Astarte's Wrath (14 page)

I hesitantly lift my hand toward his face and pause, but then find the courage to run my fingers over the scar slashing his eyebrow. His eyes close, his arm tightening around me, as I comb his soft waves away from his forehead.

He sighs. “Why couldn’t you have come to me in your right mind?”

My head feels heavy and fuzzy, sleep on the brink of taking me. I yawn. “There’s so much you don’t understand.” I close my eyes, my hand resting against his head.

“Tell me,” he whispers.

“Candra and the Leymak are never going to stop coming for you,” I say. “I can’t—”

“What?”

I yawn again. “I can’t give up my power. I have to protect you.”

I feel his head shake. “We’ll leave forever.”

“Not if something horrible happens to the queen and the Kythan discover your death will break their binds. You’ll be hunted.” Through the haze of sleep, I worry over whether or not I’m smart and strong enough to protect him.

He jerks up, and the sudden move jolts my eyes open. “Where did you hear that?”

“Candra,” I say.

His eyes are hard on me, his mouth turned down. “When?”

“The night of the attack.” My eyes flutter closed. It’s becoming hard to keep them open.

A long, silent moment passes. And when I hear him stir again, he’s leaning over me. “In the morning,” he says. Then he presses his lips to my forehead.

Chapter Twelve

H
eated rays slash my
face. I squeeze my eyes tightly, trying to block out the brightness. My head pulses at my temples, and I curse myself. After the Sekhmet feast, I swore never to get drunk again.
Why did I do this?

The day before rushes back in painful flashes. Lunia’s confession. My stomach sinks, and I gladly welcome my headache and grogginess at the expense of lessening my friend’s heartache.

My hand runs over the soft sheets of my mattress—and my eyes fly open. A wall of painted garden scenes in bright colors stares back at me. Slowly, I rise and glance around, realization dawning. I’m in Xarion’s chamber.

Damn.

Panicking, I try to recount my actions of last night, but they come to me in snatches, glimpses of my embarrassing trek across the city. The barge ride. Arguing with Merrick. Xarion lying in bed . . .

Did we . . .?
No. Xarion would never take advantage of me while intoxicated. But he
would
probe for information. I curse under my breath, worried about what my mouth let slip.

Scooting off the edge of the bed, I touch my toes to the granite, then push myself onto my feet. Dehydration claims my head, black spots swimming against my vision. Slowly, with my bare feet light on the cool floor, I slug toward the pitcher of water on the cedar table.

Xarion’s breakfast lies untouched next to it, and I realize for the first time he’s absent.

A splash followed by giggles comes from the bathing room.

My eyes clamp shut.
I shouldn’t be here
. Easing the glass pitcher back on to the table, I attempt to noiselessly exit the chamber. I get as far as the door when I’m caught.

“Star?” Xarion calls.

I release a defeated breath. “Yes. I’m here.”

“Come.”

My face flames as I begin my short walk of shame toward the bathing chamber. I pause at the open doorway, gathering my courage, trying to produce a logical excuse. I don’t want to be scolded for coming here drunk—late at night—in front of his servants. While he’s bathing. Naked.

It’s not that I’ve never seen him nude. I’ve witnessed it plenty. I’ve been made to take orders from inside this chamber before. And nudity is a common occurrence in Alexandria—like breathing. But my presence in such circumstances has always been for a professional reason; not enough time to dress for a procession before an order needs carrying out. Not like now in my weakened, befuddled state, where I can’t remember what I revealed.

I bow my head when I enter the room. As I slowly lift it, I struggle to keep my expression indifferent. Morning light pours in from an oculus above, illuminating the bathing pool. Heated rays bounce off mirrors placed below the circular opening to warm the water, keeping it a consistent, comfortable temperature. There’s a metallic flap with a cord used to close the fixture if you prefer cooler water. But Xarion does not. He’d have boiling water poured into his pool if it were tolerable.

