Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) (14 page)

His hand moved away. “Should I stop?”

Ardis wasn’t sure what she wanted. It was too silent in the bathroom. The quiet left space for ugly thoughts to crawl through her mind. When she closed her eyes, she saw the flames of the zeppelin, seared into her memory.

“It’s not your fault,” she said.

Wendel gazed across the water between them.

“What do you mean?” he said.

She waved at herself. “There’s a gnawing in the pit of my stomach. Like something bad will happen and I don’t know when or how or why. I don’t know how to make the feeling stop. It’s never been this bad before.”

A crease appeared between Wendel’s eyebrows. He stood, the water rushing off him, and climbed out of the bath. Ardis thought he might be leaving, but he climbed in behind her and pulled her against his chest.

“I know that feeling,” Wendel said, a rasp in his honey-gravel voice.

“How do you make it go away?” Ardis said.

“It never does.”

She was silent. Her eyes burned with tears that threatened to betray her. She held her breath, not wanting him to see her cry. But he brushed her hair from the nape of her neck and massaged her shoulders.

Ardis let the air escape her lungs. A shaky, tentative breath. Her eyes blurred.

Here in the bath, no one could tell the difference between tears and water.

Wendel said nothing, but his silence was all she needed to hear. He washed her back, his fingers strong yet gentle. She inhaled through her mouth, then splashed water in her face to rinse away the last of her tears.

Wendel kissed her neck, and his stubble tickled her skin.

“Are you going to grow a magnificent beard?” Ardis said.

He laughed. “Would I be irresistibly rugged?”

“The jury is still out.”

Wendel climbed out of the tub, toweled himself off, and dragged on his old clothes.

“Where are you going?” Ardis said.

He patted his cheek. “To buy a shaving kit.”

“Come back soon.”

“I will.”

With that, Wendel left the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Ardis slid lower, all but her face underwater. Her heartbeat whooshed in her ears. She lay like that until the water went cold.

Where was Wendel?

Ardis left the tub and wrapped a towel around herself. The gnawing in her stomach was back, and worse than before. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she heard the click of the key in the lock. The door swung open.

“I return triumphant,” Wendel said.

He unpacked a shaving kit in the bathroom and flipped open a straight razor. The blade gleamed with a glossy polish.

“Solingen steel,” Wendel said. “The only manliness in this hotel.”

Ardis laughed and twisted her hair in the towel. Wendel dropped his coat on the floor and unbuttoned his shirt. He filled a little bowl with shaving cream, whipped the cream with a badger hair brush, and spread the lather over his face. Wendel tilted his head, frowning in the mirror, and scraped the razor over his cheek.

“Ah, damn,” he said.

“Did you cut yourself?” Ardis said.

A thin line of blood welled above his cheekbone. He set down the straight razor and held out his hands—they were trembling.

“Laudanum,” he said. “I had forgotten.”

She bit her lip, afraid to ask what he remembered.

“Ardis.” Wendel offered the straight razor to her. “I trust you with a blade.”

“You want me to shave you?”

“Please.”

Wendel dragged a chair into the bathroom. He sat and dabbed the cut on his cheekbone with a towel. Ardis blew out her breath and took the straight razor. The infinitesimal edge of the blade looked sharper than her sword.

“Are you sure?” Ardis said.

Wendel met her gaze. In this light, his eyes looked darker, like jade. He let her angle his head and bring the razor to his face.

“I trust you,” he said.

Ardis touched the razor to Wendel’s skin. It slid down his cheek with only the slightest resistance and subtle rasp of steel cutting stubble. She shaved his cheek and started on the other. He remained quiet and still.

“Look up,” Ardis said.

Wendel tilted his head. Ardis pressed her thumb to his lower lip to tauten his skin, then shaved beneath his mouth. Her thumb lingered for a second. She shaved his chin and brought the straight razor to his neck.

“Don’t move,” Ardis said.

