Voss sulked, Damien laughed, and Ivan bowed out, but all three melted away at Victor's command, peeling off towards the hot spring for their long promised soak.
Victor knelt before her. The firelight haloed his shoulders; his face was all severity and hunger, but his hands were gentle as he lifted her limp, mended body. Skin to skin, she felt the harrowing absence of the others, the comfort that came only from the impossible warmth of Victor's chest.
He carried her effortlessly, gliding down the corridor to the private bathroom suite, the air thick with crushed lavender and the bite of ozone.
The shower stall was glass from floor to ceiling, already fogged and streaked from hours of use. Victor set her on the tile bench, flipped the knobs until the water came down in a boiling-cool alternation, and stepped in beside her.
She shivered, not from cold but from the anticipation, the thick ache of want that no amount of healing could erase.
