Chapter Seven: The Burn Between Us
The room was too quiet.
The kind of silence that got my heart racing faster than it should have. I stood just inside the door of Lucien's private chambers, unsure if I was meant to run—or shatter. My hands trembled lightly at my sides, still streaked with dried blood. My blood.
He'd brought me here after the rogue attack. I remembered the strength of his arms, the heat of him, the pounding in his chest when he lifted me. He didn’t say a word since we were rudely interrupted by Rhea. Not until now.
"You're hurt," he said, his voice deep and rough. "Sit."
I did not move. Not until he stood before me—shirtless, barefoot, sweat-dampened from the forest and fury still thrumming under his skin. His body was a canvas of muscle and scars, of violence and power but it was his eyes that held me captive . My heart skipped a beat. Still storm-colored
"I said sit."
There was no cruelty in his voice. Just raw command, with some strange kind of control. I obeyed.
He moved into the bathing chamber, beyond the carved wooden archway where the soft pouring of water began echoing in the stone. A bath. The scent of crushed herbs filled the air—cedar wood, smoke, something wild and green.
"This is not necessary," I said to him, but without conviction.
His voice came back, smooth and sharp. "You nearly died. Again."
"I didn't."
"You bled."
"I didn’t die."
He returned, steam trailing behind him like a cloud. His jaw was set, his hair mussed from sprinting, his skin speckled with scars and burns. But his eyes—those gray-gold waters—it was his eyes that caused me to forget how to breathe.
“You’re not a soldier,” he said. “Not yet.”
I swallowed. “Then why do you keep throwing me to wolves?”
He didn’t answer. Just extended a hand.
I stared at it. “What are you doing?”
“Undressing you.”
My heart skipped in my chest.
"For the bath," he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched with mischief. "Unless you'd prefer me to carry you in, dressed and all."
"You wouldn't dare."
He leaned close, his breath against my cheek. "Try me."
The heat rose in my chest. I could have said no. I should have. But some wide side of me—some side I did not know I had until he touched me in the woods—rose to meet the moment.
So I stepped forward.
He didn’t rush. He did not touch. He waited. Letting me lift the hem of my tattered shirt with shaking fingers. Let me choose. The material peeled off my skin at a slow, crawling rate, exposing bruising, scrapes, the inflamed gash that still throbbed just above my hip.
His hands came last, but they did not claim or take. They hovered—fingers brushing the rim of my collarbone. A taking touch, not a reverent one.
"You bleed like a wolf," he whispered, "but you tremble like a woman."
He helped with the rest—slowly, gently—slipping off the layers like secrets. When he knelt, fingers tracing the edge of my leggings.
The bath steamed behind us, hot and waiting, and when he finally led me in, his hand didn’t leave mine until I sank into the warmth.
The water stung at first—then soothed. It smelled like him.
Lucien knelt at the edge of the tub, sleeves rolled back, eyes devouring me without apology. My arms covered my chest by instinct, but he shook his head once.
"Don’t, he said. “Let me see.”
"I'm not your-"
His hand held my jaw, gentle but firm.
“You’re mine to protect. "That doesn’t mean I expect you to be fearless."
His thumb brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. It stayed there-resting just beneath my lip. My mouth parted.
He didn’t kiss me.
But gods…. I felt it and I wanted it.
I looked away. “Why are you doing this?”
“I don’t know.”
It was the most truthful thing he had ever said to me.
He took a piece of cloth and began cleaning the dried blood from my shoulder. I winced as the pain stung me. He didn’t flinch.
“I’ve never brought anyone here,” he said after a long silence. “No one has bathed in this water but me.”
“Why me?”
His eyes lifted. Because I pushed everyone else away and you are the one I want.”
The air shifted. My breath hitched.
And then… he climbed in.
Not all the way-just enough to straddle the opposite end, his legs on either side of mine beneath the water. His hands found my thighs, thumbs stroking slowly, lazily, tracing circles that made my heart skip and flutter.
He leaned forward and whispered into my skin. “You don’t want me to stop.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a truth.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. My body betrayed me-leaning,arching, begging. He drew closer, lips brushing my neck-not a kiss, just heat. Just promise.
His fingers trailed higher. My breath caught.
Still, he didn’t take.
He took my hands and placed them on his chest. Hot, hard muscle. His heart pounded softly beneath my palm.
“Touch me,” he whispered softly. “I won’t break.”
Gods, I yearned to touch him.
I eventually did—slowly mapping the ridges of muscle, the tension at the shoulders, the line of his jaw. I moved my fingertips to the arc of the scar that rested just below the ridges of his ribs. He breath caught as I mapped it.
But when I leaned forward-when my lips nearly brushed his throat-he pulled back.
“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Not unless you mean it.”
“I…” My voice faltered.
He didn’t press.
Lucien's hands rose to my lower back, pulling me close. Water foamed around us, warm and thick. My legs were on either side of his lap now, skin to damp cloth, the feeling euphoric.
His mouth grazed mine.
So near.
So infuriatingly near.
"Beg me," he whispered.
My fingers dug into his shoulders. "Lucien."
"Not yet," he growled, pulling back, only an inch. "Not until you know you're mine."
I frowned at the withdrawal. His palms framed my face.
"I can claim you now. Make you cry out until your voice wears out. I can mark you so deeply the pack will never doubt it again."
"Then why don't you?"
His eyes gentled. "Because if I start, I won't stop."
He kissed my wrist, and then, slow and gentle.
"Next time you beg," he said, voice like gravel and flames, "I won't stop."
And he stood up—leaving me gasping, pulsing, drowning in desire and heat. The door closed quietly behind him.
And I was left alone in the water that still smelled of him.