SHOWERS
Cordolium (noun): heartfelt grief.
DAY 11, HOUR 12
“While we’re in the shower, I’m in charge,” Arabella said.
She was adorable.
And delusional.
I quirked my eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest as I mockingly waited for her directives. Then I remembered I was trying to appear nonthreatening, and I softened my features, relaxed my posture.
Earlier her breathing had changed like she was in pain, and my stomach had plummeted because just being in my presence had hurt her. I didn’t want that.
I inhaled deeply. Her icy scent filled the small bathroom.
She was pure adrenaline to the veins.
Muscles flexing, senses heightened, I forced myself to keep my arms at my side. Fingers relaxed.
Listening to her wrestle with John had triggered something inside me.
They were both so noisy.
So playful.
I wanted them both.
I’d start with Arabella.
Cold wafted off her, and goose bumps prickled my skin from her proximity.
The bathroom was pathetically small, and just standing in front of the shower meant we were chest to chest, mere inches between us.
She breathed unsteadily, and her breath puffed against the exposed skin on my neck.
I held back a moan.
“So. Now that we’re in here, we’re going to…” Arabella trailed off like she wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to command of me.
I swallowed down a mocking laugh because I knew exactly what she needed.
She needed to be cared for.
Looked after.
Pampered.
“Um,” she said awkwardly as she struggled to come up with an idea.
It took every ounce of control I possessed to appear receptive to directions.
It was the least I could do.
Ever since I’d learned that Arabella had been tortured as a child, a sick sense of guilt twisted my stomach. I woke up nauseous and went to bed feeling weak. It permeated every second of my day.
Just like myself, my Revered had suffered at the hands of others when she was too young to defend herself.
Yet I’d called her pampered. Weak. I’d tormented her and added to her distress.
I’d been a fool.
My chest ached with regret.
If Arabella was ever going to accept me as her Protector, I needed to build a relationship with her, which would only happen if I came across as nonthreatening.
I forced my shoulders to relax and tried to look approachable.
My lips curled up in a welcoming smile.
Corvus always grouched about how stupid John was with his “fucking dimples and constant smiles.” Most likely because Orion said Arabella liked to comment on how much she liked John’s jokes and smile.
Fucking John.
There was something intriguing about a grown man making jokes and acting so idiotic all the time. He was just so nice.
But if he was the type of man my Revered preferred, then that was exactly who I would be for her. Just because I wasn’t nice didn’t mean I couldn’t pretend I was.
My plan was simple.
Effective.
Failure was not an option.
“What’s wrong with you?” Arabella asked me with concern. “Do you need to use the bathroom? Should I leave? Why are you standing like that?”
She moved toward the door.
Frustration welled. I stepped in front of her and blocked her exit. “I’m fine, say your demands,” I snarled, annoyed that she was misinterpreting my relaxed demeanor.
Could she not tell I was pretending to be a nice guy? What was wrong with her?
She scoffed. “No need to get all huffy.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but my teeth clicked as I shut my lips, and I breathed deeply.
I would wait patiently like a normal, nice man would.
For her, I would pretend.
“Why are you making that face?” she asked incredulously, then whispered, “Are you having stomach pain? Sometimes I also get it after a battle. Don’t worry, I think it’s normal.”
I gaped down at her with disbelief.
She continued rambling, “It’s probably just an ulcer from worry. I read somewhere that loads of people get them, especially during violent times in history with lots of upheaval.”
A headache throbbed against my temple as I struggled to come up with a response to her inane statements.
What would a nice guy say in this situation?
“Do you need me to get you medicine for your stomach?” I asked slowly as I pulled my lips up into an approachable smile.
“No need to snarl at me.” She made a disgruntled noise. “I was just saying.”
I wanted to scream with frustration because I wasn’t snarling, I was fucking smiling.
Why can’t she tell the difference?
Stepping forward, I used my larger size to surround her.
Frost burned my tongue, and my heart thudded erratically in my sternum. My skin tingled with the urge to wrap my fingers around her cold flesh and dig my nails into her skin.
I needed to mark her as mine.
I wanted to hurt her until she cried with pleasure.
I wanted to show her how much I cared.
