The bind for my breasts dropped away, then joined my tunic. The laces on my pants, however, proved more difficult, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to carefully use both hands to slide the leather down. It got stuck around my thighs, and before I could ask for help, Rokath was there, kneeling before me, hands gliding against my skin as he lowered them the rest of the way. Once they bunched around my ankles, I braced myself on his strong back and stepped out of them.

He looked up at me, and those burgundy eyes were filled with something soft, almost tender. But as quickly as it appeared, it departed and he stepped back, clearing his throat. “I will join you in a moment.”

After tossing my clothes to the side, he quickly stripped from his own. The fire cast shadows across his bulk, joining the dark ink that decorated every inch of him. At his neck, skulls stared back at me, empty eyed, save for the one on his throat, which had a blooming rose. Down his chest were various animals—a snarling hound whose eyes seemed to glow with hostility, more snakes wrapped tightly around a tree, and a few birds with sharp claws ready to strike. Between those, thorny vines wove and more roses bloomed. The irony of them being my favorite flower was not lost on me. On his back, I knew, was a perfect circle to match my own, but around it, claw marks, so realistic I’d started the first time I saw them, sliced across the wide expanse.

At the thought of our mate marks, I glanced around, ensuring we were still alone.

“Don’t worry, little imposter, no one will come near enough to see,” he rumbled, regaining my attention.

“If you’re certain,” I said, stepping forward. The air between us heated.

“I am. Though it is nice to see your concern about it for a change,” he replied, sweeping his gaze over my form with the hunger of a starved predator.

His cock thickened as I took another step closer to him and the waiting water. “I need you to unplait my hair,” I said, voice scarcely more than a whisper.

“Come closer and turn around,” he rasped, making a twirling motion with his hand.

I did, and when he pressed against my backside, our skin burned. He made no other move to touch me as he worked, and when he finished, my waist-length hair tumbled around me in messy, tangled waves. “I’ll grab the soap. There is a small waterfall just beyond those reeds.” Rokath pointed into the darkness, and as his voice died away, the trickle of water emerged.

Nodding, I stepped past him and teetered on the edge of the dark water. Then, I sucked in a breath, and entered. The water was warm, which wasn’t surprising when I thought about it, but only about thigh deep on me as I waded away from the shore. A splash sounded behind me, and I felt Rokath approach again. He carried a torch with him, casting our reflection across the disturbed pool.

We reached the other side, where there was indeed a small waterfall. The gush spilled from between two rocks and tipped over the edge of one smoothed from continued abrasion. It was barely high enough for Rokath to stand comfortably beneath. He planted the torch in between two rocks on one side, securing us a hint of light to see by.

Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back and allowed the flow to cascade over him, dripping down his body to the delicious V that pointed to his groin. He was carved like these stone walls, etched by the Fates themselves, and exuded death and destruction. Yet when his eyes opened and landed on me, pain revealed itself, emerging from the depths of his black soul.

“Take my place and I will wash your hair,” he murmured, his instructions softer than they ever had been.

I waded closer, the water deepening enough that it covered my core. The fall didn’t pound against me to the point of pain, but it had enough force to wash away the layers of grime from my skin and soak my hair. I closed my eyes and savored the feeling. Water lapped at my legs as Rokath moved, and then he was behind me again. The hairs on the back of my neck rose with his proximity.

Two strong hands caught my head and tilted it up before squeezing out the ends of my hair. A moment later, firm fingers dug into my scalp, massaging gently. A groan slipped out before I could stop it. Rokath pressed into me, hardness digging into my backside.

“Make that sound again,” he growled, fingers departing momentarily before returning to a different spot.

This time, when he worked his fingers through my hair, I let the sound tear free with all the force it wanted. Water sprayed over us, mostly blocked by Rokath’s bulk, and I leaned into him, letting him scrub my scalp until it felt somewhat clean.

“I should rinse it now,” I murmured, eyes closed. There was something so soothing about listening to his thudding heart. “But it feels so good.”

Amusement rumbled against my back, and my eyes popped open. Disregarding his fingers tangled in my hair, I spun to face him. “Did you just laugh?”

He lifted a singular dark brow like I was asking a ridiculous question. “Yes?”

I planted my hands on his abdomen and gave him a light shove. “A joke and a laugh on the same day. Who are you and what did you do with my mate?”

Then, Rokath offered me a smug grin. “Maybe I have sides you don’t know about.”

I found myself grinning back at him. “I don’t think so. You’re pretty straightforward. Fighting and fucking.”

And yet, if I was restrained and forced to select only one word to describe him, I’d have to say complex. From the heady mix of his anger and his affection, to the rage that emanated from him along with the ruin, Rokath was multifaceted in a way I was only beginning to understand.

“Wet your hair so I can wash it again,” he said, holding my gaze as he stepped back behind the curtain of water.

I rolled my eyes but backed into the flow. Automatically, I lifted my hands to my hair to scrub, but a flare of pain in my shoulder caused me to cry out. Rokath was there immediately, lowering my arms and then digging his fingers into my scalp and rinsing the soap. He planted a kiss on my injured right shoulder, then scooted us forward and out of the spray again. The tender gesture melted more tension from my body.

“It’s still greasy. Another round will do,” he murmured, hot breath ghosting over my ear.

“Where did you learn so much about the care of a female’s hair?” I teased.

“Xannirin keeps his hair long. Always moaning about how much effort it takes,” he said while he worked. I relaxed into him again, appreciating the way he held me. “That’s why I shave mine. No effort. No worries.”

“And then everyone can see those scary snakes inked there,” I pointed out with a small laugh.

“What did you say before? That I tattooed my entire body to make up for my small penis?” He ground his length into my back to prove a point.

My cheeks and core flamed. “I was angry.”

“I was too.”

“About me saying you had a small penis?”

“About having a mate.”

He dropped his hands away for a moment, and then he was rubbing the bar of soap over my collarbone and across my chest in languid circles. I wanted to ask him if he was still angry, but his ministrations drifted lower, nearly brushing my nipples, and I forgot everything but the feeling of his touch. The water rippled as he came closer, half-bending over me to reach my stomach. His other hand traced a map from my hair, down my back, and around my waist picking up where his other left off.

Then, he soaped up my opposite side. My breath hitched when it swiped under my breast, avoiding the sensitive area I wanted to be touched. “Rokath,” I whimpered, leaning back into him.

“Shh,” he said, his free hand coming to cover my mouth. He toyed with my lips, running a finger along them, and without thought, I opened my mouth and sucked the tip in. “Fuck, Assyria,” he groaned, low enough that I barely heard the sound.