His other hand joins the first, sending a jolt of heat through me. I press my lips together, wholly unsettled.
It takes a few hard tugs before I’m finally free. “I’m going to burn those,” I groan in relief.
“Don’t.” His disembodied voice carries a rough edge. “I like them.”
His tone nearly scares the magic out of me. The last thing I need is to get distracted, lose my invisibility, and end up sprawled naked on the ground with Beta Sinta.
I blink, banishing the image. “All the more reason to burn them.”
“I’m not your enemy, Cat.”
I scramble back as far as the rope will let me. “Everyone is my enemy.”
Silence. I guess he has nothing to say to that. I throw off my tunic, pick up my soap, and tug on the rope.
The stream is revitalizing despite not being as cold as I’d like, and the water helps wash away the memory of a hard, hot hand sliding down my belly, of rough fingers on my hips, dipping under my—
Stop!
Flushing, I scrub every inch of myself, feeling like I can finally breathe again without my layers of cosmetics and yet dreading being seen without them. When I grudgingly give the soap to Beta Sinta, it’s an awkward exchange in which we grope for each other’s hands and touch way too much skin. While he’s washing, I float, the rope keeping me close.
“That’s not helpful,” he gripes, giving the rope a hard tug.
I zip through the current, stream water washing over my face. “Too bad,” I sputter, letting myself drift back downstream.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Cold?” I almost laugh. “I grew up swimming in the snowmelt from the Ice Plains. This is a thermal bath to me.”
His pause makes me realize what I just gave away. Filters, Cat. Filters. They don’t seem to exist around him. Even southerners know the most powerful Magoi come from that far north. And from Fisa, to boot.
“Let’s go,” Beta Sinta eventually says, climbing the bank and dragging me with him.
“I don’t have a drying cloth.”
“Use your tunic.” He must sweep his hand toward my clothes because his fingers accidentally brush my lower back. He inhales sharply, and I jump forward, shocked and confused by the strange sensation of lightning webbing out under my skin from the point of contact. I’m suddenly way too hot, with a pounding heart, and wondering what the not-altogether-unpleasant but very real zapping is all about.
Tingling from head to toe, I release a slow breath, hating that it shudders on the way out. “My tunic’s too dirty.”
“Then use mine,” he offers gruffly.
Biting my lip, I scoop up his tunic and gingerly pat myself dry. The masculine scent of salt and sunshine teases my nose and imprints on my skin, lingering when I wish it wouldn’t. When I’m done, I toss the shirt down, aiming for a spot where the grass is thin. As luck would have it, the tunic reappears sweaty face-print up. Beta Sinta sees it for the first time and curses. Ha!
His tunic disappears again along with the rest of his clothing.
Ridiculously warm, I take my time combing and braiding my hair, trying to soak up the relative coolness of the evening air.
Beta Sinta curses softly under his breath. “What in the Underworld is taking you so long?”
I don’t answer and get dressed slowly, knowing it’ll irk him. I also can’t believe he’s about to see me without my face paints on.
Finally, I can’t stall anymore. “Here I come. And you too,” I add, doing my best to sound like I’m sucking on a lemon.
We pop back into sight, and he looks me over with disconcerting thoroughness, something hot and alarming in his gaze.
I blush, and the warmth in my cheeks makes me want to hit him. Or kick dirt in his face. “What?”
He flashes me a lopsided grin, brief and tinged with surprise. “You’re a lot younger than I thought.”
My face is clean, unmasked, and my sable hair is drawn back in a simple braid tied with a leather cord and swinging halfway down my back. I’m wearing loose, brown traveling pants, soft leather boots, and a light-green, sleeveless tunic that does nothing to hide the scars on my arms. I wonder if Beta Sinta knows what they are. I haven’t been this exposed outside the circus’s protection in eight years, and it terrifies me almost as much as the heated look in Beta Sinta’s eyes.
Awareness thunders through me, unwelcome. The longer he stares at me with that smoldering intensity, the wilder the tiny, sizzling flames licking through my lower abdomen become. After a moment of utter stillness, when I’m shockingly conscious of my own rampaging heartbeat, he turns and walks away.