Page 14 of Ghoul as a Cucumber

Pax grips the side of the tub, his icicle eyes blown out as he cups water in his huge hand and tips it over my head. His hands are so big that it’s like sitting under a waterfall. I run my hands through my hair as he pours the water over me, getting out all the tangles and muck of this horrible night.

He watches my every movement. My skin tingles under his gaze, and despite the weariness soaking every bone in my body, I feel myself come alive for him.

“Get in,” I say.

Pax shakes his head.

“You’re a Roman. Bathing is practically your national pastime. Get in.”

Pax frowns. “But you like to bathe on your own. You said as much to Ambrose. You want to be by yourself to read your filthy romance novels and—”

“I don’t need a smutty romance novel when I have the real heroes right here with me. Pax Drusus Maximus, you get in this tubright now.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, puffs out his bottom lip, and stands. As I watch, mesmerised by the power and grace of his body made for war, he strips off the blood-soaked yoga top and skintight leggings. His dick – sorry, verpa – is already half hard, a bead of pre-cum on the huge, purple tip.

A shiver of pure lust runs through my body at the memory of what having that verpa inside me feels like.

Pax steps over the edge of the tub. Water cascades over the rim as he settles down opposite me, his legs tangled in mine, his back bent against the taps. It must be uncomfortable with his large frame, but he doesn’t say a word.

Giggling, giddy with happiness and horniness, I pluck a handful of pink bubbles and place them on top of his head. “There, now you look pretty.”

Pax’s face breaks out in one of his wide, dangerous grins. “You used to try and dress me up all the time when you were a little girl. You made me a crown of daisies, but it wouldn’t stay on my head.”

“I remember. You were always willing to play tea parties with me. And to be the beast in my silly princess games.” My favourite game as a little girl was pretending to be a rogue princess who secretly trained as a swordmaster. I’d sneak out of the ‘castle’ (my bedroom), and Ambrose and I would meet in a tavern on the road before stabbing the beastly monster Pax to rescue Edward, the hopeless prince trapped in the tower Dad made for me out of cardboard boxes.

“I swore an oath to Jupiter to protect you, to make you happy always. If this means I must be fake-slain by you in pretend battle so you can save Edward the useless prince, then I will die with honour by your sword. Even though you’d barely be able to stab an elephant with your lousy sword skills.”

“I’ve heard stabbing an elephant is notoriously difficult. What with the giant creature trying to stomp on you or choke you with its trunk.”

“You heard wrong.” Pax grins wickedly. “First cut is easy. Second cut, not so easy.”

“Please don’t stab any elephants.”

“If you wish it, I swear by Mars’ musk-scented man-nuts that all elephants are safe from my blade.” Pax inclines his head, his fingers clasping the tiny coin he wears around his neck, the coin his soldiers placed in his mouth to pay the ferryman for his ticket across the river Styx.

A lump forms in my throat. This man has been here for me my whole life. All he knew from his own life was death and bloodshed, yet he sat with me for hours pretending to have picnics with my teddy bears. He would come running whenever I fell over, and once attempted to beat up a gravestone after I tripped over it and skinned my knees. He may be stabby, but he’s also so sweet, and he never asks for anything in return. He never asks anything of me except that I am happy…

…and now that I’m not a little girl any longer…

Pax twists his arm around to find the sponge I keep on the little table beside the bath. “You have dirt on your face,” he says. “I will wipe it away.”

“No,” I swipe the sponge from his hand. “Let me.”

“But…” he frowns.

“Tonight, it’s my job to look after you.”

Pax’s eyes narrow. “That is…it is not…”

“This is happening, Pax.”

“Very well.” He crosses his arms and squeezes his eyes shut.

I stare at the sponge in my hand and the hunched figure of a Roman warrior, the perfectly sculpted contours of his body rigid with tension, and I realize that this is uncharted territory for Pax. He’s never had anyone tolook after himbefore. As a soldier, he was a cog in a war machine. As a ghost, he’s been literally invisible until I came along. As my friend, he’s always been aboutmyneeds, andmyhappiness, but when have I ever asked him abouthisneeds?

I run the sponge over his body, scrubbing the graveyard dirt from his skin. As the warm water sluices over him, his muscles slacken a little. He stops squeezing his eyes shut and gazes up at me, those blue irises as deep and unfathomable as the sky.

“This feels…” he searches for a word. “Nice.”

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