Roger stepped back at once and put the glove back on. It was obvious: he wasn't frightened — rather, he didn't want anything to be misunderstood. No extra gestures. No extra meaning.
I shot Blake a furious look. After such humiliation, he still dared to make a scene?
All my feelings, all the pain I had been holding back, suddenly broke free, shattering into anger. I was angry at Blake at his coldness, at that ostentatious indifference, at the habitual military commands with which he seemed to fence himself off from everything alive. That cold, unfeeling bastard irritated me more than anything.
I turned away. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to answer.
"I'll go," Roger said calmly and immediately dissolved into the shadows, leaving me alone with this block of ice.
"Come with me," Blake's voice sounded behind me already calm, almost warm.
I remained silent, torn between the urge to snap, to yell at him, and simply to leave, to go anywhere else, farther away.
"You said yourself that I can't help in any way," I hissed through clenched teeth.
A heavy sigh.
And then—
My body lifted off the floor. Warm, enveloping currents of wind caught me, holding me in the air and slowly carrying me toward him. I tried to resist, but it was useless. The magic held me firmly and confidently.
He pulled me closer. Face to face. I saw his tired, silver eyes. In mine, there must have been nothing but anger or a dull, stubborn displeasure.
"Stop resisting me," he said wearily.
And the next moment he simply slung me over his shoulder like a sack of rice and, without stopping, left the kitchen, climbing the steps upward.
Reaching the door to his room, he stopped and, almost without thinking, set me down on the floor. I stood before him like a sulking child. First the humiliation in front of the beautiful Guardians, now being carried and set down like a sack. Everything inside me tightened unpleasantly.
He took my hand. I didn't pull it away — I was more confused than anything else.
Gently, almost cautiously, he kissed my fingertips. Just like then. In that time which I seemed to have left far behind.
After that, I softly freed my hand and clasped my palms together in front of me, locking them.
"I can return to my former room. I don't think there's any need for me to sleep here with you, since Roger is now guarding me everywhere," I said calmly.
And only then did I realize that even I was surprised by myself. Just a few minutes ago, anger had been boiling inside me, I wanted to scream and make a scene.
And now, inside, there was only an even, level silence.
"Come. You'll see everything yourself," Blake said in the same gentle voice. "And then you'll understand why I asked you to stay aside."
That was unsettling. And a little frightening. I hadn't seen him this calm, almost careful, in a long time. Since the very day of the tragedy.
It felt as though an entire eternity had passed since then.
He opened the door and silently waited for me to enter. I didn't see the Guardians, but their muffled voices drifted from the bedroom, like whispers stuck between the walls.
The anger inside rose again — warm and unpleasant. He followed me in, closed the door, and with the same calm gesture invited me farther into his bedroom.
He wants me to watch him and his Guardians.
Seriously?
I grimaced at the thought alone, and he noticed it immediately.
"You do want to know why I sent you aside, don't you?" he continued evenly. "You are curious what exactly I was going to do with two Guardians?"
His voice remained level, soothing. There was neither hostility nor reproach in it — only a strange patience that made me uneasy.
"You could have simply not said that in front of them," I said quietly, and the memory of that humiliation pricked me again from the inside. "That would have been enough."
"I merely explained the reason Nimor summoned them," he replied. "Given that I have my own personal Guardian."
He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head slightly, as if revealing a truth I stubbornly refused to see.
"I still think it was unnecessary," my opinion remained unchanged.
"Come. You'll see everything yourself," he said calmly and gestured for me to enter the room.
I clenched my fists, but went in anyway.
It was better to see everything with my own eyes now than to live later with questions and unspoken things that would slowly eat me away from the inside.
The Guardians were no longer smiling so contentedly as before, but their eyes still burned, fixed unwaveringly on Blake. There was too much attention in that gaze. Too much expectation. He headed into the bathroom, and we followed him.
"Sit down," he said, pointing to a chair near the partition. "My Guardian expressed a desire to be present and observe the progress and the result."
Blake's cold tone returned — sharp, precise. It sent goosebumps racing over my skin.
The Guardians exchanged glances but said nothing. They merely bowed their heads obediently. They removed their shawls, letting the fabric slide quietly to the floor, and remained in sleeveless dresses with high, strict collars. Their hair was gathered into a single large bun and neatly secured. They were beautiful — there was no doubt about that. Graceful, measured in every movement. I could have looked like one of them… but I definitely didn't have that honed grace.
