Page 19 of Captive

She realized he was holding something small in one hand. A tiny bottle. He held it out to her and tapped his shoulder.

She took the bottle. It was dark glass, with no label, but watery liquid sloshed inside. Aruna made another motion of rubbing his shoulder.

Novikke uncorked the bottle, and instantly a noxious smell like alcohol and seawater met her nose. She jerked it away from herself, making a face. “What is this?”

He looked amused.

She looked at the bottle uncertainly, then went to dump it onto her shoulder.

“Ah—!” He quickly waved his hands to stop her. After a moment, he held out a hand as if to take the bottle back, and patted his other hand to his chest.

She stiffened. Was she interpreting that gesture correctly?

Did she want him touching her?

She didn’t give it back right away. She stole another glance at his body, half-lit in the yellow firelight—all smooth dark skin and willowy limbs. He had the kind of natural grace and narrow strength that all elves seemed to share. Night elves might have been savage and spiteful, but no one could say they were not beautiful.

She let out a breath through her nose.

Why not? What more did she have to lose, anyway?

She handed the bottle back to him, and set her eyes on the fire instead of on him.

He knelt beside her slowly, as if afraid of scaring her away. He pressed a fingertip to the mouth of the bottle and tipped out a few drops. Then, in a quick stroke, he swept the liquid across the top of her shoulder.

She flinched, gasping. It felt like ice and burning at once. But after a few seconds, it sank into her skin, and then it felt like melting ice and then just like wet, and her skin became tingly and slightly numb.

Aruna stopped long enough for her to recover, then raised his eyebrows, as if asking whether he could continue. She gave a nod.

He dispensed more of the liquid onto his fingers and ran it along her shoulder, covering more skin this time. It hurt less now that she was expecting it. His touch grew firmer, pressing the icy sensation into her. The solution left an oily residue on her skin. After a while, the pain in her shoulder dulled. She closed her eyes.

Aruna’s movements became less tentative. He rubbed the solution slowly over, behind, and under her shoulder and even into the side of her back. It was the first pleasant sensation she’d felt in days. She held her breath when his fingers brushed the side of her chest and grazed over her collarbone.

His hands were warm, firm, slick. Novikke found herself imagining him putting his hands on other parts of her body, and that thought almost made her laugh aloud in disbelief. How, in the course of only a few days, had she gone from hating and fearing him so much to voluntarily being nearly naked with him? The forest was making her lose her mind, probably.

He brushed her hair away to reach the base of her neck. Novikke felt goosebumps forming under his fingers. His hand moved upward, his thumb grazing over the side of her neck, in something very much like a caress.

She looked up at him. He stopped moving, as if he’d only then realized what he was doing.

Maybe he didn’t find her so uninteresting to look at, after all.

What had happened the previous night could be excused as a natural, involuntary reaction that had nothing to do with her specifically. But this?

He abruptly got up, stoppered the bottle, and returned to the other side of the fire.

The fire crackled between them, filling the stiff silence. Her arm had stopped hurting.

Novikke rested her head on her knees, letting the fire bake her damp hair. Sometimes she forgot the reality of what was currently happening to her. The daily struggles of traveling—climbing and getting hungry and getting tired and fighting monsters and swimming for her life—distracted her enough to briefly forget why they were here.

She was here because she was a prisoner. Because he was taking her to an execution.

Aruna showed no signs of wanting to sleep yet. It was still too cold, and it would take time for their clothes and bedding to dry.

She got up, picked up a stick, and walked over to Aruna’s side of the fire. He looked at the stick in her hand, then arched a suspicious eyebrow at her. It was big enough that it could have been mistaken for a weapon, she supposed, albeit a poor one.

Ignoring the look, she glanced around until she found a patch of dirt to write in.

“Pain is gone. Thank you,” she wrote.

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