~Lyra~
I stepped aside to grab the cleansing oil. When I turned back, Kael had already ripped off his blood-soaked, torn shirt and tossed it into the trash. His body, lean and sculpted, was marked with savage gashes—old scars, new wounds—etched across his back like brutal brushstrokes.
“Wait,” I said, stepping in front of him. “Use this when you wash. The fake blood might irritate your skin.”
He looked down, then up again, his tone flat. “Troublesome.”
Right. Troublesome. As if that face, that body, that waistline didn’t deserve a little maintenance.
I shook my head, turned to put the bottle away— “You do it,” he said behind me.
I turned, blinking. “What?”
Kael caught my wrist and pulled me into the bathroom with him.
He sat on the edge of the tub, arms stretching out on either si
