Chapter Thirty Eight…

“Hold still,” Sypher muttered, brow furrowed as he tried to heal Lillian. Elda could see he was finding it hard to be in contact with the Fae through the light tremor in his fingers. She didn’t make it any easier with her constant fidgeting. “I said hold still,” he snapped.

“I am holding still!” Lillian retorted, glaring at him.

“Do you want me to heal you or would you prefer to suffer? Because I’m more than happy to let you suffer.” She glowered at him, but stopped fidgeting. When the split in her eyebrow and her various bruises reflected back on Sypher, he sat back and let out his breath. Lillian got to her feet and stormed off without a word. “You’re welcome,” Sypher muttered.

“You look like you’re hurting,” Elda commented, laying a hand on his uninjured shoulder. He hadn’t taken the time to recover from the fight with the Corrupted before healing Lillian, and the wound left by Lazarus still slowly leaked blood.

“I am. Cynthia’s poisoned blade takes a bit of effort to recover from.” He looked back at his charred wing feathers, wincing when it pulled a large, purple bruise on the back of his neck. “I spend more time healing than I do fighting these days.”

“A bath might help. Come on.” She took his arm and looped it through hers, keeping pace with him as he limped back to his room.

“You know, I think I might have a broken ankle after all,” he mused when she helped him sit on the edge of his mattress. She placed her palm on the switch stone set into the floor around the edge of the bath, watching water rush into the basin from inlets that appeared at its bottom.

“If I had any of my salve left I’d let you have it,” she told him.

He smiled. “I’ll manage without. I’m a big boy.” His armour disintegrated, revealing his torso littered with blossoming bruises, his shoulder sporting a ragged hole where Lazarus pierced it.

“Wow, Lillian took a beating,” Elda remarked.

“Some of these are mine. She did have a nasty gash on her shin that’s now trying to bleed through my leathers though.”

Elda’s cheeks coloured, but she nodded. “You’ll have to bathe without your trousers then.” He arched an eyebrow and her blush darkened further in response. “I won’t see anything with some soap in the water.”

“If you’re sure,” he shrugged, watching her disappear into the small private washroom and select a bottle of thick purple liquid from the shelf above the little sink. She returned to kneel beside the bath and tipped some of the contents into it, turning the water an opaque lilac. Bubbles began to form on the surface, filling the room with the scent of jasmine.

“I’m sure,” Elda asserted, dipping her hand into the water and relaxing when she couldn’t see her fingers wiggling beneath the surface. She averted her eyes so Sypher could undress and slip into the bath.

“You can look now,” he chuckled. She turned to find him sat beside her, back resting against the basin edge with his wings placed carefully over the side. “I never imagined when I met you that you’d run me a bath twice in one lifetime.”

“I never imagined you’d spend as much time getting hurt as you do,” Elda shrugged, reaching for a clean washcloth.

“I can clean myself, you know.”

“You have a hole in your shoulder, Sypher. How do you plan to reach this wing?” She flicked the feathers lightly and the limb twitched before tapping her back gently.

“I think you just like washing me,” he teased, relaxing when the cloth touched the point where his back ended and his wings started. Elda kept her lips pressed tightly together, not about to tell him that the rolling of muscles beneath his skin set her heart fluttering, or that his scent of petrichor, vetiver and leather made her mouth water.

She cleaned the soot from his charred feathers gently, careful not to harm the blistered skin beneath. When she finished one wing she moved to the other unharmed one, noticing Sypher didn’t protest. His eyes were closed, though he was still awake.

She finished the second wing and her eyes fell on the exit wound beside his shoulder blade, where the tip of Lazarus had punctured right through him. She carefully moved his singed wing aside and touched the cloth to the ragged skin. His head tilted but he didn’t stop her, nor did he open his eyes.

Her slow, gentle wipes continued until the wound was clean, and he didn’t stop her when she tentatively began to clean the blood from his upper arm. He even turned a little so she didn’t have to stretch.

“I think you like being bathed, you know,” she stated, daring to break the silence. His black and red eyes opened to watch her. “I think you’ve spent so long being afraid of being touched that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be touched by someone that cares about you.”

“Perhaps. Although, Julian cares about me. I wouldn’t let him do this.” A crooked smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “A more accurate statement would be that I like you bathing me.” Elda’s blush burned so bright her skin almost glowed, making him chuckle. “Give me the cloth, maite.”

“Mayeet?” she echoed, frowning at him as she handed him the washcloth.

He grinned. “Mah-ee-teh,” he sounded out for her. “It means love.”