Wendel raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Ardis touched his throat, his heartbeat throbbing under her fingertips. It felt wrong to hold steel to his neck, where a single cut could kill. But this was a straight razor, not a sword, and a bathroom, not a battlefield.

Her hand steady, she slid the blade over his throat in short strokes.

When she finished, Wendel bent over the sink to wash his face, then dipped the badger brush into the bowl of cream.

“Once more,” Wendel said.

Still holding the straight razor, Ardis stared at him.

“Again?” she said.

“Against the grain,” he said, “for a smoother shave. I always do.”

“You look shaved enough to me.” Ardis set the straight razor on the counter. “We could always test this theory.”

Wendel squinted. “How—?”

Ardis silenced him with a kiss. An instant later, Wendel slipped his hand behind her neck. His other hand cradled the hollow of her back. She leaned against him, his clothes rough against her naked skin, and breathed in his scent.

Ardis smiled. “You do smell like lavender.”

Wendel growled low in his throat.

“I would rather be dirty,” he said.

His look was anything but gentlemanly. His kiss was anything but gentle.

He brought his lips to hers and backed her against the wall. His hands gripped her hips and held her there, as if the weight of his body wasn’t enough. The hint of stubble on his jaw rasped her cheek. She sucked in a shaky breath, her breasts trapped against his chest, and ran her hands over the breadth of his shoulders.

“I want you in bed,” Wendel said.

He brushed his lips down her neck, the tip of his tongue tasting her skin, then dipped lower and licked her nipple.

Ardis inhaled sharply. “Wendel.”

He leaned back and met her gaze. Lust smoldered in his eyes.

“There’s a slight problem,” she said. “We have no—”

“Preventives?” he said.

Wendel lifted his jacket from the floor. He retrieved a tin of preventives from the pocket and balanced it in his hand.

“I’m a fortuneteller,” he said.

Ardis wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

“I predicted the future,” he said, struggling not to grin.

She laughed. “The future might end badly if you act that arrogant.”

“So far, so good.”

Wendel tried to push her against the wall, but Ardis ducked under his arm and escaped. She ran from the bathroom and dove under the covers of the bed. Breathless, trying not to laugh, she tucked the quilt down tight.

“Good night,” Ardis said.

Wendel stalked into the bedroom with pantomimed stealth. He dropped to a crouch and crawled along the wall in the shadows. After a second of silence, he pounced onto the bed and pinned her arms to the mattress.

Ardis laughed, and Wendel pretended to glare at her.

“No laughing,” he said.

She couldn’t stop smiling at him. “Is this serious?”

“Very.”

Wendel held himself over her and kissed her on the mouth. Softly, this time, but with an undercurrent of urgency. Tension tightened his muscles. He released one of her wrists and touched his fingertips to her cheek.

“I am serious,” Wendel said, “when I say that I love your laugh.”

His words touched her heart so deeply they hurt.

“I love your smile,” he said.

Should she tell him she loved him? Could she?

“I love your body.”

Wendel’s whisper was almost lost as he kissed her neck. Ardis didn’t know what to say, but she knew what she wanted to feel. She closed her eyes and let him explore her skin with his lips. When his fingers loosened on her wrist, she unbuckled his belt and undid his fly. She stroked his hardness with her hand.

He let out a rough little groan. “I love it when you touch me.”

“Help a girl out,” Ardis said. “Take off your clothes.”

Standing on the bed, Wendel stripped naked and tossed his clothes onto the floor. As he dropped to his knees, Ardis met him halfway. They tumbled onto the tangle of sheets together. She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. He leaned over the mattress to find the preventive, then lowered her onto a pillow.

Ardis relaxed beneath Wendel. He entered her gently. When she grabbed his buttocks, he thrust deeper. She wanted to make him sweat. She held his face in her hands and kissed him, then bit his lip so that he gasped.

“Harder,” Ardis said.

