The bubbly water is divine on my sore muscles as I step into the bath. The ache of last night is still alive in my hamstrings, inner thighs, and even inside me in a pleasant way that I feel when I twist. But the ache from the fight is more present. My forearm stings where the fresh cut is red and angry, and the growing pain in my ribs makes it hard to really relax.

I resign myself to quickly wash my hair and scrub the day from my skin. I lean my head back, lifting my hair over the lip of the tub and resting my neck.

Now that I’m safe—or at least as safe as I have ever been—it all hits me.

The adrenaline is like being struck by lightning. One moment, I am functional, and the next, my body is trembling like I’m electrified by delayed fear.

I try to suck in great gulps of air, but it’s like my lungs can only hold a mouthful. The air wheezes in and out quickly. My heart is so thunderous, pumping so loudly, it’s all I can hear. Tears burn in my eyes and I’m afraid I will drown here, not in this tub but in whatever this torrent is.

It feels like dying—or at least what I imagine dying feels like.

Though it always passes, I wish so badly I could feel nothing at all. That I could be the woman I am in the tense moments when I can think clearly and strategize. I don’t want to be someone who breaks, and I definitely don’t want to think about that moment of blind rage.

The anxiety builds to an all-consuming peak, and at the center of the storm, I try to call up Aidia’s soothing voice—how she would tell me to look for something in the room to ground me.

“My heart,” I rasp between desperate gasps of breath.

But there is no one to say, “My bones.”

And it feels wrong to say “Our blood” when I’m alone. I’m so miserable that I let myself miss her—feel frightened for her—desperately wishing she were here.

I sink under the water and allow myself one good sobbing scream even though it sends a fierce shock of pain through my ribs.

When I come up for air, my chest is burning and my vision is spotty, but it’s like the scream let something loose, and the tension begins to unwind.

I’m homesick. This feeling is nothing new—the instinct to go home, but not to my home. Maybe it’s just the fleeting human impulse to seek shelter, to endlessly search for comfort even if you’ve never really known what it was to begin with.

I’ve been hit enough to know that pain is not a home, but it felt like all I deserved. Over time, I started to believe it.

Some old base instinct clings to the possibility of something better—the myth of it alive inside me, the way a story sinks into bones and becomes as real as the ache in your ribs when you watch two lovers kiss.

My breathing slows and the very real ache in my ribs returns. I splash water on my face and sigh, batting a mound of bubbles onto the carpet.

The bathroom door flies open, and Henry storms in so fast I don’t even have time to reach for the dagger I left on the shelf next to the tub.

“Get out,” I snap.

His dark hair is damp, and he’s changed into linen pajamas. There’s something about the contrast of seeing him with a feral look in his eyes while wearing matching navy pajama separates that makes me want to laugh.

He sniffs the air and narrows his eyes at the bubbles like an assailant might be hiding beneath them in the giant tub. “I wanted to make sure you were actually in here.”

I stand. The bubbles slide down my body and my skin tingles as his gaze follows their path. “Leave.”

He arches a brow. “Is that what you want? After playing games with me? After touching yourself where I couldn’t get to you and making me watch? After going upstairs in a boarding room with another man? After trying to kiss Stefan?”

A slow smile tugs at my mouth. I didn’t think any part of this assignment would be fun, but driving this man out of his mind is so easy.

“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with a woman practicing a little self-care alone in her safe room.”

He huffs a laugh. “Self-care.”

“Second, I went upstairs with that idiot to get information about a dangerous situation within the fort. I’m miles from home and surrounded by strangers, and I think I deserve to know about the very real threats to my safety.”

His hand flexes at his side. “You are the greatest threat to your safety.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence. I’m inclined to agree with you now that the deadly evolved vampire is gone.”

Henry glares at me.

I step out of the tub onto the plush carpet and grab the soft white towel from the hook beside the bath. Wisdom tells me not to test him, but I haven’t had nearly enough fun tonight.

Instead of wrapping it around me, I slowly begin patting myself dry—starting with my neck, then my breasts, then sliding it between my legs.

Henry tracks my progress with interest before he snaps out of his daze. “I should heal your ribs.”

The vanity counter is cold against my ass, and I shift back to lean on my hands. I intentionally leave my thighs spread. I don’t actually want him to fuck me, but I like knowing that he’s thinking about it.

Henry drinks me in for a long moment, like he’s saving this view in his mind for later. He mutters a curse and places his hand over the cut on my forearm.

My skin tingles pleasantly, then itches horribly. When he lifts his hand, there’s no trace of the wound. It stuns me every time. I wish I could place his hand over my mind and erase whatever ails me.

He gently moves his palm to my left ribs, prodding tenderly with his finger until I wince. “Two broken. You’ve felt it before. Bones are one of the most uncomfortable things to heal.”

I hum in agreement, closing my eyes.

The tingling healing sensation sinks through my skin, a cooling balm against the angry, heated pain in my side. Goosebumps rise on my skin, my nipples tighten, and I shiver. Then, the wretched itching sensation in my bones returns.

Henry senses it. “Distract yourself. Talk to me about something.”

I can’t look at him when I ask, so I just keep my eyes closed and head tipped back. “What happened when you died?”

I feel Henry still for a moment, and the itching seems to halt with that stillness, but it’s so quick I doubt myself.

“That’s too personal,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Even though my eyes are closed, I swear I can feel him looking at me.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Harlow.”

It may as well be a door slammed closed in my face. Stupid of me to ask. Now I’ve tipped my hand and let him know he has something I want.

The itching in my ribs is almost unbearable.

“You didn’t have to agree to take the blame,” Henry says.

I sigh. “Of course I did. I can’t help Aidia if I can’t help you.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, his thumb brushing lightly back and forth over my skin.

The itching finally ebbs as I blink my eyes open. “You can’t promise that.”

He looks at me like I’ve insulted him, which I suppose, by their cultural standards, I have, but the day I rely on a man to protect me will be my last. Even Gaven, who has literally saved me from the Drained and men alike on multiple occasions, can’t be fully trusted.

Henry steps back as if realizing that I’ve closed the door to any intimacy between us.

“You’ll sleep in my bed tonight.” He says it with a truly astonishing certainty for a man whose death I spent hours planning this morning.

“And be imprisoned by your snuggling again? No, I don’t think so. It’s been a long day and I need rest.”

His aura is wild, swirling around both of us. It’s always been unique in both color and opacity, but now it’s blown out wide, filling the whole space. It’s such a deep, warm purple, as if he’s so angry, even his aura is smoldering with it.