“Sa-cha?” Dakh asks, curious. He’s watching me intently.

I rub my arms, indicating cold. It also helps hide the fact that my nipples are completely pebbled and obvious in my tiny, frilly bikini. Guess I didn’t think that one through. But Dakh doesn’t say anything about it. He leans over the plastic side of the pool, and before I can say anything, sticks his face in the water. Bubbles froth up, and I giggle at the sight, but then give a sigh of pleasure when I realize what he’s doing. He’s heating the water for me.

It gets unspeakably warm within moments, and I move closer to the water hose, where the cool water is pouring in. “Thank you.” I pull the bandages off my broken arm and set them on the counter nearby. I add bubble bath and use the hose to make it foam, then turn off the water and sink into the pool. The bubbles are a thick froth, and I’m waist deep in a hot bath for the first time in forever. God, it feels amazing. A sigh escapes me, and I close my eyes, relaxing.

A splash and a nudge against my foot make me open my eyes again. I sit up to see Dakh climbing into the pool on the opposite side of me. It’s not quite big enough for the two of us to stretch out, and the water slops over the edge onto the floor. Almost immediately, the water feels even warmer. That might be me blushing, though, considering I’m now sharing a pool with a big, naked dragon-man.

“I didn’t realize you were into bubble baths,” I say, and fling a handful of the foam at him to take away some of the awkwardness of the situation. For some reason, I had pictured me taking this bath solo. I hadn’t imagined that he’d join in with me. Guess that’s a mistake on my part, because of course he would. The man never leaves me alone for a second. “At least I don’t have to worry about the water getting cold.”

He plucks at the bubbles, trying to figure them out. I chuckle at that, amused, and lather up my hair and skin to get clean. It feels so wonderful I do it a second time, just because all this soap is a luxury that I plan on thoroughly enjoying. Dakh takes one of my bottles and sniffs it as I rinse my hair, and with a few mimes and gestures, I show him how it’s supposed to be used. He cleans his hair, dunks himself, and then looks thoroughly disgusted when the water streams into his eyes.

I can’t help but giggle. “Come on, do dragons not bathe where you come from? You don’t smell that bad, so you must.” I splash at him with my good arm.

Dakh makes a playful growling noise, and then he pulls me across the water and against his chest. I squeal, protecting my bad arm against my chest as he tugs me close, but he’s only settling me in against him. His arms go around me once more, and he touches my bad arm, a question in his gaze.

“It’s nothing,” I tell him softly. “At least, nothing I feel like talking about. And you can’t understand, anyhow.” It feels like Fort Dallas is a different part of my life now, an ugly past that I don’t have to think about. Right now, I’m living in the moment, and I plan on doing that and enjoying myself. I’ll worry about Fort Dallas and Tate and Claudia, Amy, and the future some other time.

With gentle hands, Dakh wipes a wet strand of hair off my forehead. Funny how he can be so very gentle given that his hands are the size of baseball mitts and tipped with claws, but I feel safe here with him. At some point in the last few days, I’ve realized that Dakh isn’t going to hurt me. More than anything, he wants to keep me safe. I think it’s because he views me as something that belongs to him, but whatever the reason, at least I’m safe right now.

He takes a handful of the bubbles and smooths them down my bad arm. He’s achingly gentle as he does so, his brows going down in a frown as he encounters my bruises. One claw skims my skin, and then he pauses. “Dakh?”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand?”

“Dakh?” he asks, and touches my temple, where the bruised skin is turning greenish-purple. Then he touches my hip, where my wound is still painful but scabbed over. “Dakh?”

Oh. He’s asking about my injuries. Asking if he was the one that hurt me. “No, it wasn’t you. It was someone else. Not Dakh.”

A look of relief crosses his face, and he strokes my temple again. I feel a twinge of pity for the dragon-man. Did he think he was the one that hurt me? No wonder he looks so sad when he stares at my wounds. “Dakh has been pretty good to me,” I tell him softly. Other than stealing me away and getting me almost killed by a red dragon, of course.

His eyes flick to a darker amber, and the look on his face turns sensual. He studies me and then cups my cheek with one big hand.

I shiver, uncertain where this is going.

12

SASHA

With careful movements, Dakh traces the pad of his thumb over my lower lip.

“I’m sorry you picked me,” I tell him in a low voice. “Because I think you’re a really nice guy for a dragon, but I hate sex. And I bet you won’t like it with me, either.” Ever since the After, when I’ve had to do questionable things to survive, I’ve learned to hate the touch of another. I don’t mind when Dakh hugs me or strokes my back, because it’s meant to comfort. Sex itself is a power struggle, and one I always lose. I’m going to forever associate it with distaste, all thanks to Tate.

And the ironic thing is that he’s never really wanted sex from me. When we did have sex, it was just because it was another way he could make me miserable. He liked my misery more than anything.

Dakh doesn’t seem like that. He seems different. He seems happiest when I’m happy, but I’m afraid the damage is already done. If he wants a human girlfriend who’s going to look forward to his touch, he grabbed the wrong girl.

Maybe my wariness shows on my face, because all he does is stroke my cheek. He doesn’t grab me and force me down or rip my top off. He seems content to touch my face. After a few minutes of no grabbing, I relax against him and tuck my body against his side, relaxing a bit. Maybe he just likes touching.

The dragon-man strokes my arm, sliding suds up and down the length of it. It’s…oddly relaxing, almost like a massage. His hand is incredibly warm, and combine that with the deliciously warm bath? I find my eyelids growing heavy, and I start to get sleepy.

“Maybe we should get out,” I tell him softly.

He just pulls me a little closer to his wet body and continues to stroke my soapy arm.