Page 42 of Kazimir

She nodded, the relief rolling through her like a tide. For a long time, we just stood like that, watching the ghosts flicker in oil and shadow.

I wondered if she missed a life of having a family; if the sight of painted faces felt like some echo of a past the world would never give back. Angels of her rank had no true family; the Creator was as distant to them as the North Star to a peasant. The Goddess, whose threads ran through all supernatural fates, was likely a myth to her—one she’d never dared to believe in.

I wanted to ask if she longed for that belonging, if she wanted to know the names and stories of every scar on my heart. But she was so weary, and I was so desperate to keep her whole, that I let the question fade before it was spoken.

Instead, I kissed her temple, lingered in the scent of her, and steered her gently toward the bathroom door.

Tonight, I would give her not answers, but comfort.

Tomorrow, the war would come to us both.

The bathroom had always struck me as a folly—larger than some New York apartments, with a bathing pool carved from a single block of Carrara marble and broad steps leading into the water like the entrance to some lost pagan temple. Tonight, though, I saw it as a sanctuary.

I twisted the taps and let hot water thunder into the pool. Steam billowed, scented with ylang-ylang and the sharper, green bite of juniper. I poured in a vial of salts, crushed them with my palm, and watched as the crystals hissed and vanished into the rolling surface. In the mirror, I caught her watching me, arms wrapped around herself as though holding her body together.

“Come,” I said, voice low. I opened my arms, and she came into them without hesitation.

She clung to me, cheek pressed to my chest, her hands fisting the back of my shirt. I lifted her chin and kissed her, soft at first, then more demanding, tasting the salt of old tears and the promise of something new. I wanted her in every way—body, blood, memory—but tonight I would settle for her trust.

I slipped my hands to her waist. “May I undress you?” I whispered.

She flinched, not from fear but from surprise, as if the thought had never occurred. She nodded, and I let my fingers find the zipper at her back.

The dress peeled away with a hush, leaving her in black lace and the shimmer of her own skin. She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly shy, and I laughed gently, brushing her hands aside.

“I have seen thousands of women, Devon. None so beautiful as you.” I said it not as flattery but as fact.

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the way her lips fought to hide a smile.

The first thing I noticed was her light—it was brighter now, a faint pearlescence rippling along the lines of her collarbone, the shell curve of her breasts. In the candlelight, it flickered and danced, drawing my eyes and refusing to let go.

She looked down at herself, bewildered. “Am I… glowing?”

I traced the line from her shoulder to her wrist, savoring the feel of her. “Yes. It is your power waking up. You have been asleep a long time, but now you know who you are. It changes you.”

She touched her own arm, marveling at the effect. “It’s like being made of moonlight. Or silver.”

I let my lips brush her ear. “You are made of both, and more.”

Her body was small, but not fragile; under the skin were muscles honed by years of work and survival, and a will no god could break. I undid the clasp of her bra, letting it fall to the tiles. Then I knelt to slip her panties down her legs, kissing the inside of each knee as I did. She giggled, nervous and alive, and her hands fluttered uselessly in her hair.

I guided her to the edge of the pool, sat her down, and reached for the button of my own shirt. She watched me, eyes wide, as I unbuttoned, unbuckled, and let the clothes fall away.

Her breath hitched at the sight of my body—broad shoulders, the old scars, the line of hair down my chest, and lower, the part of me that had not been soft since the moment I first smelled her in my club.

She gaped, her face burning scarlet. “Jesus. Is that—are you always—”

I grinned. “No. Only with you, kiska. It is not something I can hide.”

She stared another moment, then shook her head in disbelief. “It’s… impressive.”

I slid into the water behind her; the heat wrapping me in silk. “Do not be afraid,” I said, drawing her to my lap. “I will not hurt you.”

She sat between my legs, her back to my chest, the water lapping at her thighs, and let her head fall to my shoulder. I tucked my cock aside, not wanting to pressure her, but she squirmed closer and I felt the heat of her even through the bath.

I gathered her hair and spread it like a fan over my arm, letting the water rinse away the sweat and fear. I massaged her scalp, kneaded the knots from her neck and shoulders, and felt her relax inch by inch.

When her eyes closed and her breathing slowed, I said, “Tell me. What do you remember?”