Page 90 of Unraveled
Is he talking about the person—the woman, if I’m adding up all the crumbs of information correctly—who stole his grimoires and brought them to Penumbra? The one who cursed him? Or does he mean me?
I push aside the ember of hope that begins burning in my heart. If he shares a soul bond with the one who cursed him, then he would be called there by the magic that binds them.
It’s not romantic—it has nothing to do with me. I take a deep breath and look away to the dark room in front of us, for fear I won’t be able to hide my overwhelming disappointment.
I can’t want more than a physical connection with him. It won’t end well for me. He’s a king, and even if I help him break his curse, I doubt he’s looking for anything more than a distraction with a hybrid like me. His people would riot if this meant more.
But the ugly feelings trailing up my body make my stomach churn. Ash’s brows lift and he moves closer, as if called by my darkening mood.
“What is this room?” I ask, shifting away from him.
Hurt flashes over his face, and I wonder if I completely misread his previous comment.
“This is where we sleep tonight.” He steps into the new room, and I follow him without a moment of hesitation. I don’t trust the darkness that welcomes us, but I’d rather be here with him than alone in the light.
He fetches a couple of gas lamps as I wrap my arms around myself and follow the clear marking of wards that line the perimeter.
I take in the thick velvet curtains that do a poor job at hiding the wood boards covering most of the window. He hands me the second lantern, and the flame’s soft orange light illuminates the cracked plaster and the cobwebs hanging from the chandelier.
Someone shoved a four-poster bed into the corner, which doesn’t seem to belong in such a cramped space.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says, pointing to the opposite corner where a small chair sits.
I wouldn’t categorize that as a couch but choose to not say anything as I inspect the space and the spells that cover the entire perimeter of the room. “I see there are wards on every wall.”
“Yes, we set it up for when Finley needs to rest here. It’s the room we determined had the least concentrated dark magic. We spent a few days four years ago casting spells to keep creatures away while we’re gone.”
I see Ash’s magic at work. It’s easy to recognize with its shades of gold buzzing on each strand, but green traces? Not so much.
If Finley cast protective spells in this place, they weren’t very strong, which goes against Ash’s claims that he’s a powerful sorcerer. I push those thoughts away as I walk to a second door, which leads to a washroom the same size as the bedroom behind me. Intricate panels stained a deep shade of walnut cover the walls. These windows aren’t boarded up, and they face the thick canopy of pine trees, their green needles dragging over the glass as the storm outside rages on.
I’m itching to get out of this beautiful—but constricting—gown. I smell like sour wine and the cheap incense the hybrids were burning at that gods-awful party.
I place the lamp on a small marble table beside the copper tub, and admire the black-and-gray terracotta tiles that cover the floor. My thoughts go back to what he said, and I fear my own insecurities ruined what could have been a sweet moment.
What if it could be more? What if I allow myself to live, like Nera said I should, even if it might end in a broken heart? I can’t predict the future, but I have a say in the present, in how I treat him. And myself.
I shrug off his coat and drape it over a stool beside the tub. The heaviness in my chest lifts as I twist the handle by the spigot and water sputters first in brown shades, then slowly shifts clear and steaming hot.
I should close the door, but there is something exhilarating about leaving it open. About him knowing I’m getting undressed here, where he could easily walk in.
I reach for the laces of my corset and tug on the elaborate bow that ties it all together at my lower back. I pull harder, but the knot doesn’t budge. Shifting my attention, I take off the full skirt and kick it out of the way. I’m left in my chemise, the corset, and the lacy underthings I’ve been wearing since before the party. Wrinkling my nose, I pull the undergarments off and toss them to the side to wash later.
Then I focus back on the bodice still tight around my torso. Sweat beads at my temple as I continue trying to get this thing off so I can bathe, but it seems the more I work on it, the more stuck I get.
With a huff, I glance at the open door, seeing movement in the bedroom beyond. I drop the corset laces and take a calming breath. I could burn the fabric to get it off—but then again, I doubt there’s something else for me to wear here.
“Ash?”
The shadows move outside as he comes to the doorway, pausing right before he enters. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes. I need help with my corset.”
At first, he doesn’t say a thing, and when he strolls into the room, a rush of warmth travels up my spine. He is the image of relaxation with the top of his shirt open, so I can see the smoothness of his skin right before it blends with the peppering of feathers on his neck.
In one hand, Ash holds a glass of amber liquid, while the other is deep in his pocket. Whatever foolish thoughts of bravery I had before vanish as he steps closer. His eyes lock with mine, and I don’t move a muscle until he’s so close I can smell the sweet and smoky scent of his drink.
I catch his jaw clenching as I turn around, giving him a full view of the mess I made of the laces. I pull my hair out of the way to give him better access and wait, not breathing. My heart hammers as he shifts closer to me, and his heat seeps through the thin fabric I’m wearing.
