Page 139 of Dare

Through a tunnel of offshoots, I strode into an enclosure. Steam rose from a round depression of water. The liquid glowed, its color reminiscent of lapis lazuli, and bubbles shot to the surface from below.

I went through the scrupulous motions of testing the pool, including sticking a branch into its depth to see if it charred the wood, then consuming small bits in stages. The scent, clarity, temperature, and taste appeared to be safe.

By the time I ruled out possible threats, dusk had fallen. Flare would notice my absence. With the sky and moon shrouded, we’d have to navigate back to the ruins by memory.

I rubbed my thumb over the opposite hand, where the raindrop had struck me. Absently, I glanced down. The bruise had smeared, its discoloration having rinsed off after coming in contact with my finger, which was damp from inspecting the bubbling water.

My eyes narrowed. I rubbed my skin again, erasing the mark, although the ache itself persisted. Nonetheless, a theory presented itself and stunted my breathing. Quickly, I stalked back the way I’d come, making a swift trip of it.

Flare had kept to the same vicinity. I found her sitting on the dry soil and admiring the day’s end, with her head craned to the forest canopy. Any other companion might have glared and asked me where the hell I’d disappeared to.

She twisted and blinked at my outstretched hand. “Come with me,” I murmured.

No protests about missing the sunset. No warnings about the dark paths we’d have to travel through later.

Not that we hadn’t grown used to it, but we’d ventured farther from the ruins than usual at this hour. Ever dauntless, Flare set her fingers in mine, the touch producing a blast of heat through my veins.

Fuck almighty. This woman.

Encasing her fingers in mine, I led us to the jungle. As we got closer to our destination, my blood stirred at the prospect of her reaction and what the pool might do for her.

Once we arrived, Flare’s lips parted. Her gilded eyes landed on the water and its churning surface, the incandescence resistant to the darkness. I suspected some manner of fluorescing mineral was present, whereas she would expect enchantment like most people.

“I think it’s a wellspring,” I said. “Healing waters. The spring is hot, conducive to muscle relaxation. But that’s not all.”

We deposited our satchels, weapons, and belts. The clothes stayed on, though I reached behind and whipped off my shirt, and Flare wore nothing but a slinky linen dress that flounced around her ass. We submerged ourselves. I groaned, the heat washing over my joints while Flare dunked her head, resurfacing on a laugh.

Yet quickly, her mirth deteriorated. It had to be the expression on my face, which had to do with the sight of her neck.

“What?” she asked.

Speechless, I snatched my shirt from the rim. Holding her gaze, I brushed the cloth across her throat and held it aloft, exhibiting it in the water’s glow. Traces of paint smeared the fabric.

Flare’s eyes widened. After a shocked moment, those irises glistened with comprehension. Then disbelief. Then wonder. A gasp dropped from her lips, and a tearful smile lifted her features.

My lungs failed to function. I had always known she was exquisite. Those metallic eyes. Those enduring hands. But this vision of her was devastating. Freedom made her more stunning than she’d ever been.

Without a word, I offered Flare the material. She took it, her movements eager as she doused the shirt and washed away the sunbursts. The tattoos drizzled, black ink streaking down her body and melting into the spring.

I had not seen her cry before. And while I’d never put stock in miracles, the sight of her joyful tears knocked the fucking wind from me. Seasons flay me, but this moment might turn me into a believer.

With a grin, Flare handed back the shirt. I accepted the garment, crushed it in my fist, and tossed it aside, the wet material striking the ledge. My fingers itched to cup her face. Fuck, I wanted to do a lot more than that.

Underwater, my arms snaked around Flare’s waist and tightened, hoisting her against my frame. Like this, she hooked her fingers over my shoulders, and her forehead settled against mine, our noses tapping.

Flare’s soaked dress abraded the muscles of my torso. Her nipples toughened, the points scraping my pectorals. Beads drizzled down our chins as we tilted our heads, my exhalations rushing against hers.

My tongue flicked one of her tears and tasted salt. Simple. Pivotal. Then my mouth dragged to hers, our lips resting against one another.

The brink of a kiss. The threshold of more.

I uttered a gruff noise against her lips. “Flare.”

“Jeryn,” she replied.

Our names filled the enclosure, a latch breaking open after being sealed for too long. I had fucking missed this—touching her, talking with her.

With a shitload of discipline, I marshaled my thoughts. “That night at the ocean. I meant what I’d said.” I welded my eyes shut. “I do not deserve you.”

---