A splash sounded behind him, accompanied by a startled little squeak-scream.
Grinning, he turned around and went to crouch at the water’s edge.
16
“Hey!” Andromeda splashed water at him. “You’re supposed to keep your back turned.”
“I won’t look under the water,” he promised her as he got up to prowl along the edge of the pond. “Are you cold?”
Her teeth clattered as she said, “Fr-freezing. But the b-blood. Want it off. Rain wasn’t enough.”
Finding what he needed, he tore up a clump and went back to her. “Come here and I’ll wash your hair.”
Giving him a suspicious look, she nonetheless came over so that her back was braced against the edge. He knelt behind her and tapped her shoulder with a single claw. “Here. This grass will help you be clean.” The smell was sharp, lemony.
“Oh!” She looked up and smiled at him and he felt good.
Crushing the grass he still held, he retracted his claws, then unraveled her braid and used the grass like a soap. He did it quickly because she was shivering so hard her bones were almost clattering against one another. “Angels are built for cold.” For the icy places high above the earth.
“Just because we can stand it doesn’t mean we all like it,” she said, sounding grumpy.
“Go under and rinse your hair.”
Taking a deep breath, she went under and stayed under for long enough to come back up with sleek, shining hair. “I hate the cold. I hate the cold. I hate the cold.”
He looked around at the clothes she’d taken off. “Your clothes are all bloody.” And there was nowhere for him to steal her more.
“Let’s wash them. I don’t mind wearing wet clothes. The reborn stink is horrible.”
He found more of the lemony grass and mashed it up with her tunic before throwing it to her so she could wash it. He did the same with her pants and with the tiny panties that didn’t smell like reborn, but like her. Warm and musky and feminine and making him want to lick her.
“Take off your T-shirt and I’ll do that, too,” she said as she rinsed out the clothes.
Ripping it off, he handed it to her while taking her wet things and throwing them over the branches of the trees around them. Then, deciding there was no reason to keep on his pants, he began to strip them off. It was as he went to empty his pockets that he realized his phone was gone, likely having fallen out during the fight with the reborn.
His family would worry if he didn’t make contact; he’d do so at the first opportunity.
“Naasir!”
“Close your eyes.” He growled without really meaning it. “There are no threats here and I want to be clean.”
Her wings faced him as she said, “Yes, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you wait so long.”
Leaving his pants on the bank with a hunk of the grass, he dove naked into the pond. The icy temperature made him grit his teeth, but he loved being in water itself, loved the cool slide of it against his skin. Breaking the surface, he pushed back his hair and saw Andromeda’s eyes on him. He grinned and swam over to her. “You’re looking.”
“I can’t see in the dark.” She tried to frown at him, but he could smell the heat on her skin, as if her blood had rushed to it. “Where are your pants?”
“On the bank,” he said lazily, stealing some of the grass she was holding so he could scrub off the reborn stink.
“Turn around.”
When he obeyed, she rewarded him by working the crushed grass through his hair. He leaned back, a deep sound rumbling in his chest. He felt her pause, but she started again a heartbeat later, her strong, clever fingers massaging his scalp. When she moved her hands to rub the grass over his shoulders and back, he felt his already-hard cock throb.
It was a good thing she couldn’t see in the dark or she’d probably leave.
He didn’t want her to leave; he wanted to play with her.
“Down.” She pushed at his shoulders.
Going under, he washed out the grass from his hair. This time when he came back up, she was paddling over to grab his pants so she could wash them out. Her wings were spread out on the water, the blood having sluiced off, and he really, really, really wanted to touch. Sidling closer, he ran one hand over her primaries.
She jerked and shot him a look over her shoulder. “You know that’s bad behavior.”
Heading to the bank, he reached up and grabbing his wet but clean T-shirt, threw it at a tree. It hooked on a branch and opened out. The night air would dry it a little at least. “I’m often bad,” he said honestly. “I like your wings.”
Instead of continuing on the topic, her skin suddenly flushed red hot. “Um, here are your pants. I rinsed them out.”
“Thank you.” He knew it was polite to say that when someone did a nice thing for you. “Why are you red?”
She swam away instead of answering. Throwing his jeans toward a tree and managing to get them hanging over a branch, he swam after her, his pulse racing. Was she playing with him? But when he came up beside her after having dived under the water, she gasped. “You said you wouldn’t look!”
“I didn’t. I closed my eyes.” It had been tempting to break his promise, but promises were to be kept. It was one of the first things Dmitri had taught him—by keeping his own promises.
“I’ll bring you the cured meat you want when I return.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Dmitri had been gone a long time in the child’s mind—it must’ve been three months at least. Naasir hadn’t forgotten the promise, but he hadn’t really expected Dmitri to remember. He’d just been excited at the return of the man he saw as his father.