The Touch of Salvation

31: High Tides

GOLIATH

"You and I both have our names on the other's back but with additional callings, we have never heard of," she muses. Her eyes are transfixed on the inked words that seem to flutter on my skin. "What do Demise and Grace's say?"

"As far as I know," my eyes don't waver as I look at her through the bathroom mirror. "They don't have any."

Her eyes swipe up to the back of my head. "That doesn't make sense." She doesn't say it as if she's argumentative, she says it as if the way of the world is that mates received marks, which were supposed to reflect who you were mated to.

"Do you think it's a mistake?"

She shakes her head. "No, the fates don't make mistakes." She brushes off the comment, inhaling deeply and turning to the tub that continues to fill. She grabs a washcloth and throws it in, pulling her hair up into a ponytail using the same hair tie that had been in my hair. Curls fall out of it, cradling her face.

She rolls up her sleeves. Adalind, regardless of how she felt most times, enjoyed the dresses she could fabricate with magic. Today she decided on a bright yellow dress, still as revealing as she always wore. Why was that?

She turns back to me and gestures to the tub. My pants come off next and she doesn't appear shameful to look at me. She doesn't blush as she used to. She doesn't become aroused. And I know, I know it's because she can't correlate pleasure with my anatomy. Not anymore. If Adalind would never ready to consummate our bond, that would be alright. I would wait. I wouldn't touch another.

I'd fantasize about her and attend to my needs myself.

I step into the water and sink in. She sits on a stool beside the tub, her eyes wandering down my body. She sighs. "You're a very handsome man, Goliath."

Now I understand why she perks up whenever I compliment her. I relax, setting my arms over the edges. "Am I?" I can't help but tease her as I had before.

"I shouldn't have complimented you. Your ego is already so large."

The heart in my chest speeds up at her jest back. "Ah, there she is," I coo, leaning over the side to run a thumb over her cheek. "There's my Adalind."

She pulls her sleeve up, the end of the tapering fabric dragging on the tile. I can't help but grin at the dichotomy between how regal she looks and the modest structure we found safety in for the moment. Her hand dips into the water, grabbing the cloth. "Is it alright if I touch you?"

My brows furrow as her light eyes meet my dark ones. Does she think I wouldn't let her? Is my sitting here, naked, not enough of an invitation? My eyes fall to the scar around her throat and once again I'm breathless with rage. My hands that are wrapped around the edge of the tub crack the clay. She jumps from the sound.

"I'm sorry," I rasp, closing my eyes. "Yes, it is alright."

Consent was something very few asked from her. Even within her kingdom people took and asked for too much from her, and she had to give and give. I realize just how crucial it is for her; she needed to be reminded of her own autonomy. That she had a choice and could leverage them for her desires and wishes.

She swallows, her hand climbing to her throat for a second before the other dips back into the water. She brushes the cotton down my arm first, carefully over the tattoos. "How many do you have?"

"They change nightly. It depends on what the shadows desire."

"What do you mean?"

"Look carefully."

As she does, her brows furrow, and her lips part. The ink that appears to be on my skin is actually under, rippling and slithering almost so slowly it is impossible to see unless one focused. Humans didn't see it, but wolves and fae did. For wolves, because of our heightened senses, we could see it clearly and hear it hissing as it changed locations, styles, and designs. For fae, they had to concentrate to see.