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CHAPTER 19
With a groan, Hazel sank into the near-scalding heat of the bath. Every muscle in her body sighed in pleasure, and she closed her eyes for a moment, the fragrance of roses filling her nose. Nothing better than a relaxing bath after such a day—and night.
After Tallak had left her high—though not dry, at least—she’d grabbed a bite to eat and then gone to the library again, leafing once more through the books in search of information about the sigils. There was a volume on it, she was sure, but for the life of her, she couldn’t find it, though she’d just seen it a few days ago.
Frustration knotted her muscles together, counteracting the relaxing effect of the bath. If this continued, if she wasn’t able to figure out that sigil-spell combo, she might actually have to make the murder public and resort to investigating within the witch community with everyone aware of what was going on.
The thought alone made her stomach sour. Tensions along the old fault lines of the Aequitas-Draconian split still simmered right underneath the surface, a tank of gas just waiting for a spark to make it explode. The witch community couldn’t afford another civil war. The knowledge that one of their own was killing humans for power could be just the right kind of trigger to shove them all back into old alliances, throwing accusations at each other until the tipping point for violence was once more reached.
Great. Now she sat here in a perfectly good, hot bath, rose-scented steam curling around her, candlelight painting the room in soft warmth, and her mood was as dark as the rest of the house. Ugh. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against the cushion on the rim of the tub.
Hi, my name is Hazel, and I’m filled with so much anxious anxiety that I can’t even enjoy a simple bath.
The quiet snick of the door closing made her jolt and whip her head around to stare at who could possibly have the audacity to trespass all the way through her bedroom to the ensuite bathroom and interrupt her private time.
Tallak leaned against the door, all languid predatory ease, his face limned in the glow of the candles, a glint in his eye. Her heart sped up, and not just from the surprise of someone else showing up without notice. He looked darned good bathed in the flickering light of the flames, the amber of his eyes all the more potent, the lines of his face softened by the kiss of the warm light.
It took her a moment to remember she was mad at him.
“You,” she snarled. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He tsked and pushed off the door, prowling over to her with sinuous grace and controlled power. “I have to disagree, darling. I’m exactly where I need to be.”
“You can’t be serious.” The water sloshed when she shifted in the tub to keep him in her line of sight as he moved, while she tried not to break the cover of the bubbles hiding most of her body from view. He might have already seen her completely naked, but that didn’t mean she had to let him ogle her right now. “Just because we’ve been casually intimate doesn’t give you the right to invade my—”
“Shh.”
He sat down on the tiled surface connecting the end of the tub to the wall behind it, right on that end where she’d rested her head before. She had to half twist in the water to keep looking at him.
“I’m trying to make amends.” He lightly ran his fingers over her hair, the soft pressure on her scalp sending tingles through her body. “Will you let me?”
Stumped, she blinked at him, some of her anger leaving her like the steam curling off her body. Quiet curiosity at what he had in mind budding inside her, she inclined her head in consent.
“Good.” Again that word, spoken in that tone of warm appreciation—it made her shiver oh-so pleasantly.
That sensation was only compounded when he reached behind her head and loosened the clip she’d used to twist up her hair. Her locks fell down around her shoulders, the relief from the pressure of the clip making her almost sigh.
“Lean your head back,” he murmured while he carefully disentangled the worst knots in her mane.
“Is this your fetish?” she asked. “Hair?” But she complied and angled her head back, her eyes closed, surrendering little by little to the tugs of his fingers in her lengths.
“Only yours.” Tug, tug. “Because I know you enjoy it.”
His answer left her reeling for a moment.
The sound of sloshing water, and then warmth trickled onto her scalp as he apparently wrung out a washcloth over her head. His fingers glided over her hair, vanished for a moment, then returned and started a gentle massage.
It was all she could do not to moan in shameless pleasure and melt into the bathwater.
Dear gods.
How long had it been since anyone had shampooed her hair for her? She only ever had her ends trimmed at the hair salon, but only as a dry cut, never with a wash beforehand. When she shampooed her hair, it was a quick, efficient thing, a task that needed to be done.
And her own fingers never felt this sinfully good on her scalp.
It was like he knew exactly how much pressure was good, where he needed to linger, where to rub in circles, where to lightly scrape his nails to make her shudder. Tension fled her muscles until she felt as if she floated in the tub.
“I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly earlier.” His voice was a quiet rumble in the intimate space of the bathroom.