I wanted her. Period.
Lately, everything had been dull and unexciting. The ungodly were predictable, and the infected were pathetic.
Everything was dissatisfying.
Boring.
Everything except for the woman who was standing before me, trapped in three cubic feet of space by her own voluntary will.
I used my larger size to press her against the wall.
“Back off!” she yelled abruptly, and the side of her hand slammed into my trachea.
I stumbled back, unprepared for her outburst of violence.
Goose bumps exploded down my back, and I shivered from the ecstasy of her touch.
My throat throbbed with pain, and it felt delicious.
I licked my lips.
The skin on my neck burned where her icy fingers had touched. I pressed my hands against it and marveled at the difference in temperature where she’d made contact.
Adjusting myself in my sweatpants, I took a deep breath as I tried to figure out how to proceed.
Should I pin her against the wall and ravish her? Beg her to punch me in the throat again? Dig my nails into her throat as punishment until her blood coated both of us?
So many fucking options.
I was paralyzed by indecision, so turned on that I couldn’t think rationally.
She sighed and repeated, “This is what we’re going to do.” There was a creak as she turned the shower nozzle, then the sound of rushing water. “We’re going to get into the fucking shower.”
I gulped.
Pressing my fingers harder against my neck, I tried not to jerk my hips as I remembered the blissful pain that had rocked through me when she’d punched me.
Then I remembered I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
I was pretending to be a nice guy.
It wasn’t an exact science, but I was pretty sure John didn’t get turned on from throat punches and fantasize about digging his nails into Arabella’s skin and making her bleed.
I forced my hands away from my neck and said slowly, “I’ll wash and pamper you in the shower. I’ll take care of you.”
It wasn’t a complete lie, since I did want to care for my Revered.
The problem was my standard of care was probably very different from what a normal man would imagine. It involved daggers, wax, screams of pleasure, and moans of pain.
I reached down for the edge of my sweatshirt and began to tug it off.
“No.” Arabella pulled the fabric back down and stopped me. “Don’t take your clothes off.”
Bemusedly, I waited for her instructions.
A long moment passed awkwardly between us, like she was waiting for me to fight her and didn’t know what to do with the fact that I’d obeyed her command.
I smiled softly and waited.
She exhaled heavily like I was being difficult. “We’re going to both get into the shower, and we’re going to talk to each other. Fully clothed.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because I like to think in the shower, and this way we can clear the air between us,” she said sassily. “I don’t believe we’ve ever just sat and talked to each other.”
“We can do that unclothed,” I pointed out.
Her teeth ground together, and her breath hitched unevenly as she said, “Either get in and shut up, or be a pervert like Malum and leave. It’s your call.”
I arched my brow at the venom in her voice.
Women made no sense, and I’d never understand them. Their logic was unsettling. Unfortunately, a nice guy would not point that out.
Shrugging, I pulled back the shower curtain and stepped in.
The scalding water immediately soaked through my clothes, and the warm fabric hung heavy off my frame. It was unpleasant but easily ignored.
I sat down, folding my long limbs awkwardly in the narrow tub, and waited for further instructions.
“What are you doing?” Arabella asked with confusion.
I scrunched my knees up and parted my legs as wide as possible to make room for her in the cramped space. “I’m doing what you said.”
“Exactly!” She sounded genuinely disturbed. “Why are you listening to me?”
I rolled my eyes at the insinuation that I would never obey her.
She was absolutely correct.
Still, it was rude to point it out so obnoxiously. She was making it fucking hard to be the nice guy that she apparently preferred.
“Are you going to get in or not?” I asked slowly as I tried not to bite her head off.
Nonchalance was extremely difficult to portray because my throat still burned where she’d punched me and I was painfully erect.
But I did it.
For her.
Anything for Arabella.
There was a long moment of silence, then an exhale and the flutter of the shower curtain as she climbed into the tub and joined me.
My sweatpants became uncomfortably tight.
Water sprayed down and splattered across the both of us, mixing our scents as her legs brushed against mine as she positioned herself.
I swallowed down a moan.
It didn’t matter that we were both clothed; the knowledge that her skin was so close to mine was enough to make me groan with awareness.
