Page 56 of Tempest Blazing
He gestured to the chair. "Sit. Eat."
The food was perfect—some kind of stew with fresh bread, warm and comforting. Mason settled into the chair across from me, watching as I took the first tentative bite. The flavors exploded on my tongue, rich and satisfying, and I realized I was starving.
"Good?" he asked.
I nodded, taking another spoonful. "Really good. Thank you."
We sat in comfortable silence while I ate, Whiskey curled in my lap, purring contentedly. Mason's presence was like a steady anchor, solid and reassuring. But as the immediate hunger faded, other things crept back in.
The phantom weight of that collar around my neck. Demon claws raking across my skin.
I set down my spoon, suddenly nauseous.
"What is it?" Mason leaned forward, concern creasing his features.
"I..." I touched my throat reflexively. "I feel dirty."
His jaw tightened. "Tess—"
"I know I showered this morning, but..." I gestured vaguely, the words stuck somewhere in my throat. "I just... I feel like I can't get clean."
Mason was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Then he stood, extending his hand. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Shower. If you need to get clean, then we get you clean."
I stared at his outstretched hand. Simple. Practical. But something in his tone made my heart skip. "Mason, you don't have to—"
"I want to." Low. Certain. "Let me help you."
The sincerity in his dark eyes undid me. I placed my hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet. Whiskey mewed in protest as I set him down, but he immediately found a sunny spot by the window to curl up in.
Mason led me to the bathroom, his large hand warm and steady around mine. He turned on the shower, testing the temperature with careful attention, adjusting until steam began to rise from the spray.
"Too hot?" he asked.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the hem of my shirt. I caught my breath when Mason's gentle hands covered mine, stilling them. We'd been intimate before, but this felt different. More vulnerable. I wasn't used to... being taken care of. Not like this. Usually I was the one in control, making decisions, leading the charge. But here, with my hands shaking and my walls crumbling, I was just... fragile.
Mason seemed to sense my hesitation. He turned to face me, his hands gentle as they framed my face. "We don't have to—"
"I want to," I interrupted, echoing his earlier words. The truth was messy, complicated—I needed to reclaim something that felt stolen. Needed to feel like my body belonged to me again instead of being something that could be collared and caged. "I just... I need this. I need to feel clean again."
He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. With careful movements, he began helping me undress, his touch reverent rather than sexual. Each piece of clothing that fell away felt like shedding a layer of the day's trauma. With each discarded layer, I felt a flicker of... myself returning. Like I was piecing myself back together, shard by fragile shard.
When we stepped under the hot spray together, I nearly sobbed with relief. The water was perfect—hot enough to sting, washing away the phantom sensations clinging to my skin.
Mason reached for the soap, working it into a rich lather between his palms. "Turn around."
I obeyed, letting him wash my back with slow, thorough strokes. His hands were gentle but firm, massaging away tension I didn't even realize I was carrying. When he moved to my shoulders, his thumbs traced the curve of my neck with deliberate tenderness, and the soap-slick warmth of his palms seemed to soak deeper than my skin. Something inside me started to crack.
The tears came then, hot and sudden. All the fear and rage and helplessness I'd been holding back crashed over me. I pressed my face against Mason's chest, sobbing as the water cascaded around us.
He held me without hesitation, his arms strong and sure around my shaking frame. One hand stroked my wet hair while the other rubbed circles on my back, and he murmured soft words I couldn't quite make out over my crying.
"I've got you," he whispered against my hair. "You're safe. You're home."
I cried until I had nothing left, until the tears finally slowed to hiccups. Mason never loosened his hold, never tried to rush me through it. He just held me. Solid and warm and unshakeable.