Wendel clutched her to himself and obeyed. He stayed like that for a second, their bodies the closest they could be, then withdrew. A moan of protest escaped Ardis. He returned to her quicker than before. They found a driving rhythm together. Tension wound tighter and tighter inside her, but still didn’t break.

“Wait,” Ardis said.

Wendel halted, breathing hard, reluctance clear on his face.

“It isn’t enough,” she said. “I—”

“Allow me.”

He stood by the edge of the bed and dragged her down to him. He held her there, his fingernails biting into her buttocks. When he thrust at this angle, deeper still, she gasped at the increased pleasure. She clutched the sheets in her fists, closed her eyes, and let herself surrender to him. He brought her to the brink.

“Look at me,” Wendel said, his voice rough with desire.

Ardis did as he said, panting, her skin feverish. He never looked away as he thrust into her, and the fierce adoration in his eyes was enough to nudge her over the edge. She cried out and clung to the bed. He didn’t stop until he echoed her pleasure with his own. Shuddering, he held her almost crushingly close.

They shared a moment of wordless bliss. Wendel touched his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he said.

Three words. So small, yet so heavy.

Ardis closed her eyes to hide the inexplicable prickling of tears. She tried to speak, but his mouth on hers left her breathless.

~

Late that night, Ardis blinked herself awake. She stared wide-eyed into the darkness, wondering what had disturbed her sleep.

“No,” Wendel said. “Not again.”

Ardis froze. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears.

“I won’t do this for you,” he said.

She lifted herself on her elbow and stared at him. He was talking in his sleep. His hair clung to his sweaty forehead.

Her throat tightened until it hurt. “Wendel,” she whispered.

“No,” he said. “No, please, no.”

Ardis dragged in a steadying breath and slipped out of bed. She was afraid to touch Wendel. The last time she had woken him from a nightmare, he almost stabbed her with a dagger before he came to his senses.

But she couldn’t let him suffer like this.

Ardis reached for Wendel’s shoulder and shoved him with her fingertips. He flinched but didn’t wake. His mind had trapped him in a labyrinth of his own memories. She retreated from him, clutching a sheet to herself.

Her fingers shaking, Ardis fumbled with a match and lit the old gaslamp by the bed. The hiss of gas sounded loud in the silence. When the glare touched Wendel’s face, he jerked awake and lurched out of bed. His legs tangled in the sheets. He fell to his knees, scrambled against the wall, and clawed his way to a crouch.

“Wendel!” Ardis said.

“Stay away from me,” Wendel rasped, his eyes glittering.

Fear clamped like a fist around her stomach. She backed away from him.

“It’s me, Wendel,” she said. “It’s Ardis.”

Inky shadows darkened his face. “Ardis?”

“Yes,” she said, her mouth as dry as sand. “I’m here.”

“Are they coming?” he said.

“Who?”

“Them.”

“I don’t know.”

Wendel slid down the wall and hit the floor. His tucked his legs against his chest and touched his forehead to his knees.

“Ardis,” he said. “God, Ardis, I—” His voice broke.

She tasted sourness on her tongue. She still didn’t move toward him.

“You were having a nightmare,” she said.

Wendel rubbed his hands over his face and clutched fistfuls of hair.

“The assassins,” he said.

He said no more, but he didn’t need to.

“Wendel,” Ardis said.

Silence lengthened the distance between them.

“Did I hurt you?” Wendel whispered.

“No,” Ardis said.

Wendel staggered to his feet and stepped past her on his way to the bathroom. He knelt by the tub and twisted on the tap. He ducked his head underneath, water pouring over his face and splattering onto the floor.

Ardis stood in the doorway, still clutching the sheet to herself, and stared at him.

“Are you okay?” she said.

Wendel shut off the water and stared at the drain, his hands white-knuckled on the porcelain. His nakedness bared the scars crisscrossing his back—souvenirs from his twelve years with the Order of the Asphodel.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet and hoarse.