Breathing heavily through my nose, I tried to maintain a calm facade. Unfortunately, that meant I inhaled more of her intoxicating scent.
Blood rushed south.
My head spun with dizziness.
This was torment. Why in the realms would I agree to sit in a fucking tiny space with my fated soulmate? A space where people usually got naked.
I was an idiot.
Soapy skin and moans of pleasure filled my imagination. I tipped my head back, squeezed my eyes shut, and prayed to the sun god for self-control.
Also, why had I thought it was a good idea to approach her when my mates were gone?
I should have forced Orion to stay and helped Corvus—sun god knew it had been fucking rewarding last time I’d gone—but Orion hadn’t wanted to miss out on the fun and I’d agreed to be the one to stay back.
My control was waning.
“So.” She thudded her head against the shower wall. “What should we discuss?”
I barely stopped myself from snapping at her not to hurt herself.
Only I got to do that, not her.
She didn’t know how to make the pain enjoyable. She needed a teacher; she needed me.
I shrugged as I tried to think of what a nice guy would want to talk about.
After a long pause, I finally settled on, “How are you feeling?”
Arabella burst out in laughter.
Annoyingly long minutes passed where she cackled to herself like a maniac. Finally, she gasped and said, “I’ve been better. How about you?”
She laughed harder, clearly mocking my attempts at pleasantries.
She was begging to be punished.
I harrumphed and said, “I was trying to be nice. You don’t need to be fucking rude about it.” I grimaced as I realized what I was doing.
Forcing my muscles to relax, I tried to look apologetic and nonthreatening.
“What is wrong with your face?” she asked. “Your expression is weird.”
I clenched my jaw as water poured over me, overstimulating my arousal-heightened nerves.
That was it.
I was done with the games.
“Really, can’t you fucking see I’m trying to be a nice guy for you?” I snapped as I glared at her. “Since that’s all you seem to want in a man, I’d think you’d be a little more appreciative of my efforts—sun god, could you be any more difficult?”
Arabella scoffed, then replied with venom, “I never told you to be a nice guy. News flash, I already know you’re not nice, so don’t pretend to be something you’re not. It’s pathetic and frankly, creepy.”
I ground my teeth together. “You’re the pathetic one who has us sitting here fully clothed in the shower like idiots.”
“Well, you’re the pathetic one who listened to me.”
“Well, you’re the pathetic one for making me so obsessed with you.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Why are you so difficult?” I shook my head in exasperation. “Why do you have to make everything so fucking hard? Can’t you just be all weak and simpering or whatever a woman is supposed to be like?”
“You sexist piece of shit,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why can’t you be all gallant and chivalrous like a man is supposed to be?”
“Gallantry is for foolish men.” I laughed cruelly at the idea of simpering about.
She laughed back louder. “And weakness is for foolish women.”
I opened my mouth to argue but snapped it closed because she had a point. Neither of us fit into any gender stereotypes.
“So where does that leave us?” I asked slowly as I trailed my fingers across the cracked edge of the tub and counted the seconds between her breaths.
She didn’t breathe for five seconds, then her breath expelled in a whoosh. “It leaves me sitting in the tub with an ass.” She mumbled under her breath, “And you wonder why I don’t want to be your mate.”
I scowled.
Fisted my hands and tried not to growl with frustration.
Within five minutes of trying to be nice, I’d ruined everything between us.
Again.
“I just want to be your Protector,” I said dejectedly.
Her breathing hitched, and I fixated on the soft whooshing noise amid the thundering water.
She sounded upset. Was I making her sad? Was she frowning? Sun god, I wished Orion were here to whisper her every facial expression.
I felt lost.
Pathetic.
Unable to be anything but the broken blind man who couldn’t control his vitriol. The man who liked pain when everyone yearned for pleasure. Even my Revered didn’t understand me.
It was my turn to gasp.
Unable to breathe.
Icy fingers grabbed my hand and squeezed. I fixated on the sensation. Every molecule was highly attuned to where we were touching.
“You don’t need to panic,” Arabella said softly. “I know you aren’t a nice guy. I don’t need you to pretend to be someone you’re not.”
I exhaled shakily.
