When it finally dawned on her that she was not hallucinating, her eyes widened in alarm. A brilliant crimson hue surged across her cheeks, spreading quickly to her ears and neck.
Freja's fingers shot toward the towel with the desperation of a cornered animal, her knuckles whitening as she snatched the fabric tight against her soaked skin. The steam curled around her like smoke from a fire, hazing her silhouette as she stared wide-eyed at the intruder.
"W-Wh… wha… what are you doing here?!" Her voice cracked then roared, a sharp, high-pitched cry that rang out in the marbled silence of the bathhouse, echoing against wet stone and maybe far beyond the vaulted arches.
She staggered backward, feet skidding across slick tile—bare soles unable to find purchase on the film of steam-slick moisture. Her heel shot out from under her and she flailed with a sharp gasp—but before her skull could meet the brutal stone corner behind her, a hand caught hers.
Nathan.