He couldn’t help the flare of jealousy at the mention of another man. “Adam?”
“One of my older brothers,” she explained. Her gaze returned to his chest, and she pointed at his tattoos. “What are those?”
He touched the markings covering him from the right shoulder to the wrist. He had more on his back and upper right chest. “They’re tattoos. Ink markings that we use to display our victories. Do you not have these among your people?”
She shook her head and started to reach out to touch them. She pulled her hand back suddenly, as if embarrassed she had thought to touch him without asking. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest, dragging her enough that her breasts brushed against his chest. “Touch me, Alys.”
Her hands felt so good on his skin. It had been so long since anyone had touched him with such gentleness. He couldn’t remember any woman touching him with such reverence. Her fingertips glided over his skin, tracing the outlines of his tattoos. His graduation emblem. His first ever flight. The day he earned his wings. The first time he fought in an air battle. The first time he took down a Splinter ship. Victory. Death. Victory. Death.
“Why only this side?”
“In our culture, we reserve the left side for our family.” He covered her hand with his own and dragged it across his chest to the spot just above his heart. “We’ll take my family’s crest and add our own touches. When we have children, they’ll be added as well.” He lowered his hand, but hers stayed on his chest. He carefully unbuckled her collar so it wouldn’t get wet. “You may remove this when bathing, but you are never to leave our quarters without it around your neck.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when our probationary period is over, we’ll pick out something in a different color for you.” He eyed her neck and thought of how lovely a pale green would look there. “If you want it, I'm willing to discuss a ring. I’m told they’re important in your culture.”
“They are,” she said, “but I’m not sure if it matters since we aren’t married properly.”
He detected a bit of worry in her voice and wanted to reassure her. “We have the ability to conduct weddings here.”
“Are you religious?”
“No, but you are?”
She nodded. “Is that all right?”
“I have no issue with your beliefs so long as you don’t try to convince me to share them.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t. My faith doesn’t require me to proselytize.”
Glad that was out of the way, he explained the controls in the bathroom and their water allotments and restrictions. He turned on the shower and asked her if it was comfortable. She placed her hand under the stream and winced. He waited to see if she would ask for him to lower the temperature. She needed to know that he would always take her comfort into consideration.
“It’s a little hot, but if you’re happy with it, I’ll be fine.”
Her response confirmed his suspicion that she was used to sacrificing her wants for others. That needed to change, and it would change starting now. “Adjust the water to the temperature you prefer.”
She hesitated before tapping the control screen to lower the temperature one single degree. She glanced at him as if to make sure he was serious about her adjusting it to her liking. When he nodded, she lowered it a further four degrees and touched the water again. This time, her hand stayed in the stream, and he was reassured it was to her liking.
“Get in,” he instructed. When she turned to step into the shower, he got his first look at her back. His gaze swept down her spine and settled on the thick scars crossing her ass and upper thighs. His stomach dropped, and his desire flagged. Someone had hurt her. Badly. Often.
Suddenly, her curiosity about his interest in causing her pain made sense. She knew what real pain was. It wasn’t a sexy game to her. It wasn’t part of an erotic journey. It was sharp and cutting, and it scarred both physically and mentally.
Alys glanced back at him as she unbraided her dark hair. The shy and uncertain smile mixed with her budding trust filled him with the most profound need to protect her. The scars on her body and her behaviors told him all he needed to know about her childhood. She had never been cared for or treated as precious by her family.
But he was her family now. He was her mate.
And, as Swift joined her in the shower, he swore that he would show her just how truly precious she was.
Chapter Seven
Alys couldn’t decide if she liked the drying system installed in the bathroom. The blast of warm air had been fine when it helped to dry her body, but for her hair? She dreaded combing out the knots and taming her frizzy locks.
“There are attachments meant for long hair,” Swift said from behind her. “I wasn’t sure what you would need so I only picked up the basic bridal kit. I can take you shopping tomorrow, or you can use your tablet to select what you want from the shops and have it delivered.”
She started to remind him she had no money, but then remembered she didn’t have to worry about that. He was her husband, and he would provide what she needed as her father had done before him. “I won’t need much.”
“I’m not against thrifty spending habits, but I want you to be happy here, Alys.” He placed his big hands on her shoulders and held her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “You’re mine now. If I want to spoil you with things, I will.”
She couldn’t even imagine going into a shop and buying whatever she wanted. Her own innate sense of frugality wouldn’t allow it. Then again, she wouldn’t decline some nicer quality clothing or more comfortable shoes. Maybe some more of that luxuriously foamy soap that supposedly smelled of the beach...
“Are you hungry?” Swift combed his fingers through her slightly damp hair and drew the strands together at her nape. He began to loosely braid the hair, surprising her with his gentle care.
“Not really,” she admitted, her stomach a mess of nerves. She kept expecting him to take her to bed, but he seemed to be in no rush. Eating was the absolute last thing she wanted to do right now, especially if the rest of his food offerings tasted as terrible as that bar back on the ship.
“Are you nervous?” He finished braiding her hair and secured it with a strange band he had retrieved from a drawer. Everywhere she turned, there was evidence of his preparations for taking a wife. She found it reassuring that he had taken some time to consider her comfort.
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it. Surely, he could see it in the slight tremble to her hands and her faster than usual breathing.
“Is it something I’m doing?”
She shook her head. It was quite the opposite, actually. She didn’t know how to tell him that without absolutely dying of embarrassment. As much as she feared the actual act of marital relations, she didn’t think she could handle much more of the anxiety and anticipation. She wanted to get it over with, put the first time behind her and move on. But telling him that? She couldn’t figure out how to say it without sounding rude or cold.
“Is it something I’m not doing?” Swift asked, his intelligent gaze scrutinizing her reflection.
She swallowed hard. Could she admit it? Would he judge her? Make fun of her?