Blake took off his shirt.
And I froze.
Before me was his body, crisscrossed with black streaks, as if traces of lightning had run across his skin and frozen there forever. I stared at him, stunned. Perfect lines, strength, beauty — and over all of it scars, darkness, eaten into the flesh. Dark magic had struck his body, leaving nothing untouched.
How long had it been since he last healed?
He removed his trousers, remaining only in a loincloth, and then I saw more. On his legs, black marks lay in patches, dense and deep, as if the darkness were slowly rising from below.
The shock of what I saw pierced straight through me.
While the two Guardians looked at the nearly naked body of the Supreme Mage with open, almost reverent interest, I felt something entirely different.
Anxiety.
And a strange, heavy understanding I was not yet ready for.
Blake stepped into the bath and lowered himself into the water. It rippled softly, spilling over the edges. The enormous tub resembled a waterbed, too spacious. For a moment, memory treacherously threw up the image of that night, after I had been drugged with an aphrodisiac, but I immediately chased it away, hoping the blush wouldn't betray me and make me look even more foolish in this absurd situation.
The Guardians ran their palms over his shoulders, whispering something softly under their breath. The words were indistinct, dissolving into the air before they could take shape.
Did I really need to see this?
Blake clenched something like a black leather strap between his teeth.
Why?
On either side of him, the Guardians extended their arms forward, almost touching his chest, and began to whisper again — this time more insistently. Their palms glowed with a cold silver light. In the same instant, Blake's face twisted. Pain. Pain and fury reflected on it at once, woven together. He bit down on the strap.
A minute.
Another.
A muffled, restrained growl tore from Blake's chest. The veins on his neck, his arms, all over his body stood out more sharply than before. Every muscle tensed, became clearly visible — strong, perfect, and yet disfigured by dark magic.
Sweat appeared on the Guardians' foreheads. Their faces changed, but only slightly.
Blake, meanwhile, clenched his jaw, almost writhing in pain. His hands dug into the edges of the tub so hard that it seemed another moment and the stone would crack under the strain.
The light in the Guardians' palms intensified, and through the strap clenched in his teeth, a dull, menacing cry burst from Blake's chest. He threw his head back. His entire body flared red, as if the temperature had suddenly risen, as if magic were heating him from within. A light steam rose from his shoulders — almost imperceptible, but alarming.
And then I saw it.
One of the black lines on his chest began to slowly disappear. Very slowly. Almost imperceptibly. Just a little — but it was disappearing.
The Guardians lowered their hands, and the light went out as suddenly as it had appeared. They went to the table, wiped their faces with towels prepared in advance, and took a few sips of water — calmly, focused, as if bringing themselves back to order after heavy physical labor.
Blake remained sitting in the tub, his head thrown back. His chest rose and fell heavily. His hands loosened their grip and hung limp over the emptiness. It was a respite — short, fragile, wrung out.
So much strength.
So much pain because of a single line of dark magic that had penetrated him.
Then how… he?
The Guardians approached him again, taking the same position — precise, ritualistic.
"Are you ready, Supreme Mage?" one of them asked carefully.
"Proceed as usual," Blake answered in the same strong, cold voice, as if nothing had happened. As if the pain had left no trace in him.
The light flared again.
Blake's muscles tensed instantly, veins standing out sharply. From his chest, again and again, came a low, almost bestial cry. I couldn't see his face — he was looking at the ceiling — but his hands gripped the edges of the tub with such force that even I could see how much it hurt.
And then another roar. Deep, piercing, as if it came from the very depths, bypassing reason.
My heart couldn't take it.
"Stop!" The words tore from my lips on their own, and my body had already lunged forward, springing to my feet.
Everything inside me tightened. I couldn't watch anymore. I couldn't be a witness to his pain. Not like this. Not silently.
The light in their palms snapped off, and the Guardians turned toward me in question. I stood before them, breathing heavily and unevenly not like them. I was different. And they saw it.
Blake lowered his head and looked at me tiredly.
He knew I wouldn't be able to watch this. He knew — and that was why he had tried to send me away from the very beginning. And his body… almost every cell was pierced with dark magic. How much pain did he have to endure to cleanse himself completely? The very thought made my legs weaken. How much pain did he endure again and again for protection, for this endless struggle with dark mages?
