A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

The Primal was silent.

“I was surprised and disappointed.” I managed a partial truth. “And…and too embarrassed to tell them you rejected me.”

“It wasn’t personal.”

“Really?” I sucked in a laugh.

“It wasn’t.” He was careful not to tug on my scalp as he continued working the vanilla-scented cleanser through the strands. “You have beautiful hair. It’s like spun moonlight. Stunning.”

“I think I will cut it all off.”

Ash chuckled. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

I didn’t respond, my eyes drifting closed as his fingers massaged the strands and my scalp. Somehow, the touch eased the muscles in my neck. “You’re good at this. Do you often wash others’ hair?”

“This would be my first.”

“Mine, too,” I admitted in a whisper, and I felt his hands still for a moment before returning to his gentle scrubbing. In the pleasant haze of his ministrations, something he said tugged at my memories. My suspicions of his experience resurfaced, but so did what he’d said about his age—about how he was younger than I would expect.

“There are some things we need to discuss once you’re settled,” he said before I could ask about his age. “But there’s something I want to make clear. You didn’t do anything wrong to cause me not to fulfill the deal.”

I opened my eyes. “Because you changed your mind and simply had no need of a Consort?”

“Especially not one who stabs me,” he remarked.

I frowned at the hint of teasing in his voice. “Are you going to bring that up continuously?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Great,” I muttered, rolling my eyes despite the rising curiosity. “Now I wish I’d stabbed you harder.”

“That’s rude.”

“Some would consider leaving your Consort to be abandoned on a throne for three years rude,” I retorted. “But what do I know?”

Ash laughed, the sound low and smoky.

My eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what I said that could be funny to you.”

“You didn’t say anything funny.” He eased his fingers from my hair. “It’s just that you are very…outspoken. And I find that—”

“If you say ‘amusing’…” I warned.

“Interesting,” he answered. “I find you interesting.” His head tilted, causing several strands of hair to fall over his cheek. “And unexpected. You’re not as I remember.”

“You weren’t around me long enough to know who I was or what I’m like,” I said.

“What I felt when I saw you seated on that throne in that dress told me enough.”

I stiffened. “I hated that dress with every fiber of my being.”

“I know,” he said. “Close your eyes. I’m going to rinse your hair.”

I did as he asked as the pitcher scraped against the stone floor. “What do you mean, you know? And what exactly about me sitting on that throne and in that dress told you anything about me?”

“It told me that you appeared willing to be packaged and presented to a stranger,” he said as he began rinsing the soap from my hair. “It told me that you seemed eager to be given away, even though you likely had no say in it. No choice.”

I inhaled swiftly, hating that what he said was exactly how I appeared. “You could’ve looked upon me and seen someone brave enough to fulfil a deal I never had a say in.”

“I saw that, too.” He lifted the strands of my hair, rinsing them clean of soap. “I knew you were brave. I knew you must be honorable.”

My stomach churned. Honorable. What honor lay in what I must do? There was…and there wasn’t.

“But that was not what I felt when I looked upon you,” he continued. “What I sensed, what I tasted in the back of my throat, was the bitterness of fear. The tanginess of anguish and hopelessness. And the saltiness of determination and resolve. That was what I felt when I saw you. A girl who was barely a woman, forced to fulfil a promise she never agreed to. I knew you did not want to be there.”

The accuracy of his words rattled every part of me, including that place that had been relieved when he refused. But there was no way he could’ve known that. “You could tell all of that from looking at me for a handful of moments?” I forced out a laugh. “Come on.”

“Yes.” His fingers wove through the strands, working at the soap. “I felt all of that.”

“You have no idea what I was feeling—”

“Actually, I do. I know exactly what you were feeling then and what you’re feeling now. Your anger is hot and acidic, but your disbelief is cool and tarty, reminding me of iced lemon. There is something else,” he said as my heart stuttered, and my eyes opened. “Not fear. I can’t quite place it, but I can taste it. I can taste your emotions. Not all Primals can do it, but I have always been able to, as all who carried my mother’s blood in them could.”