Unmasked (Rise of the Masks Book 1) by Kaplan EM

Author:Kaplan, EM [Kaplan, EM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Crow Books
Published: 2014-05-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

Mel had stared at Ott’s face hungrily while he lay covered by murky bath water. She had been longing to see his face for so many months, and now here he was. He was thin and wretched-looking; his eyes were closed as he dozed in the bath, the blue stone of the bath turning the water blue, making his skin look more bloodless and corpselike. He looked half-dead, his scruff-covered face gaunt and lined with exhaustion.

That in itself was alarming, but more than that, she was afraid that he would resent her for not finding him during all the time they'd been separated, for not telling him she was alive—though she hadn’t known where to find him. And she was afraid he would hate her for not telling him the truth about herself, that she was a Mask. But then he shot straight up, covered himself with a towel and after a minute, had pulled her into his arms. Her hands wrapped around his back, feeling bones and sinew.

"I'm sorry. So sorry," was all she could say against the bare skin of his chest. She inhaled his aroma, trying to drink it in as they held each other, but her arms were not tight enough to dispel the disbelief of being with him again. Her mouth opened against his skin as she apologized again, thinking he hadn't heard her. Bath water soaked the fabric of her shirt. He rested his chin on the top of her head and made soft shushing noises as he stroked her hair with his damp palm.

"It's you," he kept repeating, his hand lightly touching her hair, the back of her neck, her shoulder. When he pulled back to look at her face with a puzzled expression, the towel between them started to slip. He realized it, made a grab for it, and flushed profusely up through his neck and grizzled face as he caught it with one hand. His other hand locked with hers, fingers twined together, and he refused to let go, letting one hand do the task of covering himself with the towel instead. She felt a half smile lift her cheek. When had she last smiled? The muscles of her face found the gesture foreign, forgotten. She leaned into him, pressed her lips gently into the deep seam that ran down the length of him from sternum to navel and watched the shiver pass through him. She felt herself flush with heat all the way up to the throbbing wound on her forehead.

His fingers on her cheek lifted her gaze to him. He said, "What did they do to you?" His eyes were on her forehead, focused on the bloody wound that her father had refused to let her heal. She was embarrassed by it and wished she had remembered to fix it before she stumbled into the room.

She shook her head. "It's nothing."

His eyebrows came down. "It's not nothing."

She was frowning more about him than herself. He was so thin, just the bones of the person he'd been a few months ago.

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