Page 93 of Storm
Something shifts in her expression, a softening around the edges. She nods once, a silent acceptance of my help. It feels like a victory, though I couldn't explain why.
I step closer, my hands moving to the hem of Rook's hoodie she's wearing. It's soaked through, heavy with water. "Arms up," I instruct gently.
She complies without argument, raising her arms above her head. I pull the hoodie up and over, careful not to catch her wild curls. Beneath it, she's wearing only a thin t-shirt that clings to her curves. It's soaked through. I force my gaze to remain on her face, respecting her even as every alpha instinct in me wants to look, to claim, to possess.
"The rest you can manage," I say, stepping back to give her space. "I'll check the water."
I turn my back, focusing on adjusting the taps, adding some of the bath salts Fox keeps stocked in every bathroom. Behind me, I hear the soft rustle of clothing being removed, the quiet splash as she tests the water with her toe.
"It's hot," she says, surprise evident in her voice.
"That's the point," I reply without turning. "Get in slowly. Let your body adjust."
I hear her exhale softly as she sinks into the water, the sound somewhere between pain and pleasure. Only then do I risk looking back.
She's submerged to her shoulders, only her head and the tops of her knees visible above the water. Steam rises around her, making her wild curls cling to her face and neck. Her eyes are closed, her expression one of blissful relief as the hot water begins to work its magic.
Something protective and possessive surges through me at the sight. My alpha instincts purr with satisfaction at providing for her, at keeping her warm. It's a dangerous feeling, one I should fight against. But in this moment, with her guard down and mine not far behind, I allow myself to embrace it.
"Better?" I ask, my voice rougher than I'd intended.
Her eyes flutter open, finding mine across the steam-filled space. "Yes," she admits. "Much better. Thank you."
The gratitude in her voice, rare and genuine, does something to my chest again. I nod once, acknowledging her thanks without words. Then, before I can say or do something I might regret, I move toward the door.
"I'll be outside with Rook," I tell her. "Take your time. The water will stay hot for a while."
She nods, her eyes already drifting closed again as the warmth seeps into her bones. I slip out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
Rook is sitting on the edge of my bed, his posture tense. He looks up as I enter, searching my face for any sign that something's wrong.
"She's fine," I assure him. "Already warming up."
The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. "Good. That's good."
We lapse into silence, neither quite sure where to go from here. Our truce is new and built on a shared concern for Storm, rather than any real trust. But it's a start.
A knock at the door saves us from the awkward silence. Frankie stands there, a bundle of clothes in his arms. "Elena sent these," he says, holding them out. "For Storm."
I take the bundle, nodding my thanks. "She's in the bath. I'll make sure she gets them."
Frankie hesitates, clearly wanting to ask something but unsure if he should. Finally, he settles on, "Is she okay?"
"She's fine," Rook answers before I can. "Just cold. The hot bath is helping."
Relief washes over Frankie's face. "Good. That's good." He lingers for a moment longer, then turns to go. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything else."
Once he's gone, I place the bundle of clothes on the counter by the bathroom door. Then, at a loss for what to do next, I lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest.
"You don't have to stay," I tell Rook, though part of me hopes he'll leave. "I can take it from here."
Rook regards me steadily. "I know you can. But I promised her I'd stay."
I nod, accepting his decision. We fall back into silence, the only sound the occasional splash from behind the bathroom door as Storm shifts in the water.
Minutes tick by, stretching into what feels like an hour. Finally, the sound of water draining signals that Storm is finishing her bath. Rook and I both straighten, alert and ready.
The door opens in a cloud of steam, and Storm emerges wrapped in nothing but a large towel. Her wild curls are damp, framing her face in tousled waves. Her skin is flushed from the heat, a healthy pink replacing the earlier pallor. The towel clings to her curves, revealing more than it conceals.
