Doris rinsed her hair of the accumulated mud and debris from the days' journey. The warm water of the shower was a welcome relief to her aching muscles. She pressed her forehead against the wall of the shower, relishing the feel as it washed over her neck and down her back. She watched the errant drops collect at her feet, her mind drifting back to thoughts of the Hunter.
His stoic demeanor was often difficult to read but she thought knew the man well enough to know that something was weighing on his mind. She had seen it in his eyes when he looked at her, a glimmer of undeniable heat so carefully shrouded underneath his typical indifference.
There was no denying her feelings for him. Over the years she had been able to distance herself from them, rationalizing that they had been brought on in a haze of gratitude and naive desire, intensified by her fear and vulnerability. But she now knew that that wasn't true. When she had seen the commotion on the riverbank today and heard the whispers of a dhampir she had moved as if possessed, excitement flooding her veins at even the possibility of seeing him again. Just the thought made her heart begin to race anew as she recalled the sight of him astride his mount, tall and proud and peerless. She had felt it then, an automatic, almost frantic magnetism that drew her to him.
And she knew he had felt it, too.
Doris shivered despite the heat of the shower, a pleasant tingling settling in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him as she had never wanted another man before. To feel his cool hands along her skin and the slide of his lips over hers; to taste and be tasted.
Doris swallowed at the thought, bringing one hand up to rest at the base of her throat. She could feel the slightly raised twin scars just above her left clavicle, the only remnants of the Count's Kiss. Her fingers drifted up to lay flat against her wildly fluttering pulse, wondering if D could hear it over the noise of the storm. Of course, she knew of his lineage, of the terrible thirst that burned in his blood. And she also knew that it was not in a dhampir's nature to kiss with lips alone.
The thought of D holding her, pinning her body against him with his formidable strength made Doris quiver, a sensuous line of tension spreading from her belly to her loins. She imagined the feel of his long fingers running along her scalp, gripping into her hair and pulling it away from her nape, exposing her throat to his gaze, his dark eyes hot and hungry as they drank in her bare skin.
A sudden wave of dizziness made Doris stand and straighten. Her face was deeply flushed and her breath was coming a little too fast. She swallowed again and reached out to turn the water temperature down until it was tolerably cold. Outside the bathroom she could hear the sound of D returning from the stables, presumably with wood for the fire. The reality of their situation slotted back into place around her.
Frowning, Doris snapped off the water and squeezed the excess from her hair. Her skin cooled quickly in the air of the bathroom, helping to clear her mind. The Hunter was a forthright and noble man, the pinnacle of dignity and fortitude. To even propose such things to him would be…
But could she? Should she?
And would he…?
Doris shook her head, deciding it was best not to dwell on it for the time being. She picked up her dry clothes, thankful she had had the forethought to pack warmly, even if it meant sleeping in jeans. The draftiness of the cabin was making itself known as she moved around the tiny lavatory and she could only imagine how much colder it would get throughout the night.
She dressed quickly and wound a scarf around her neck, tying her damp hair back with a leather strap. She gathered her discarded wet clothes and shook them off in the shower stall. A flare of sudden light from around the doorframe caught her eye, and she smiled softly. D had gotten the fire started for her.
The bathroom door opened, a wisp of steam pouring out as Doris rejoined him in the main room of the cabin. Her skin was rosy from the shower and her eyes lighted warmly in the glow of the fire. She had a small smile on her lips before she walked out and it immediately brightened when she saw him. D stood, closing the face of the stove and slotting open the vents to allow the heated air to circulate.
"Oh, D," Doris called softly behind him, her tone tender but playfully admonishing. He turned to face her, watching with guarded anticipation when she put down her wet bundle of clothes and stepped up to him, brazen as ever. He remained perfectly still as she brought one hand up to smooth a strand of hair from his brow. "You're soaking wet," she said, a familiar fond ring to her words. He had heard it before, once, when she had comforted her brother after a long, tiring day of work on their farm.
Without a second thought Doris unwound the scarf from her neck and brought it up near the Hunter's pale cheek, her expression intent. She tilted her head up in silent question, her hand hovering just above his collar, her eyes trained on him. D nodded, and she took a half a step closer, reaching up to brush the rain from Hunter's brow with the soft material of her scarf. She used her hands to push aside the wet hair that clung to his jaw and cheeks, her fingers leaving pleasant trails of warmth.
Doris savored the feeling of his skin under her touch, mesmerized by its impossible smoothness. She worked unhurriedly, wiping away the rain along his hairline and following the thin streams of moisture down to where they met the high collar of his shirt. Her fingers grazed the skin of his throat and she felt the Hunter shift minutely, his utter stillness broken. She glanced up to find him staring at her, his face pristine and unreadable.
A weighted silence hung between them for a moment. And then another. The Hunter's eyes flicked down to her hands. "You still wear a scarf," he remarked impassively, not quite a question.
Doris nodded, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "People tend to stare," she said, shrugging lightly. "Whether I wear it or not, they always try to look. I'd rather not give them the satisfaction." His hair and clothes still dripped softly in the quiet of the room. She cocked one eyebrow. "Your hair?" she asked, one hand motioning for him to turn around.
The Hunter obliged, eying her briefly before turning his back to her. She lifted the end of his long locks, squeezing gently to wring out the rain. She admired the silky, black strands as she ran her fingers along, untangling them and drying with the scarf as she went. She worked back up to his nape, the strong line of his shoulders even and moving lightly with his breath. When she reached his scalp she felt a flush starting to creep back into her cheeks at the curious intimacy of the action. The man was a consummate professional, a warrior in every sense, and yet he had yielded to her ministrations without hesitation, exposing his back to her. What had started as an innocuous, unassuming task now seemed to have developed into something more.
Emboldened by their position, Doris lowered the scarf, instead bringing her hand up to the crown of his head, trailing her fingers down his temple to touch the top of one pale, pointed ear. The motion got a reaction from the Hunter, just a faint twitch of one shoulder. She looked and found his eyes closed, to her surprise, but the reason was made evidently clear a moment later by the sudden change in the air. The familiar surge of a frigid aura ghosted along her skin, making her hair stand on end.
D stepped away from her, his boots falling heavier than usual as he moved out of her reach. Doris remained motionless, watching patiently as the repressed tension eased from the Hunter's form. He turned back to face her after a minute. His dark eyes were clear and bright, reflecting the dim glow of the firelight. Or so she thought. "Doris," he said, his voice low. There was an edge of roughness there, scarcely detectable under his usual icy tone.
Doris shivered, her hands falling to her sides, the scarf all but forgotten. "D," she whispered, no more than a breath. She let the damp material fall from her fingers, the sound impossibly loud in the stillness of the cabin. Without another word she crossed to the Hunter, folding herself against his unyielding chest and rising on her toes to press a kiss against his lips.