Page 165 of The Shattered Rite
He guided her into the bath. Warm water, laced with herbs she wouldn’t smell past the blood in her nose. Her skin shivered as it touched the water, and still she said nothing. She trusted him. Even now. Especially now.
It thrilled him.
He crouched at the edge of the bath, sleeves damp from easing her down, and watched her body float, slack and exhausted. Her shift clung to her skin. She looked breakable. She looked like she washis.
He reached for a brush the room provided.
Slow, steady strokes. His fingers worked through the knots in her hair, unwinding blood and salt from copper strands. He spoke softly, the way one soothes a fevered animal.
"It’s all right now," he whispered, knowing she’d believe it.
He watched her mouth twitch faintly at his words. He kept brushing.
Each moment here was a borrowed luxury. Her dragon's magic prowled the edges of the ring’s suppression, but Malric trusted its power. His father had made sure it was forged with the most dangerous and powerful element the world didn't know existed.
The ring hid him. Cloaked his scent. Silenced his guilt.
Her dragon felt the wrongness, yes. But he was dulled. Muffled. Like a beast chained just out of reach.
Malric smiled faintly to himself.
Silas had been the only threat. Not because he was strong. But because Eliryn had let him matter. Had let him close. Thatcouldn’t stand. If anyone would break her open, it would be Malric. That right belonged to him now.
He finished brushing her hair.
Her breathing had slowed. He thought she might be drifting near sleep.
Gently, he reached into the water, fingers brushing her wrist, checking the weak pulse. Steady, but slow. Exhausted.
She trusted him to touch her here.
She trusted the voice that killed her guard. The hands that gutted her protector. The lie that wore the shape of comfort.
Malric dipped a cloth into the water and slowly, methodically, began to wash the blood from her skin.
He cleaned her as carefully as he’d stalked her.
When he spoke again, it was soft as silk and colder than steel.
“Sleep, Eliryn.”
She obeyed.
But he wasn’t finished.
Once she drifted, slack in the water, he drew her out with clinical precision. Her skin was warm, soft as wet silk. He wrapped her in the thickest towel he could find, swaddling her like a child, binding her limbs gently but firmly. She stirred only once, but his voice quieted her immediately.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. You’remine.”
She didn’t hear the last word. Not consciously.
He carried her back to the bed. Slowly. Reverently.
There, he laid her down, keeping her bound in the towel, letting the warmth sink into her skin. He crouched beside her. His breath came slow, measured. He watched the faint tremble of her lashes, the soft parting of her lips as she tried and failed to fight sleep.
She was pliant. Fragile.Perfect.
And as he watched her, Malric realized something new.