Blake freed his mouth and gave an order:
"We'll take a break. I'll call you."
The Guardians bowed obediently and headed for the exit.
"No," I blurted out at once. "I'll finish everything myself."
The women stopped and looked at me questioningly. I shifted my gaze to Blake.
"You are dismissed," he repeated in a cold voice.
I waited until the Guardians left and the door closed behind them.
Only then was I able to catch my breath and release the tension constricting my chest.
I looked at Blake. He was already sitting in the tub in a relaxed, almost slouched posture, watching me attentively, expectantly, as if now it were my turn.
"Not a pleasant sight, is it?" Blake broke the silence in a calm, almost everyday tone.
That voice differed from the one he used with others. And even from the one that sounded beyond the walls of this room. As if he carefully hid it.
I stepped closer to the tub, examining his body, which had just undergone cleansing, and his face — calm but attentive. He watched me with mistrust, as if trying to understand what I would do next.
"If it's easier for you, you can return to your room tonight," he added.
I didn't answer. And I wasn't going to.
He had always been like this — commanding, deciding, directing.
But not today.
I shrugged off my brown mantle and stepped into the tub.
Blake flinched in surprise and straightened up — his relaxed posture vanished in an instant.
"You're a cold, unfeeling bastard. I hate you," the words burst out of me along with all the accumulated anger. I leaned closer. "But seeing you suffer… I can't. I can't bear it."
I ran my palm over the black marks on his chest. Under my fingers, his skin was hot. I felt his breathing grow heavy, ragged, as if anger and pain were intertwined within him.
"Would you help anyone, just so they wouldn't suffer?" his cold tone returned — sharp, defensive.
Anger boiled up again at those words, at everything that had been building inside me.
"Shut up," I covered his mouth with my palm. "Just… shut up."
Blake's eyes widened — from surprise or shock, I didn't know.
"Yes, maybe my head has forgotten. Yes, I hate you," my voice trembled, but I went on. "But my whole heart aches from your coldness toward me. From the way pain penetrates you in order to cleanse you. I just… can't."
I pressed my forehead to his chest.
After that, I could no longer look him in the eyes.
There were no words, no reaction from Blake.
Only after a few moments did I lift my head and meet his gaze — still confused, unusually open. Slowly, I removed my hand from his lips.
"Well… or maybe I'm just not your type," I smirked, trying to hide behind that awkward joke.
Stupid. I had seriously decided that under his mask there was at least something directed toward me. And there, apparently, was only protection. And care. And nothing more.
What a self-important fool I was.
I pulled away, already about to leave. I needed to disappear before he came up with a new punishment for me for this stunt.
But I didn't manage to stand up.
His hand closed around my wrist, and the next moment he pulled me to him. I fell onto his chest — hard, hot, like stone heated from within.
"I didn't answer," his voice was low. And so unexpectedly gentle that it pierced straight through me.
My heart pounded wildly. My hands trembled.
Was this really Blake?
He ran his thumb along my lower lip.
Yes. It was him.
But then why did his voice cut so deeply into my consciousness, reaching straight to my heart without asking permission?
"Don't doubt yourself," his caring voice echoed in my temples, causing a slight dizziness. "Never doubt yourself, Biana."
He gently kissed my forehead. In that moment, his cold, measured mask crumbled. Before me was a different Blake — calm, attentive, astonishingly warm.
"Are you… fake, Blake?" slipped out of me unconsciously.
"Doubts appeared?" he smiled faintly and pulled me closer.
"Your caring and gentle tone gets into the heart without permission," I admitted quietly.
And then he couldn't hold back. Abruptly, almost desperately, he pulled me to him. His kiss was deep, insistent, as if too many restrained words and feelings had accumulated in it. My breathing faltered — there wasn't enough air. He filled all the space around, leaving no room for thoughts or doubts.
I pulled back slightly, and he realized he had already been pressing me against the edge of the tub. Blake immediately retreated, sat back, as if regaining control.
But I needed him.
Needed him to fill the emptiness he had left me alone with after the tragedy.
He had to compensate for it in some way.
He ran a hand through his hair and covered his mouth with his palm, burning me with his gaze. There was too much in that look — restraint, tension, what he wouldn't allow himself to name.
I wasn't going to let him go so easily.
