The Lost Siren: Rise of the Drakens Book 1 by Raven Storm (find a book to read .txt) 📗

I’d have to ask Kieran how they did it; he was likely to tell me without any insults.

I disrobed and slid into the heated water with a sigh. It felt just as amazing as the first time, and I closed my eyes as the water lapped at the edges of the pool. The water went to my waist if I stood in the middle, but the raised benches on the edges were much shallower. I had fun going through all the different ointments, now that I knew they were for me and not for someone else.

I sniffed delicately, the scents as exotic and new as the drakens that surrounded me. I chose an oil that smelled like fruit and put it on my hair. I scrubbed my body vigorously and then lay still in the water, understanding why the other women loved their baths so much. To just sit in the warm water and do nothing was incredible. My eyes drifted closed, and I fell asleep.

I woke suddenly, and the reason for that was slouched against the doorframe, his face bored but his eyes telling a different story.

“GET OUT!” I screamed, thrashing slightly when I realized there were no more bubbles left to cover my body. My hand found one of the ceramic bottles and hurled it with impressive accuracy at his head. He snatched it out of the air, and with a vicious grin hurled it back. His face flattened when I caught it just as easily as he had. I picked up another, holding one in each hand.

“Care to try your chances with two?”

Benedict gave a long-suffering sigh and turned sideways so he wasn’t staring at me anymore.

“I was trying to come and say, well, never mind now.”

“Say what?” I challenged, grabbing my dress from earlier and wrapping it around my body. I didn’t care if the water ruined it; I hated most of these dresses anyway. He faced me again, his lips pursed.

“I was trying to say thank you for assisting me earlier, but clearly you wouldn’t appreciate the effort.”

I let both bottles soar, and to his credit he managed to catch both. He set them down at his feet, keeping an eye on me in case I threw more.

“You don't act like most human women.”

I rolled over onto my stomach, refusing to let his presence ruin my good soak. I didn’t turn to see if he was staring at my backside or not; I felt like I already knew the answer.

“Is that supposed to insult me?” I asked heatedly. He laughed; a real one.

“Not if it isn’t working.”

I rolled my eyes and gestured over my shoulder to the bottles at his feet.

“If you’re going to laze about, you can at least be useful. Bring me that little blue bottle there.”

I could tell he thought about refusing because there was a long pause. Then a sigh, and he was in front of me. The cuts on his arms and chest had stopped bleeding but were still noticeable. He handed me the bottle without comment.

“Thank you.”

I dabbed a bit of oil onto my hands and spread it over the top of my back. I struggled to keep the dress around my body and maneuver the oil, and Benedict snorted with impatience.

“Here, I’ll just do it, if you’ll stop writhing around like the Skolex in its death throes.”

It was tempting to make a smart remark, but I didn’t. The rough texture of his hands landed on my back, and he hesitantly rubbed some of the oil across my muscles. His fingers paused over the many scars he found, and I swore internally.

“Your back—"

“Like I said, it wasn’t too hard of a choice between Crullfed or an unknown man kidnapping me in the darkness.”

He shut up after that, and I knew a few minutes of peace as I soaked in the tub, his hands rubbing my back. The warmth of the water and him was soothing, and my eyes slowly drifted shut. A sudden blast of coolness hit my skin as his hands lifted, and I registered a large splash next to me.

“What—"

He grunted as he slid into the bath, my eyes zeroed in on the leather boots and breeches discarded by the side of the tub. I squeaked and turned over, moving away even though the small pool was easily big enough for six people. I had rarely ever seen a man before, and now one was naked right next to me.

“Don’t worry, I still find you an annoying little twit.”

I stiffened, but his tone wasn’t harsh like it had been before; it was teasing. I sniffed in mock protest.

“Only humans have this odd need to be clothed all the time,” he continued, his eyes shooting to my arms, which were still stubbornly covering my breasts.

“Really? All the vampyres and lykos—"

“They dress opulently to rub in the fact they own you. Before the Demon Wars, lykos never wore clothing, and vampyres stuck mostly to pants and vests, like we do. It’s for fashion, not function. Clothes easily get rippLed in battle, after all. The easiest way to conquer humans would simply be to steal your clothing; none of you would dare venture outside.”

He had a point.

“Why does D’Arcy wear a tunic, then?”

Benedict gathered a clump of bubbles in his hands, then let them float away.

“He is covering an old scar he is embarrassed of; white magick gone wrong that killed several drakens before we withdrew from the war.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. My mouth opened but then I closed it, knowing how he liked to accuse me of babbling.

“Just ask your question already, so you don’t implode and ruin the bath.”

I shot a glance to the other jars lining the bath, and he cocked an eyebrow, daring me. I sank further down into the water.

“How do you get the hot water here? At the breeding house, it would take five of us at least an hour to haul