Trying to center my thoughts, I focus on the colorful blues and greens of the mosaic tiled wall, my eyes avoiding the large oblong pool in the center of the room. Two female servants clothed in sheer tunics are seated along the floor on either side of Xarion, their feet tucked beneath their bodies, sea sponges in hand. They dip them into the water, then massage Xarion’s back and shoulders.

He sits forward, halting their efforts. “Leave the guardian and me alone.”

The servants set their sponges aside, failing to keep their pouts hidden from their features. I’m sure they’re angered over their job being delayed, or maybe they’re regretting being denied juicy gossip to share with the other servants.

I mentally slap myself. Why am I focusing on them when Xarion is glowering at me from across the chamber? Probably
because he’s
glowering at me from across the chamber.

Once Xarion is sure they’re out of hearing range, he motions me forward with his hand. Hesitantly, I step before the pool, my feet chilled against the slick tile, my gaze holding Xarion’s.

“Since you’ve deprived me of my servants, take a sponge.” He nods at one of the sea sponges next to him.

My mouth parts, ready to argue that
he
dismissed them, but I snap it closed. He doesn’t want to discuss whatever happened in their presence, which I’m thankful for—there will be no palace gossip to spread. But it also means I may have said too much. Guilt settles in my core like a lead weight. I suppose there are worse punishments than washing his back. Though that doesn’t stop me from slitting my eyes and giving him my most affronted look.

A crooked smile hikes his face, revealing a dimple. I pick up the sponge and kneel behind him, tucking my shift between my thighs and calves. I’m tempted to dunk his head under water, like I used to when we swam in the sea as kids. His arrogant silence unnerves me, and I simply want him to tell me what I said or did last night. Stretching this moment out will only earn him my wrath if he continues to be cocky.

I dip the sponge into the pool, my fingers squeezing to soak up the warm water, then I massage his shoulder. My stomach tingles as I caress it over his skin. I’m fully aware of his nakedness, his proximity—the chill bumps that rise along his smooth tan skin as I work the sponge along his shoulder blades.

“They’ve done my back,” he says, and I note the huskiness of his voice.

Taking a deep breath, I submerge the sponge again and scoot closer along the floor to cleanse his chest. I’m positioned awkwardly as I attempt to reach over him. A cramp twinges in my side, and I adjust my position for comfort.

My knees hurt from the hard floor, and I don’t understand how the servants can stand this. I sigh heavily, again trying to get comfortable.

Xarion reaches behind and grasps my leg. “Star, put your feet in the water or you’ll suffer a backache.”

I bite down on my lip and let him guide my right foot into the pool, then place my left in. My breathing shallows as my legs graze his skin. As I reach over his shoulder to wash his chest, my inner thighs press firmly against his waist.

He leans his head back, resting it against my chest, giving me better access to reach farther. “Use lather,” he orders.

My insides flame, my hand halts its movement. “Yes, ma—” The word dies on my tongue. I can’t finish my statement, and I realize I’ve been commanded recently—
last night?
He’s commanded me not to call him ma—I can’t even think it!

I feel Xarion shake with restrained laughter, and anger flares within my chest. It grips me so unexpectedly I nearly dump the bottle of lather on his head. Instead, I hold it at the ready, my lips twisted, watching him try to hide his amusement.

He’s toying with me. I didn’t reveal anything about Candra or the Leymak or my fleeting, intoxicated wishes to run away with him. So this is a game to him, is it? I was worried that he discovered what his death would mean—that he’d not only have to fear Octavian and his legions coming for him, but possibly his own guardians, too. Only he’s enjoying himself. Making me wash him like one of his lowly bathing servants—relishing my suffering while my hands roam his body.

Before I can think better, I drop the bottle, place both hands on his shoulders, and push his head under the water.

I laugh as he reemerges sputtering water. He wipes his face and tosses his wet hair off his forehead. “What was that for?”

I cross my arms. “For thinking you could make me your washing servant, you arrogant ass.”