“You said it to me on the cliff,” she remembered.

“Se maite nireh,” Sypher nodded.

“I didn’t say it back.”

His grin softened. “Nor did I expect you to. I needed to tell you what you meant to me. I don’t need to hear it back, especially if it isn’t what you feel.”

“You’re not upset that I didn’t say it?” she pressed hopefully. He paused in the middle of cleaning blood from his chest and turned to face her properly, cocking his head once more. The smile on his face made her heart skip a beat.

“El, I never want you to lie to me to keep me happy. Always tell me the truth.” He reached out and touched her cheek, his skin warmed by the water. “If you ever say it back to me, it will be because you mean it.”

“And if I never say it?”

“I’m not some lovesick Prince,” he chuckled, letting go of her face and returning to washing off the blood. “I can manage.”

“Technically, you are a Prince.”

“Not a lovesick one though. I won’t turn to dust if you don’t feel the same.”

“Do you want me to feel the same?” Her question came out more quietly than she’d intended. She expected Sypher not to answer, but he paused in thought, considering his response carefully.

“Yes and no,” he decided. “I never imagined anyone that knew the truth about me could trust me enough to choose me over the Compulsion. To be loved the same way I love another seems like more than I deserve.” He smiled softly. “But it would be nice to know I’m precious to you, the way you are to me.”

“You are precious to me,” she answered immediately, reaching out and winding her arms around his neck from behind, unmindful of the water soaking through her clothes. “I’m just not sure I really know what love is.”

“You’ll know when you’re ready,” he answered, leaning back against her. “I expect nothing from you and this, right now, is more than I hoped for.”

She turned his face so she could press her lips against his, hoping her kiss conveyed the things she couldn’t yet say aloud. He sighed and returned the embrace with a tenderness that set her heart racing. That same shivery feeling spread through her, right to the tips of her fingers, warming her until the kiss was over.

“How does Vel feel about all this?” she asked carefully when he released her face.

“I have no idea,” Sypher shrugged. “Negatively, I assume. He rarely talks to me now, he just forces his way out when he loses his temper and shoves me back in control when he’s done.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Knowing he’s the one who decides whether I’m free or not? Sure,” Sypher shrugged. “But what can I do about it? In order to have equal control, I have to shut him out completely, the same way he does with me. Part of me still hopes he can be reasoned with if I don’t treat him as poorly as I could.”

“I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say to me the next time he frees himself,” Elda decided. She still had her arms loosely around his neck.

“More than likely.” He turned properly to face her again, resting his folded arms on the side of the bath.

“I’m ready to face him whenever he’s done hiding,” Elda shrugged. “If he wants to be a baby about it then that’s up to him.”

“I’ve warned you about goading him.”

“I don’t goad, I state facts. It’s not my fault he doesn’t like the truth. He’ll have to talk to me sooner or later.” She sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

“El, you know he hates it when you do this.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she laughed. “I’m having a conversation with my husband, a conversation he isn’t part of.” Her brow creased into a scowl. “I don’t like monitoring what I say just to please someone who won’t even speak to me. If he has a problem with my choices, he should tell me.” She cast her eyes down to her folded arms. “Part of me wishes he’d just come out here and get it over with.”

“Wish granted, varro.” The voice was still deep and resonant, laced with the lilting hiss of the demon soul.

“Vel.” Her brows crept upwards, her eyes rising involuntarily to meet his black hues. “I didn’t expect you to actually come out.”

“You know I can’t resist a challenge.” He cocked his head. “What makes you so desperate to speak to me alone in a bath tub?”

“I’m not in a bath-“ Her words were cut off by the swell of jasmine-scented water as Vel grabbed her arm and yanked her into the bath. She broke the surface, coughing and spluttering.

“You were saying?” he grinned, revealing his sharpened teeth.

“I’m still wearing clothes!”

“I can remove them for you, if you’d like,” he purred.

“Don’t you move another inch,” she warned, wiping water out of her eyes. His gaze travelled down to the wet clothes clinging to her.

“That’s fine. The view from over here is exquisite.”

“Stop ogling me!”

“Stop pretending you hate it,” he shrugged. She glared at him, which only made him grin. “I find your temper amusing.”

“And I find your attitude irritating.”

“Then let’s talk about whatever it is you think I’m feeling and get this over with.” He mimicked, his smile dropping. “I’m certain you have your own conclusions drawn.”

“I think you’re refusing to speak to Sypher because he told me he loves me,” she asserted.

“Is that so?” He tapped his chin in mock thought. “So not because he’s the living soul of an Angel? You know, the very creature a demon is sworn to hate most?”

