He went inside to the men’s section and pulled out the pants and wrap shirt most of the residents wore. He flagged down one of the employees and asked about getting his clothing cleaned and delivered to the cottage. Then he wrapped a towel around his hips and walked outside.
It was warm for this time of year, about fifty-five degrees. He knocked at the gate, and when no one called out, pushed it open. Just the sight of the tiny garden infused him with peace. He took it in for a few minutes before turning on the shower. Jets of cool water raised a slew of goose bumps on his skin. He relished the discomfort, along with the numbness that followed as he washed his body and hair.
He was the lost soul.
Staying lost would be the best thing. Since Ruby had come into his life with her fire, he couldn’t numb himself anymore. He lifted his face into the stream of spring water and hoped it would cleanse all thoughts of having her from his body, his mind.
Ruby let the hot water pound her body and soothe her aching muscles. For the first several minutes, she found herself continually looking out through the clear shower curtain, imagining a sound or a shadow.
Psycho, anyone?
Except that movie didn’t have demons and tulpas.
She leaned against the tiles, pressing her cheek against the cool ceramic. She was a lost soul, fighting her own emotions with an aching heart. She’d accused Cyn of following orders to kill out of ambitiousness, but she’d seen his loyalty to others. His loyalty to her despite her anger.
Think with your gut.
He followed orders because he had placed his faith in the Guard and, in particular, the man who had raised him. And if she were to concede that maybe her father was good despite his blind ambition, she had to see why Cyn had done the things he had. Not blind ambition, but blind faith.
Deep inside him, he held goodness.
She dried off and dressed, disappointed to find the cottage empty. Where was he? She put her hand to her Dragon. Find him.
Her Dragon jolted at the command like a dog released to find a treat. She followed her instincts to the meditation hut. No surprise. He’d looked at it with the longing of a man who needed solace.
It was late afternoon, though the sun was still high in the sky. She followed the labyrinth, walking into the sanctity of the octagonal building. The blinds let in dim sunlight, the only light in the open room. No chairs, only mats and a few people sitting in lotus positions. None were Cyn.
She wandered through some of the other gardens, finding most of them empty. The sound of running water on the other side of a thick hedge caught her attention. She followed it to a wooden gate. A waterfall? She opened the gate and froze.
She’d found him all right. He stood naked beneath a showerhead, his hands braced on the wall, facing away from her. His head was bowed, as though he were in pain. She automatically put her hand to her throat, feeling it tighten and go dry all at once. Why was he showering out here? Goose bumps covered him. The lack of steam coming from the water made her realize it wasn’t warm either.
His position reminded her of someone under arrest. She shivered, wondering if he’d done this before. Atoning for the people he’d killed. For her parents.
His wide shoulders tapered down to narrow hips, to a tight ass made even tighter because all his muscles were clenched. The body of his Dragon trembled, its wings shrinking close to its body. A tremor passed through him, making him flex his fingers.
She approached slowly, her heart as tense as his muscles. The Dragon’s head turned and looked at her. It seemed to be pleading for her to stop its torture. She reached through the water and ran her hand down his back, over the lines of the Dragon’s body. He didn’t jerk, making her wonder if he’d known she was there all along. Of course, no one snuck up on Cyn.
He, in fact, did not turn to her but flattened his hands against the walls. “Ruby, what are you doing?” His voice was hoarse. From cold or something else?
“I could ask you the same thing.”
He turned to her then, and she saw turmoil in the embers of his eyes. “T-taking a shower.”
“Mmm. A cold shower in the cold air.”
The water was cold, already numbing her fingers. They remained on the indent of his lower spine, where the Dragon’s tail dipped to his tailbone. Droplets sprayed her like ice chips. She’d forgotten to put on her coat.
“It f-feels good,” he said.
“No, it doesn’t.” She reached for the shower to turn it off, but his hand clamped over hers, still fast despite how numb it must be. It felt like a glove of ice.
“Ruby, I’ll meet you back at the cottage later.”
She ran her other hand back up to his shoulder, now half in the shower’s spray herself. “I forgive you, Cyn.”