Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians 0.50)

Xarion reaches behind and grasps my leg. “Star, put your feet in the water or you’ll suffer a backache.”

I bite down on my lip and let him guide my right foot into the pool, then place my left in. My breathing shallows as my legs graze his skin. As I reach over his shoulder to wash his chest, my inner thighs press firmly against his waist.

He leans his head back, resting it against my chest, giving me better access to reach farther. “Use lather,” he orders.

My insides flame, my hand halts its movement. “Yes, ma—” The word dies on my tongue. I can’t finish my statement, and I realize I’ve been commanded recently—last night? He’s commanded me not to call him ma—I can’t even think it!

I feel Xarion shake with restrained laughter, and anger flares within my chest. It grips me so unexpectedly I nearly dump the bottle of lather on his head. Instead, I hold it at the ready, my lips twisted, watching him try to hide his amusement.

He’s toying with me. I didn’t reveal anything about Candra or the Leymak or my fleeting, intoxicated wishes to run away with him. So this is a game to him, is it? I was worried that he discovered what his death would mean—that he’d not only have to fear Octavian and his legions coming for him, but possibly his own guardians, too. Only he’s enjoying himself. Making me wash him like one of his lowly bathing servants—relishing my suffering while my hands roam his body.

Before I can think better, I drop the bottle, place both hands on his shoulders, and push his head under the water.

I laugh as he reemerges sputtering water. He wipes his face and tosses his wet hair off his forehead. “What was that for?”

I cross my arms. “For thinking you could make me your washing servant, you arrogant ass.”

His brows shoot up, then he’s moving toward me quickly through the water, ripples lapping against his toned stomach. I’m not fast enough to escape as his hands clamp on to my thighs, their warmth sending a skittering shiver over my skin. “That was payback,” he says.

“For what?”

He moves closer, his hands inching along my thighs. “For the many hours of torture I endured last night.” At my confused expression, he winks. Then his hands clasp my waist and he tosses me into the pool.

The water is a shock to my system. I push off the marble bottom and break the surface of the water, gasping for air. “Oh, you didn’t!”

Before I can counter, he sends a wave at my head and then another, splashing without pause. His laughter mixes with my groans of annoyance. As he’s preparing to send another wave my way, I loose my Charge and zap the pool. Xarion shudders and curses.

“You’re evil,” he whispers, giving me a devious look.

I smile. “That wasn’t even my full power. Do you really want to see who will win this battle?” Accepting his silence as defeat, I begin to wade toward the edge. “I didn’t think so.”

As I’m lifting myself out, Xarion’s arms close around my waist. “I’m not done with you yet.” I yelp as he lifts me up, my feet splashing. His chest presses against my soaked back, and I’m now even more aware of his starkness. My face flushes.

Seating himself on the bench of the pool, he turns me about, placing my legs on either side of his lap. The action is so quick—and so intimate—I’m unable to protest. “Now,” he says, his strong hands anchoring my thighs against his. “Let’s discuss this Candra, shall we?”

I squint, attempting to focus on his words—not the fact that he’s naked beneath me. I swallow down my apprehension, and say, “I’ve told you about the Leymak girl, Xarion. I’ve nothing more to say about her.”

He gives me a strained smile, then his gaze moves past my face to my shift—to my wet, nearly translucent shift. I feel exposed and desired all at once as his eyes lingeringly take me in. Adjusting his position, he raises his knees, forcing me to slide closer to him. A gasp escapes my mouth when I feel his manhood—my garment the only thing preventing our skin from connecting.

“You admitted something last night.” He removes one hand from my leg, slowly drawing it out of the water to brush a stray, drenched hair from my cheek. Water trails from his fingers down my face, runs over my lips. His eyes follow its path hungrily.

I suck in a breath. “I’m unsure what you want from me. If I admitted something in my drunken stupor, you can’t trust it.” I shrug. “I was not in my right mind.”

He opens his mouth, but I push on, anxiety making me brave. “And how low of you to probe me while intoxicated.”

“Believe me”—his green irises gleam—“your mind was not what I wanted to probe.”

A smile cracks through my heated emotions, and I slap his shoulder. “You’re impossible . . . and vile.”

He chuckles, and I use the break of tension to attempt escape. I press against his chest and push backward, but he’s quick, capturing my hands and preventing me from moving.

Silence hums in the bathing room as I watch the rise of fall of his chest, feel his labored breathing beneath my palm. With a sigh, he lowers his head and stares at our hands, one on top of the other. “Is it true?”

My heart thumps wildly against my breastbone. I don’t have to ask for him to clarify. I know what I’ve done. I’ve confessed that his guardians may have as much motive as the Leymak to wish for his death; to commit treason.

Pulling my lip between my teeth, I nod and try to answer without fear in my voice, for him. I explain Candra’s offer to me the night of the attack in detail, then add, “I’m not sure if it’s truth, or if Candra’s simply employing a tactic—” His eyes snap to mine. “But, I’ve been treating it as if it’s not a bluff; why you haven’t been permitted to leave the city, why no other guardians are trusted in your presence without me there.”

He nods slowly, as if my seriousness over the last weeks is now clear to him.