“I think that’s part of it,” she nodded. “But he can tell me he loves me and you can’t tell me that.”

“Because it’s not true.”

“I don’t believe you,” she argued. He arched an eyebrow, and then he was moving through the water until Elda was trapped against the side of the basin.

“Love is something I can’t feel, varro. I don’t cuddle. I don’t share my feelings. Demons don’t love. We’re not capable of it.” His nose skimmed her throat. “We feel want.”

“You’re n-not a full demon,” she stammered, keeping her hands balled into fists to prevent them from skimming his damp torso.

“True,” he nodded, pulling back enough to meet her gaze. “And the part of me that is capable of love has already confessed it. The Angel married you. The Angel protects you. The Angel needs you. I, however, want you.” Vel turned, seating himself against the side of the bath and pulling her down onto his lap. A radiant blush spread up her neck. “Unfortunately, you want him. So, you can have him. Call it my blessing if that makes you feel better. Don’t call on me again, varro.”

“Wait!” But he was gone. Sypher’s garnet eyes blinked up at her. He frowned, glancing down at her seated on his lap with his hands at her waist, hers resting on his collar bones.

“…I see your conversation went well,” he remarked, looking back up at her face.

“Not really.”

Sypher’s head tilted. “What happened?”

“He threw me in the bath, told me he hated you for being an Angel, said he was incapable of love, sat me on his lap and then told me never to speak to him again.” She spoke quietly, cheeks glowing crimson.

“And then retreated, leaving us in the most awkward position he could think of.” He sighed. “That sounds like Vel.”

“You haven’t panicked at me touching you unexpectedly,” she noticed.

“Why would I, maite? I trust you.”

She sat back, putting whatever distance she could between them without pulling away. Her fingertips found the huge scar running diagonally from his shoulder to his hip, tracing the injury until it disappeared into the water. His eyes followed the movement.

“What did Cynthia do to you to give you such a mark?” Elda asked softly. He swallowed like the memory made him nauseous.

“She gutted me.”

“Why?”

“Because she was broken.” His head dipped. “Cynthia was born to an abusive, hateful father. She and her mother suffered daily. It was a miracle she even survived her infancy. When her mother finally succumbed to her father’s beatings, he sold Cynthia to a slaver. She was seven.”

“That’s horrific.”

“I know.” His tone was sad for the child, despite the hatred he harboured for the adult. “She was with the slaver until she was fifteen and she suffered at his hands as well; awful, horrific abuse. Cynthia never had a chance, and by the time Lazarus decided to select her she was beyond help.”

“Why would Lazarus choose someone like that?”

“Power. He sensed the talent for necromancy buried inside Cynthia, so he sent me to collect her. I killed her slaver, healed her, fed her and kept her safe.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “She didn’t understand that I wasn’t helping her for my own gain. She was waiting for me to take payment for my kindness. I can’t blame her, really.”

“If she’d had any humanity left in her she would have known you meant well,” Elda decided.

“Given enough time, perhaps she would have realised that, but Lazarus wouldn’t wait. He met her while she was still a child and he showed her what the Compulsion did. That was Cynthia’s first real taste of power.”

“Let me guess. She liked it too much?”

“She did. The moment she learnt to use the Compulsion, I was enslaved. Over time, after she had me hunt down and murder her father, I became the outlet for her anger. She started trying to break me.” He pointed to a thin scar at his collarbone. “This was the first scar she inflicted under the Compulsion.” He tapped the huge wound across his torso. “This was the last.”

“What made her stop?”

He smiled bitterly. “While she stood there with my insides in her hands like they were an interesting toy, she realised that I couldn’t be broken by physical pain. My body would heal.” A faint shudder rippled through him at the memory. “So she turned to mental torture instead. It didn’t take her long to figure out how to ruin me.”

“She set you against Nova,” Elda realised, a lump forming in her throat.

“She did. I butchered everyone I could get my hands on, including Selena.”

“Gira’s cousin?” Elda asked. “How did you meet her if Cynthia kept you enslaved?”

“The Compulsion is weakened by distance. Cynthia chose to live there, so I went to the other side of the city where I could be free of her for a short while,” Sypher explained. “I was wounded, barely conscious and trying to find somewhere to rest. Selena followed me and confronted me, thinking I was a thief of some kind. I collapsed, my armour vanished without my magic, and she learned the truth.” He smiled sadly. “She patched me up and I spent the next three years seeing her whenever I could. I thought I could hide it from Cynthia. I was wrong, and for my deception I was forced to destroy everything I had left to care about.”