Page 49 of Wolf Caged (Bound to the Shadow King #1)

His gaze tracked his hand as he brushed the sponge over my skin, and I watched his face, watched the storm building in his eyes together with a war he waged between a dark hunger and a soft sort of worry, and his shadows as they grew sharp at times before softening to mist.

“Why were you fighting?” His gaze darted to meet mine, no silent command to answer him in it, just a softness that made my breath catch in my throat together with my hammering heart.

I clammed up, refusing to answer that question, because I wasn’t ready to admit that I wanted him. Not to him, anyway. I was feeling bold enough to admit it to myself.

I wanted him. I had missed him.

I had always known I was fated to Lucas, so I had never even entertained the idea I could fall in love with someone else, that I didn’t need to be fated to someone to be happy with them.

But here I was, in a freefall that was both terrifying and a little exhilarating.

I waited for him to push me to answer him, the demanding and bossy king, but he didn’t, even though that storm in his eyes built faster, the darkness bleeding across his skin around his eyes again.

He dipped the sponge into the water and squeezed it out above my shoulder, sending water running down my chest, and then lowered his hand and gently brushed the sponge over my uninjured collarbone, drifting down towards a bruise on my chest.

My hand whipped out of the water, fingers clamping down around his wrist, and I grimaced as I accidentally sprayed droplets over his fine black tunic and his neck.

“You don’t have to bathe me.” I held him firm when he tried to move and twist free of my grip. “I can take care of myself. I’ll be healed in a few days, good as new. I’m fine, really.”

I was babbling and far from fine, but being taken care of was new to me—I had always been the one taking care of others—and the fact it was Kaeleron tending to me so carefully, so dutifully, was tilting my world on its axis faster than ever.

Half of me screamed at me to release him and just enjoy it, savour his attention and how good it felt to have someone take care of me for a change, and the rest wanted to run for the hills before I slipped from falling to fallen in the space of a night.

When Kaeleron had turned down my request that he take me, that had been humiliating and painful enough. I wasn’t sure I would survive the blow to my heart if I let myself fall for him and he rejected me. I couldn’t do this.

I pulled up my walls, building them brick by brick, coating them with steel, trying to defend my heart against him.

Kaeleron tore down that wall with nothing more than a soft, aching look and a handful of words.

“Let me do this,” he snapped, shadows writhing viciously, striking at the stone walls—at anything but me—but that soft, almost wounded look in his eyes remained. “You could have been killed, Saphira.”

And it had shaken him.

It had shaken him so much that he now needed to take care of me. No. This was more than taking care of me. This wasn’t about cleaning my wounds. This was about confirming I was whole and alive, and would recover.

“Please, let me do this,” he whispered, the flash of vulnerability in his eyes as he gazed at me stealing my breath.

And a piece of my heart.

I released him, that piece of my heart close to breaking for him as he carefully tended to me, as he swirled his fingers through the bathwater to heat it again for me and do something to it that sank warmth into my skin, making my body feel lighter again, chasing away the pain.

Magic. He was expending magic for my sake. To heal me.

To keep me whole.

Alive.

What terrible thing had happened in his past to trigger this response in him, this near-desperate need to ensure I would recover and reassure himself that I was alive, safe, and protected now that he was back with me?

I wanted to know, but I didn’t have the heart to ask, to dredge up whatever pain he was reliving as he took care of me.

I melted under his careful attention, under each soft caress of his hands across my skin and the way his gaze lingered on my bruises.

His left hand came to rest on my clavicle, and my skin and bones heated, but I felt no pain as he applied pressure, setting the fractured bone back in place.

My skin tingled, that light feeling gathering beneath his palm, and sweat dotted his brow, his gaze growing intense on my shoulder.

“I cannot fully heal broken bones, but I can help them mend.” He glanced at me, gaze meeting mine for a heartbeat, revealing his regret and maybe a touch of frustration.

I placed my hand over his, holding it to my shoulder, and felt it tense beneath my touch, as if he hadn’t expected me to hold it. Or maybe he had felt that electric thrill that chased up my arm upon contact too.

“Thank you,” I whispered, letting him hear in my voice how much I meant that and how grateful I was, and part of me needed to alleviate his worry, so I added, “Wolves heal quickly. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

He swallowed and glanced at his hand, and nodded.

I released his hand and rather than withdrawing it, he lifted it to my face, cupping my cheek and turning my head towards him. His gaze lowered to my mouth, growing hooded, and his thumb played maddeningly across my bottom lip, the touch so light it almost tickled.

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking when he looked at me like that, with such ferocity and intensity, as if I was the only other person in this world, making it impossible to breathe.

But I wanted to know.

Even when I was a little afraid of what the answer might be.