His brows shoot up, then he’s moving toward me quickly through the water, ripples lapping against his toned stomach. I’m not fast enough to escape as his hands clamp on to my thighs, their warmth sending a skittering shiver over my skin. “That was payback,” he says.

“For what?”

He moves closer, his hands inching along my thighs. “For the many hours of torture I endured last night.” At my confused expression, he winks. Then his hands clasp my waist and he tosses me into the pool.

The water is a shock to my system. I push off the marble bottom and break the surface of the water, gasping for air. “Oh, you didn’t!”

Before I can counter, he sends a wave at my head and then another, splashing without pause. His laughter mixes with my groans of annoyance. As he’s preparing to send another wave my way, I loose my Charge and zap the pool. Xarion shudders and curses.

“You’re evil,” he whispers, giving me a devious look.

I smile. “That wasn’t even my full power. Do you really want to see who will win this battle?” Accepting his silence as defeat, I begin to wade toward the edge. “I didn’t think so.”

As I’m lifting myself out, Xarion’s arms close around my waist. “I’m not done with you yet.” I yelp as he lifts me up, my feet splashing. His chest presses against my soaked back, and I’m now even more aware of his starkness. My face flushes.

Seating himself on the bench of the pool, he turns me about, placing my legs on either side of his lap. The action is so quick—and so intimate—I’m unable to protest. “Now,” he says, his strong hands anchoring my thighs against his. “Let’s discuss this Candra, shall we?”

I squint, attempting to focus on his words—not the fact that he’s naked beneath me. I swallow down my apprehension, and say, “I’ve told you about the Leymak girl, Xarion. I’ve nothing more to say about her.”

He gives me a strained smile, then his gaze moves past my face to my shift—to my wet, nearly translucent shift. I feel exposed and desired all at once as his eyes lingeringly take me in. Adjusting his position, he raises his knees, forcing me to slide closer to him. A gasp escapes my mouth when I feel his manhood—my garment the only thing preventing our skin from connecting.

“You admitted something last night.” He removes one hand from my leg, slowly drawing it out of the water to brush a stray, drenched hair from my cheek. Water trails from his fingers down my face, runs over my lips. His eyes follow its path hungrily.

I suck in a breath. “I’m unsure what you want from me. If I admitted something in my drunken stupor, you can’t trust it.” I shrug. “I was not in my right mind.”

He opens his mouth, but I push on, anxiety making me brave. “And how low of you to probe me while intoxicated.”

“Believe me”—his green irises gleam—“your mind was not what I wanted to probe.”

A smile cracks through my heated emotions, and I slap his shoulder. “You’re impossible . . . and vile.”

He chuckles, and I use the break of tension to attempt escape. I press against his chest and push backward, but he’s quick, capturing my hands and preventing me from moving.

Silence hums in the bathing room as I watch the rise of fall of his chest, feel his labored breathing beneath my palm. With a sigh, he lowers his head and stares at our hands, one on top of the other. “Is it true?”

My heart thumps wildly against my breastbone. I don’t have to ask for him to clarify. I know what I’ve done. I’ve confessed that his guardians may have as much motive as the Leymak to wish for his death; to commit treason.

Pulling my lip between my teeth, I nod and try to answer without fear in my voice, for him. I explain Candra’s offer to me the night of the attack in detail, then add, “I’m not sure if it’s truth, or if Candra’s simply employing a tactic—” His eyes snap to mine. “But, I’ve been treating it as if it’s not a bluff; why you haven’t been permitted to leave the city, why no other guardians are trusted in your presence without me there.”

He nods slowly, as if my seriousness over the last weeks is now clear to him.

“Octavian may not be in full control over the Leymak, but this scheme could be his way to try and stir a rebellion among the Kythan,” I continue. “I suppose it’s now time to prepare. Not every guardian can be trusted.” A flash of Fadil enters my mind. “And I wouldn’t trust the sorcerer with this knowledge, either. But soon, we’ll need to plan. Maybe consider finding a way to sneak you out of the city.”