muscles in his neck stretched. Each subtle motion revealed the coiled strength beneath his skin, his body moving with the precision of something finely tuned.
Her throat was tight, her pulse an unsteady drumbeat.
She wanted to linger. This was a rare thing—aforbiddenthing.
But when his fingers brushed the waistband of his pants, she knew shemustmake her presence known.
“Not to state the obvious,” she said, relieved at the teasing edge she managed to summon, “but youdoknow this is the women’s bath. The Omega section, no less.”
Alarik froze mid-motion. His entire body tensed, shoulders locking as he turned.
His golden eyes snapped to hers, widening for the briefest moment, flickering. His composure—usually so unshakable—was slower to return. And then, to her astonishment, a faint blush crept up his cheekbones.
Seeing him flustered sent a jolt of breathless amusement through her.
“Forgive me,” he managed, his voice rough. “I didn’t mean . . . that is, I didn’t know . . .” He pressed his lips together, jaw tightened. “There was no attendant to show me the way.”
Reiya arched a brow and folded her arms. “There were signs in both Isseric and Numerian. Difficult to miss.”
He wet his lower lip, tilting his head. “I must’ve been distracted.”
“Careless,” she corrected.
A long pause filled the space between them until the corners of hismouth twitched, as though he couldn’t hold back a smile. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Immensely.” She let the smile break free. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before. It’s . . . refreshing.”
He huffed, shaking his head. “I won’t deny it’s rare for anyone to catch me in this state of undress.” A self-deprecating smirk curled on his lips. “So I suppose you have the upper hand this time.”
Something about the easy humour in his voice—his willingness to let her win this round—unsettled her in a way she couldn’t name.
Her gaze flicked downward, drawn to the ink on his left forearm—half a sunburst, its rays unfurling outward yet never meeting, as if caught in an eternal rise.
Her brow furrowed. It looked uncannily like Kaelen’s Sunborn sigil, but without its iridescence, without the telltale glow beneath the skin. And it was unfinished.
What did it mean?
Alarik pulled his shirt over his shoulders but made no move to fasten the laces. Instead, he gathered his belongings and strode toward her, each step shrinking the space between them, sharpening her senses like a blade honed to a fine edge.
His scent reached her first—earth and spice, sun-warmed sand. It had always been grounding, steady. But now, in the stillness of the bathhouse, it curled around her, slipping past her defences, settling deep in her bones. Her skin prickled with awareness, pulse stuttering as the warmth of his presence brushed against her own.
She had to tilt her head up to meet his stare—bright eyes, shadowed yet piercing, searching her face as if trying to unravel something unseen. His lashes were long, sooty, almost too long for a man, yet they didn’t take away from his masculinity in the slightest. If anything, it only sharpened the contrast between the restrained control in his expression and the raw power coiled beneath the surface.
The air thickened, charged with an unspoken tension, a pull she hadn’t expected—hadn’t prepared for. The quiet trickle of water from the baths barely registered over the sharp cadence of her breathing, shallower than it should’ve been.
“I should go,” Alarik murmured.
Heshould, but neither of them moved.