I sit on the edge of the tub behind her, holding her wrists above her head so she doesn’t wash the paste away for another twelve minutes. Now, with the cold water running over her, she’s sated.
Once the alloted time passes, I lower her arms under the stream of water. “You can wash that off now.” She obeys, and I walk around the tub to face her. Her eyes are still closed, head cradling the tap.
Her slip is plastered against her like a second skin, showing me every divot and groove of her shape, the tips of her breasts, the point of her hip bones, even the small dip of her navel. I might as well have let her take the damn thing off. I force my gaze back to her face to find her eyes open. “Better?”
Her eyes are no longer wild and flitting. If anything, she looks very tired. She nods weakly.
I reach forward and turn off the tap, and she straightens in the tub, blinking at me. “What’s happening to me?”
“The bloodteeth trees. The tree roots--” I say, nodding toward her arms. “Are poisonous. I gave you the antidote, which burns off the poison fairly quickly, but it has some undesired side effects, as you have learned.”
Her brows pinch as she shakes her head. “You didn’t say anything about them being poisonous.”
“Didn’t want to alarm you.” Her eyes expand with incredulity. “What? It wouldn’t have helped anything, and you tend to overreact to things a little.”
She doesn’t appear at all pleased with that. I really don’t care. “Come on, get outta’ there,” I say with a jerk of my head. She’s still pretty disoriented as she climbs to her feet. Water from her soaked slip drips noisily to the bottom of the tub. When she catches me…admittedly staring, she crosses her arms over her chest with a scowl. I raise a hand, siphoning the water from her slip. It slaps to the bottom of the tub, returning the fabric to its normal, not nearly as revealing state.
She climbs out of the tub and staggers her way out of the bathroom. My head sags forward, exhaustion finally catching up with me.
Ugh, what a night. What a mess. What a pain in the ass. And…she’s not going anywhere. This is only the beginning of life with the nought.
Yet…she’salive.
This is a dream.It’s all been a dream since I stepped foot outside the Wall. The early morning sun is out, slicing through the drab curtains in a way that can only be described aswrongas I follow him out of the bathing room. Bypassing the bed, I hobble out to the living room and peer around like I’m walking into some strange new land before I topple onto the couch less than gracefully.
Flopping onto my back, I draw an arm over my eyes and mumble unintelligibly into the back of my arm as he peruses the vials on his shelf. “What?” he asks.
“I said, what is my life? I don’t know it anymore.”
He laughs softly. “You’re dramatic.”
“Dramatic? No, I think I’m being pretty calm, considering. Practically tranquil.” I simply don’t have the energy to worry about what’s going to happen to me now.
He positions himself on the coffee table before me and settles an assortment of items beside him. “Come here.”
“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
“So I can work on your arms.”
I pull myself up with a grunt. “What are you doing? I can do it.”
He ignores me, reaches forward, and tugs my arm out. “This might sting a little,” he warns before he begins dabbing the cloth against the many welts. Earlier, when he’d tied the fabric, he’d been careful not to make much contact, but this time, he wraps a warm palm around my wrist to steady me.
He turns all of his concentration on my arms, one prominent brow puckered. His lashes are so long they sweep his cheeks when his eyes shutter closed, and his tongue pokes out to rest against his bottom lip. I force myself to avert my gaze. The next thing I know, I’m looking again.
A man is touching me.Tenderly. Delicately.Sweat accumulates against my palms, and my heart turns to a flutter as sharp flashes of heat wash over me. His thumb caresses the sensitive part of my inner elbow, and I give a little jerk.Oh my God.
“Sorry.” He looks up to scrutinize me, and his expression turns quizzical. “You’re not still feeling the side effects, are you? You look…red.”
“Maybe a little,” I lie. He carefully bandages my wounds and starts the process with the other arm, and that strange series of emotions repeats itself. What is wrong with me? Is this what it’s like to be in the company of…men? My understanding was always that it wasthemwho were supposed to be affected byus.That’s why we’re sentenced to a life under the Shroud so as not to tempt them. But he doesn’t seem affected at all.
When he finally finishes, I plop back down on the sofa and cover my face as he gathers up the supplies. “Don’t get comfortable yet.”
“Why?”
“You’re not sleeping out here.”
I snap my head back up. “What do you mean?”
