Page 57 of The Vampire Curse
“Wh-what are you doing?” I demand.
“You need help,” he says, lowering into the tub behind me, his legs cradling my hips, forcing me to slide forward. The water sloshes and a small wave spills over the edge, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.
I straighten my spine and lean into myself, trying to hide the rest of my body the best I can with one leg sticking up and out.
Ignoring my attempts to avoid touching him, Alaric gathers my hair and lays it over my left shoulder.
He sticks his hand out next to my face and says, “Hand me the cloth.”
My face burns, and I keep my arms crossed over my breasts as I contemplate whether I should yell at him to leave or do as he asked. But even I have to admit that he’s the only thing keeping me from going under.
I reach forward and pick up the washcloth and pass it to him.
Not that long ago, I would have bared myself to him. But injured as I am, this situation is different—things have changed—and I still haven’t said what I came back here to say.
Alaric takes the bar of soap and lathers it, then begins to scrub in slow, rhythmic circles. He starts at my neck, then moves over my shoulders, and finally my arms. When he gets to my bruises on my sides, he brushes over them with extra care, forgoing the cloth and using his bare hand. His fingers glide over the delicate skin with the softest pressure.
Not once does he try to turn this moment into something else, nor does he try to heal me. Alaric takes his time, carefully moving over every patch of skin. And against my better judgment, I relax against him.
Some strange emotion burbles up from deep within my gut. I pull in a breath as the realization of what it is, hits me with such a stumbling force, I’m left breathless.
His movements are kind. I swallow the lump in my throat that has formed at the epiphany. This is the first time that anyone has treated me with such care, without wanting or demanding something in return.
There hasalwaysbeen something expected from me. Money, to be presentable and play a part, to do something or be someone they wanted. Even Mother was efficient and brisk when it came to lessons and chores. She was never rough, but nor was she ever particularly caring. She never sang songs or coddled me as she had with Kathrine.
Alaric could drain every single drop from my veins right now if he wanted—there is nothing I could do to stop him. I am entirely at his mercy. But he doesn’t make a single move hinting that he will, even though I have an open wound and I know he can scent my blood. He could heal me as he washes me, ignoring my refusal because it would be easier. He could mark me a hundred times over…
He does none of those things. He is being kind for the sake of being kind.
And I don’t know how to handle this.
My eyes sting, and before I can stop it, hot tears slide down my cheeks, and my body shakes with silent sobs.
His hands still, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move. Then he turns me to the side, his hand sliding under the knee of my hurt leg to adjust it while keeping it out of the water. Alaric pulls me into his chest, holding me with one arm and stroking my hair with his other hand.
He doesn’t try to stop my tears or distract me from my feelings but lets me cry until I’m done, offering his presence, and his arms.
When the tears finally cease, I don’t move. I think they surprised him as much as they had me. I never knew I’d been missing that kindness until now. And out of anyone in this world, it had come from a man I’d once considered a monster. A man I wanted to kill for what he is.
Now I’m left wondering if I had misjudged him so horribly, then what else am I wrong about?
I lift my face to glance at him. He frowns, brows drawn together. Alaric lifts his hand to brush a thumb under my eye before pushing a strand of water-soaked hair behind my ear.
I see the question in his eyes, but he’s giving me room to tell him what that was about on my own terms.
The weight of his eyes on me makes my face heat. I turn and press my cheek into his chest. My gaze focuses on the long scars on his bicep. Reaching out, I trace a finger over one of the pale, jagged lines. His muscle stiffens beneath my touch.
“What happened?” I ask quietly, continuing to trace the lines with my finger. Water beads up along his skin and trails down his arm. He shifts behind me.
He swallows hard, and I listen to his heartbeat, convinced he won’t speak. Then, quietly, he says, “That is a story for another time.” He pulls his arm away and immediately goosebumps race over my skin at the loss of his contact. “The water is getting cold—you should get out.”
I sit forward, no longer caring if I’m covered. Alaric steps out of the tub with one fluid motion. Water puddles at his feet as he grabs the towel and extends a hand toward me.
Hesitantly, I slip my hand into his, and he helps me stand, not letting go until I am steady on my feet. His eyes remain locked on mine as if I were fully dressed.
We stand, inches apart. The only sound in the room is the soft dripping of water onto the floor and my heartbeat thundering in my veins.
Alaric wraps the towel around my shoulders, then turns and walks silently out of the room.