Page 67 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

Walker glared, but I offered the tiniest shake of my head. Legend or not, I did not trust Marie Laveau. I did not want her or her coven’s magic touching me, nor did I want them to realize just how weak I currently was.

Marie chuckled. “You’re the spitting image of your mother, but I fear you inherited Josephine’s stubbornness.”

I flinched, and Marie’s gaze tracked the movement like a well-seasoned predator.

Did she know Josephine too?I wondered.Or did she just hear the rumors?

“She said she wants to rest,” Cadence said. Her face was tight with an unusual show of anger.

Ryder walked to my vacant side and crossed his arms.

“Very well,” Marie purred. A smile tugged the corners of her lips. “That can be arranged for all of you and perhaps you would enjoy a means to clean yourselves as well?”

“Thank you,” Walker clipped.

“Mira will show you the way,” Marie promised.

The dark-haired witch with wild, turquoise eyes gestured to the right, toward a hanging, vibrantly constructed tapestry. If exhaustion and throbbing pain didn’t blur my vision, I would’vetaken the time to admire it before the witch—Mira—pulled it aside and revealed a long hallway.

As she led us, floating balls of flame flickered to life, like they had in the sewers, and lit the way. Smooth, black stone formed the walls, dotted with wooden-framed doors and occasional, old paintings from another lifetime. Further down the hall, Mira paused.

“There are spare bedrooms here.” She gestured to the nearest doors, which were positioned beside each other, then turned toward the door opposite of the others. “The bathhouse is there. There are towels inside.”

“Bathhouse?” Walker questioned.

Mira blinked at him and walked away, back in the direction of the rest of her coven.

“And here I was,” Ryder said, “thinking this place was pretty modern considering its old-as-dirt residents.”

I was too tired to chide him for how his voice carried down the hall. Instead, I simply walked into the bathhouse. Though I wanted nothing more than to sleep, I couldn’t imagine resting without washing the harrowing day and sewer stink from my skin. As I shuffled into the large room, I gasped.

Though the cavernous space was constructed of the same slick, black stone and was lit by the same magical flames as the rest of Marie’s home, water trickled down the far wall and filled a pool of dark steaming water the size of three apartments back home. Lavender and jasmine lingered in the air. I breathed in the soothing scents and stripped out of my clothes and jewelry without using my bad shoulder.

I climbed down the steps of the bathhouse and hissed at how the hot water burned my wounds. Gritting my teeth, I waded deeper, until I was submerged to the chin. My wounds burned, but not with the ferocity of that initial sting. I ducked my head below and scrubbed my scalp. As I rose above the wateronce again, my tense muscles relaxed. I searched the shadowy walls and edges of the pool for soap but found none.

“I guess a rinse is better than nothing,” I muttered.

Talking to myself was a sure sign of exhaustion, so I scrubbed the crystalline water into my bruised and scraped side and cleaned myself the best I could. My wounds ached under my touch, but relief bloomed in my chest. I wanted all traces of Madame LaLaurie washed from my skin.

When I had cleaned every inch of my body, I hesitated to journey out of the bath. Nothing had felt this good in a while. My thoughts and worries and fears drifted away on the bathwater’s steam. Completely relaxed, I floated in the bath’s depths and enjoyed the quietness of my thoughts.

Water clogged my throat, my eyes, my nose. I thrashed, but something—someone—yanked me up. As I blinked the water out of my eyes, familiar, strong arms laid me on the smooth black stone. I coughed and coughed, until I lurched to the side and spat out a mouthful of water. As I came back into reality, Walker’s worried face filled my vision. He hovered over me like a guardian angel.

“Walker?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

His magic thrummed. “You were drowning.”

“You say that like an accusation,” I said.

He sighed and ran a hand through his now damp hair.

“You lost your hat,” I complained.

He looked at me like I was crazy. “That’s your biggest concern?”

I shrugged, and his gaze dipped.

Oh dear Goddess,I thought as heat sprawled from my neck to my ears,how did I forget I’m naked?

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