Page 27 of Chains of Love

My fingers fumble with the clasp of my cloak. The memory of introducing him as my brother to Serra rises unbidden. That particular lie had unraveled spectacularly. I shrug, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Care to bathe first?"

I shake my head, focusing on arranging my belongings. There is no denying that our bond is stronger now after the ritual and activating it during our scuffle, making it harder to ignore his presence. To ignore the way his crimson eyes follow my movements.

"Suit yourself,dear." The way he drawls the endearment makes my skin prickle. His leather armor hits the floor piece by piece as he heads for the washroom—if you can call it that, witha partition not tall enough to cover the top of his head being the wall—each thud marking another layer shed.

I press my palm against the rough wooden wall, steadying myself. The strengthened bond thrums with his satisfaction, his amusement, his... something else I can't quite name. Won't name. I can hear the splash of water as he climbs into the basin, the mental image of his bare body haunting me with every blink.

I sink onto the bed, running my fingers through my tangled hair. At least "husband" should keep the innkeeper from asking questions about a man and woman traveling together. Even if Darak is a Dark Elf, I'm sure she's seen plenty of interesting pairings around here.

"Lucky our friends were so generous with their coin purse." Darak's voice carries over the partition, followed by more water splashing. "How exactly were you planning to book passage on a ship?"

I dig my thumbs into my aching feet, wincing at the tender spots. "I would have figured something out."

The words come out sharper than intended. My boots lie discarded on the floor, the leather worn thin from weeks of walking. Purple bruises mottle my skin where the straps cut in, and blisters have formed over older calluses.

"Of course you would have." The amusement in his tone makes my jaw clench. "Just like you figured out that ritual that got us here in the first place?"

Water sloshes against the basin's sides as he moves. I try not to picture it, focusing instead on massaging my abused feet. The pain helps ground me, keeps my thoughts from straying to his words at the lake.

"I was being an ass because... Because I wanted to see you react."

My hands still. The memory of his voice, low and sincere, sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with theevening chill. I shrug off my outer robes, laying them across the narrow bed. The fabric is travel-stained and torn in places – a far cry from the elegant garments I once wore.

My neck aches from tension, and I press my fingers into the rigid muscles. More splashing sounds from behind the partition. Our fortified connection is carrying echoes of his satisfaction, his warmth, his...

I drop my hands to my lap. This isn't helping. My eyes trace the design of the ring he gave me.

"Are you nearly finished?" I ask, desperate to break the loaded silence.

"Missing me already, wife?"

I throw my boot at the partition.

His laugh echoes off the wooden walls as water splashes back into the basin. I focus intently on my feet, pretending the sound of his movements doesn't send shivers down my spine. The gentle sloshing of fresh water being poured tells me he's refilling the basin. For me. The consideration behind this simple act catches me off guard.

My breath hitches when he rounds the partition. Droplets of water trace paths down his ash-gray skin, following the contours of well-defined muscles earned through centuries of warfare. His long dark hair, usually tied back, falls loose and wet against his shoulders. Battle scars mark his chest and arms – some fresh, others faded to silvery lines that catch the dim lamplight. The towel sits dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle disappearing beneath the fabric.

I look away, suddenly aware that I'm sitting here in just my clothes, which reveal more than I'm comfortable with. There is no mistaking the hints of his satisfaction at my reaction.

"See something you like?" His crimson eyes gleam with mischief.

"I see an elf who needs to learn about proper clothing." I turn away, cheeks burning. "And boundaries."

"Boundaries?" He steps closer, water still beading on his skin. "Interesting concept from someone who magically bound me to her."

I press my lips together, refusing to rise to his bait. The bond thrums with something deeper than mere amusement now, something that makes my pulse quicken.

I snatch my robes, wrapping them tightly around myself like armor. The fabric's familiar weight offers little comfort against Darak's scrutiny. His words from earlier - about Serra's perfect body, about my unremarkable form - echo in my mind, stinging fresh as salt in a wound.

"Move." I try to slide past him, keeping my eyes fixed on the partition.

His hand catches my arm, grip firm but not painful. Water still beads on his skin, and the contact sends electricity through my nerves. "Take them off."

"What?" I jerk back, pulse thundering. "No."

"Lirien." Frustration colors his tone. "I already told you you're not ugly."

---