I stood up and got rid of the wet clothes that had long since stopped hiding anything. He didn't remove his hand from his face, but his eyes burned brightly, heavily. I took a step closer, feeling the air thicken between us. I ran my hand over the loincloth. I could distinctly feel his desire beneath it.
He caught my hand.
"You shouldn't," he said quietly.
"I want to," I admitted. "And it's not just about helping you."
He leaned closer. His lips touched my neck — cautiously, again and again, as if he still doubted. His breath made my head spin.
"Bee…" he whispered, and that name, spoken like that, spread warmth inside me. "Bee…"
Everything blurred.
Desire grew, hot and uncontrollable, as if I had been poisoned again — only now the poison was him.
His hand slid between my thighs and found the point of desire. I gasped, and Blake immediately pulled me closer — carefully, almost gently, as if I could shatter from one careless movement. His touches were like the ones I remembered… but today they drove me mad without any magic, without the help of tea. And today, it wasn't enough.
"I want you completely," I breathed. "Not just like this."
My hand tore off the bandage and slid down the entire length of his cock. His body responded instantly.
A quiet, low moan from Blake near my neck echoed inside me with a flash of impatience. It grew, demanded more, sweeping away the remnants of restraint.
His two fingers entered me, and I moaned uncontrollably. And I immediately understood: no. Not like this.
I gathered the remnants of my will and caught his hand.
"I don't want it like this," I whispered. "I want it for real."
I squeezed it in my palm, letting him know without words what I meant. Our breathing had long since become uneven, mixed together, becoming one, close, honest.
"It will hurt you less this way… to accept me," he whispered gently.
Those words touched something deeper than the body. Thoughts flared and immediately scattered. Had we already done this? Or had it only seemed so? Now it didn't matter.
My hips trembled. I pushed his hand away. He didn't resist.
I guided him with my hand and realized he truly was large for my fragile, slightly gaunt body. But desire devoured me.
"Bee," Blake whispered, running his thumb along my lips.
I could no longer wait. I couldn't retreat.
I stepped toward him, and he entered me. The world narrowed to a single sensation: closeness intertwined with sharp, almost cutting pain, and with pleasure that rolled in after it.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, catching my reaction.
I pulled him to me and kissed him. Even then it felt like too little — his warmth, his closeness, the very fact that he was here, with me. I wanted all of him. Without remainder. Without boundaries.
Gradually my body adjusted to the sensation, accepted it, and I began to move. With each movement, pleasure rolled in waves — slowly, insistently, penetrating deeper and deeper. It filled me, displacing pain, fear, doubt.
Not enough.
I wanted more.
I quickened the pace, allowing myself to lose control. Our breathing mingled, moans dissolved in the sound of the water. It splashed over the edges of the tub, as if it couldn't contain what was happening between us.
I looked at him. At Blake.
His face was no longer cold, no longer closed. The tension had given way to something else — heavy, warm, real. In his gaze was the same thing that was in me — bliss mixed with vulnerability, with complete surrender to the moment.
The world disappeared.
There was only us.
And this feeling, as if I had finally stopped being empty.
My body no longer obeyed me; it found the rhythm itself, reached forward on its own, as if it had known this moment long before the mind. The sensation exploded from within, swift and deafening, rolling in waves that stole my breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to restrain sound or movement.
Blake's hands held me tightly now — not cautiously, not restrained. His palms slid over my back, my hips, pulling me closer, not letting me go. His fingers tightened, leaving heat behind, and that heat echoed within me as a new flash.
I opened my eyes and saw him.
He was in the same state. Tense, having lost his habitual control, with parted lips and heavy breathing.
The wave covered me completely.
I arched toward him, feeling everything inside tighten and then scatter, leaving behind a blinding sense of fullness. There were no thoughts, no time, no pain. Only me and him, and this sensation, hot and all-consuming. He shuddered and just as gently whispered my name.
"Bee… Bee…"
He held me as the tremor passed through my body. His hands didn't let go until my breathing began to return, until reality started to emerge through the haze.
I was still in his arms. He looked at me with a gaze that still devoured me. Without a trace of embarrassment or coldness.
"Forgive me, but I think I won't be able to cleanse myself completely in one go," he whispered gently, kissing me on the lips.
Below, I felt everything grow hard again.
"One time won't be enough for me to heal either," I added, looking at his satisfied smile.