Page 56 of On Burning Paths

And so I tug and pull, working on the straps of my outfit until it falls away. I loosen my belt and untie my boots, aware of the red moonlight washing over my skin. Aware of their gazes heavy on me.

Perhaps I should care about what I look like, what they might be seeing, but I just… feel good. Safe. Happy. More relaxed than I’ve felt since the day my parents died.

When I hit the edge of the water, Thorian says weakly, "Nyx, you don't know what's in there⁠—"

I giggle. It surprises even me.

"Drink more," I tell him, gesturing back at the bowl. "All of you. You worry too much."

Then I step in.

The moan that comes out of me is involuntary and entirely undignified. The water is hot, genuinely hot, rising up around my legs and then my waist as I wade deeper, and it feels so extraordinary after everything that my eyes sting with it.

"It's hot," I breathe. "There must be springs beneath us." I sink down to my shoulders and let my head fall back. "Oh."

Behind me, I can feel them watching.

I turn and splash a wave of water in their direction.

"Get in," I say, followed by another laugh. "Right now. All of you. I mean it."

"Nyx—"

"I'm not asking."

There's a pause. Then, after a moment, the sounds of boots hitting stone.

I watch them.

I don't look away, and I don't pretend to. The drink has burned through whatever would have made me modest about it, and I openly watch the three of them undress, taking in broad shoulders, hard muscle, and far too much bare skin. They're all so different, yet the sight of them together makes it nearly impossible to decide where to look.

Thorian is first. He’s all hard lines and contained power, broader than I've fully registered even with everything we've been through, muscle built over years. Dark hair is scattered across his chest, narrowing downward. I follow it without meaning to, and when he steps out of the last of his clothing I feel warmth move through me that has nothing to do with the hot spring.

Wow. He’s… huge. His cock is long and thick. It’s already standing at attention like it’s saluting me. It bobs a little as he moves, and I lick my lips, heart racing.

My gaze swings.

Talon is leaner, all that pale skin and quiet definition, beautiful in the cool, unusual way he's beautiful in everything, his blond hair falling across his forehead as he looks down to step free of his trousers. He’s impressive too. He’s so big that my brain starts to try to work out the mechanics of how men their size even fit into a woman, but it’s like a complicated math problem. I can’t make sense of it. He looks up and catches me watching and does absolutely nothing to make it easier for me, just holds my gaze and wades in.

Fenric is somewhere between them, golden-skinned and broad through the shoulders, the build of a man whose body has always been pushed to do difficult things. And his cock? Oh, it’s nice. Really nice. I never thought I was the kind of woman to become obsessed with a man’s dick, but I can see myself worshipping at the altar of his penis. A statue, always erect, always tempting me to touch it. He grins when he catches me looking and wades in almost playfully, sending a small wave in my direction.

I saw the farmhands at the manor. Saw them in the water naked. I thought I had some frame of reference.

I did not.

All three of the men in front of me, the sheer size and heat of them, their beauty… I’m warm all the way through and very aware of it. The water suddenly feels less like relief and more like not quite enough.

“You’re right,” Fenric says, grinning at me, his skin shining red in the light above the shimmering water. “This feels good.”

The other two join us. My blood thrums hot in my veins, and even in the low light I can see Talon’s pupils widen, his gaze locked on me, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck. I remember what it was like for him to put my finger in his mouth and drink from me, and I can’t stop imagining how good it would feel to have something more.

Something more with all of them.

They lean back, dipping their hair into the water. We circle around one another, water washing us clean. I undo my braid and wash my hair in the water, scrubbing away all the stress of the trials. Then I float on the water like a goddess of nature.

“Here,” Thorian says, and I blink, realizing he’s drifted closer to me in the water. He lifts his hand up out of the water, which cascades from his arm. Everything is in technicolor, bright and luminescent. Slowly, he lifts his hand to my cheek, wiping at something there.

This part is perfect. If we stand, we’ll be partway out of the water, but lying back in the water like this we can just drift. It feels safe, warm, and comfortable.