“There’s no pressure.” She squeezed my hand encouragingly. “We’re just sitting here talking, even if it means we argue, although I’m tired of arguing. Why don’t you tell me about yourself.”
The tingling sensation in my hand intensified, and my arm went numb.
Shock held me still as I tried to process that she was voluntarily touching me and acting like I hadn’t ruined everything.
I inhaled the steam, warm water, and my Revered’s icy scent.
“It’s difficult,” I blurted out before I’d gathered my thoughts. “Being the weak, blind guy who’s mad at the world.”
Pressure burned behind my eyes, and I cursed myself for speaking so rashly. What the fuck was I doing? She deserved a strong Protector, not a pathetic, broken man who doubted himself.
I opened my mouth to take it back, but her nails dug into my skin.
“Don’t try to take it back,” she said forcefully.
My jaw snapped closed.
She squeezed me, “I want to know the real you, not whatever stupid Protector you need to be.” She scoffed. “What’s the point of all the bullshit we’ve been through and survived if we don’t even know each other?”
The warm water sprayed between us, and I frowned at the melancholy in her voice.
“I’m tired too,” she whispered dejectedly. “If you’re the blind, mean guy, then I’m the depressed bitch who can’t be what anyone wants her to be.”
I curled my fingers around her hand.
“You’re not a bitch,” I whispered.
“And you’re not the weak, blind guy.”
I dug my nails into her skin, like I did for Corvus when he was spiraling. I squeezed to let her know I wasn’t letting her go.
“We’re quite the pair,” she laughed hollowly. “The angel who can’t fly and the assassin who can’t see.”
“I don’t need to see to kill,” I said honestly. “And you just haven’t learned to fly yet.”
She made a noise of disagreement under her breath but didn’t argue.
Silence expanded between us.
“What was it like growing up under the mad fae queen?” I blurted out, then sighed with relief when she didn’t try to pull her hand away.
It felt wrong that I’d lived through her heinous memories but had no idea what her current perspective was on anything.
How had we never asked her about her past?
Just when I thought she wasn’t going to answer, she whispered, “I think it broke me. Permanently.”
My heart twisted in my sternum, and a volcano of rage engulfed me.
Long minutes passed before I could speak. Since she was being so honest, I said, “I used to not like pain. But in the devil realm, the weak males are culled. There’s no such thing as a blind devil because any who make it to adolescence are killed off in the brutal school systems.”
My words hung between us.
She didn’t gasp or give false platitudes like I expected. She squeezed my hand with hers like she was telling me she understood.
After all, with how she’d grown up, she probably did.
I didn’t need to explain to her how cruel childhood could be.
There was something about the cramped tub and scalding water that made it easy to bare my soul.
I spoke words I’d never revealed to another person, not even my mates.
“I don’t know exactly when it happened. All I know is that one day after a beating, I licked the blood off my lips and reveled in the pain. I found myself craving the violence and dreaming about hurting them back. I wasn’t born a monster—I became one.”
The intoxicating icy scent intensified.
Emotions swirled between us.
She whispered back, “I hated my mother, but I never wanted to kill her, and I find myself thinking about her constantly. She was horrible, but I still don’t know how to cope with what I’ve done. What I’ve become.”
The rage intensified inside me, and I scowled.
“You did what you had to do,” I said harshly. “You survived, that’s all you did. You’ve become who you needed to be to live in a cruel world. It’s something to be proud of—not something to be ashamed of.”
Water sputtered off her lips.
She squeezed my hand like we were tethered together. “Then that applies to you too,” she whispered. “You survived despite the bigotry of the devil realm. If I’m not broken—then neither are you.”
I dug my nails harder into her skin and nodded.
“I agree.” My voice was hoarse as I struggled to process the influx of unfamiliar emotions filling my chest. The power she held over me was insane, and I was drowning in her. Gladly.
She shook our hands up and down. “It’s nice to meet you, Scorpius.”
“Same, Arabella.” My voice cracked.
Her breath caught as she inhaled, but she didn’t reprimand me for using her given name.
The unfamiliar emotion tripled in my chest, and it was like sunshine straight to the soul.
Something fragile burned between us.
It was delicate and new. It was everything.
It felt like hope.
