Page 60 of Aryn

I release his arm, and his gaze drops to my hand at my side. He’s uncertain right now. Timid, almost, or maybe scared. Through all the shit we’ve encountered since we got here, he’s never once looked unsettled the way he does right now. I don’t like seeing him like this.

“You’re okay?” I ask, gentler than I usually manage.

He swallows hard, then nods toward the door. I can tell I’m not getting anything else out of him right now. He drops onto the bed as I gather my things, and I stare at his back once more from the doorway.

My mind races as I head into the bathroom, some of the excitement of getting clean dampened by whatever mood he’s in. After spending a solid two minutes brushing my teeth, I step into the empty shower. They’re separated by a thin wall and close with a thick curtain, so I shut myself in, turn on the water, and strip.

I cringe at my clothes as they come off, coated in enough grime and sweat that they could practically stand up on their own. I toss everything into a pile, already dreading the scrubbing they’ll need, then flinch as the water pressure flares and shoots a stream right in my face. Salt and sweat sting my eyes, so I squeeze them shut as I pull off the last of my clothes and step under the spray.

It’s not cold, but it’s far from the hot, endless showers back home. Still, the lukewarm water feels like heaven. For a few long minutes I just stand there, letting the filth run off my body. Eventually I reach blindly for the bar of soap and washrag, then scrub every inch of my skin, from my scalp down to the soles of my feet, paying extra attention to my pits and groin.

Whoever is in the shower beside mine pushes their curtain aside and shuffles out. I begrudgingly acknowledge I shouldn’t drain their well dry, so I pry my eyes open and reach for the valve.

I freeze.

Golden light shines from underneath my skin, wrapped around my right arm in a series of loops. It flickers against the scars there, casting fractured patterns through the water pouring down my body. Numb, I turn the water off and keep staring.

It hits me like a punch.

Aryn’s tail wrapped around my arm to yank me out of harm’s way.

My eyes drift to the wall like I could see him through the layers of wood and stone. The last few days replay in my head—how drawn to him I’ve been, and how I haven’t wanted to let him out of my sight. The protective way I hovered when he was injured, and the way we’ve woken up wrapped up in each other every morning since.

I thought something inside me was changing… thought that after a lifetime of pushing others away, maybe I was learning to let them in.

But I’m the same as I ever was, prickly and defensive and un-fucking-palatable, and that realization hurts more than it should.

This wasn’t me.

It was Fate.

I let my back slide down the shower wall until I’m sitting on the floor. My fingers trace the glow, hating how I can’t stop staring as nausea twists in my gut.

This isn’t what I asked for.

This isn’t fair.

My gaze lifts to the ceiling, wondering if the Fates are watching me right now. Wondering if Sovran knew—if he knew this would happen. Maybe he’s the one who planted the idea to come here. It’s in my nature to seek adventure, sure. I’ve never backed away from a fight.

But here? This?

Was any of this my choice?

Has it ever been?

I don’t know how long I sit, but the water eventually stops dripping off my body and leaves me cold. Shivers race up my spine and down my limbs, but I stay put, staring as the light dances across the empty bathroom.

Aryn knows, I realize.

The look on his face when he walked back into the room.

And gods, what if he wants this—what if he wants me—when I don’t have a single fucking thing to offer him?

Finally, mechanically, I stand and grab my towel. There isn’t much left to dry, but I run the fabric over my hair and skin, anyway. Clean clothes feel like a luxury as I pull on a t-shirt and shorts, then frown at the exposed mark on my arm. It feels too revealing, like I’m baring pieces of myself no one has any right to see. I glare at the filthy pile of clothes on the floor, not wanting to put them back on.

More minutes pass in indecision.

In the end, I settle for tossing my towel over my shoulders and flinging my dirty clothes onto the growing laundry pile to deal with in the morning. The hallway is empty when I peek out, and I tiptoe back to our room, hesitating once more at the door.