Episode 74

When I entered the bathroom with a few towels in hand, the space was already prepared. The steam-filled room obscured most details, but I could make out the figure of Igon, reclining with his head resting against the edge of the bathtub. Though I made an effort not to let my footsteps echo too loudly, he slowly turned his head in my direction. Even through the swirling steam, his eyes gleamed with clarity.

He scanned me slowly, then turned away, waving a hand to signal that I shouldn’t come closer just yet.

“Come over when I call.”

Unsure of what to do, I turned around, my back to him. Every sound from behind—rippling water, the occasional sigh—seemed to sharpen my senses, making my shoulders twitch involuntarily. It felt as though his gaze lingered on me, even when I couldn’t see it.

“Towel.”

His voice, low and concise, cut through the mist. I turned back and approached, but I didn’t have the courage to look directly at him, keeping my eyes on the floor instead. Kneeling beside the tub, I handed him the towel.

“Look up.”

A wet hand brushed under my chin, guiding my face upward. Before I could meet his gaze, my eyes caught on his broad, bare chest. I quickly shifted my gaze upward, focusing on his face. His soaked lashes framed blue-gray eyes, slightly softened, and the corners of his mouth, now flushed red from the heat, curved into a faint smile.

“You have to look at me if you’re going to wash me, don’t you?”

Droplets of water clung to the ends of Igon’s damp hair, falling onto the back of my hand. The hem of my skirt soaked up the water pooling on the floor. I lifted a trembling hand, starting to wipe the water from his neck and shoulders. Igon occasionally let out a low chuckle or watched me intently, making my breath catch in my throat. I tried to focus, forcing myself to think rational thoughts.

I told myself that I was simply cleaning a sculpture, concentrating on the way the cloth moved over the defined muscles that felt like they’d been chiseled from stone. But what caught my attention more were the scars that crisscrossed his body—far more numerous than I had expected. Seeing them clearly in the bright light, they looked far different from the few glimpses I’d caught before, some of them long and severe, hinting at past near-fatal wounds.

Though these wounds had long healed, my touch grew gentler as I passed over the rough, uneven scars, fearful that I might inadvertently remind him of old pains he had long since put behind him.

“Are they disgusting?”

The question came out of nowhere, making me reflexively turn my head toward him. We were close, and Igon’s eyes met mine with a curious, almost contemplative expression. His gaze was sharp, but it lacked hostility, as though he was studying my reaction.

I slowly shook my head. Igon, who had been looking down at me, let out a low chuckle and turned his head to the side. It was a coarse laugh, one that didn’t match his elegant appearance. His wet fingers played with his long, damp hair, twisting it absently before letting it fall over his shoulders. I stayed quiet, watching him.

His fingers, which had been combing through my hair, suddenly pressed against my earlobe, and I winced at the unexpected pressure of his nail digging in. Startled, I pushed him away, one hand flying up to cover my ear. There was no hint of playfulness on Igon’s face, despite his teasing gesture. He just kept watching me with those unwavering eyes, making it impossible to understand his intentions—why he was toying with me or why he looked at me that way.

The humid warmth of the bathroom seemed to close in, making my clothes stick uncomfortably to my skin. Perhaps it was the heat in the room, or maybe it was the cold sweat running down my back, but my mind felt foggy, unable to think clearly. I, too, found myself looking back at him. After a moment, he sighed, as if the game he’d been playing had lost its appeal.

“That’s enough.”

He said, pushing me back slightly.

My legs, numb from kneeling for so long, tingled as I tried to rise. But just as I started to stand, Igon moved first, getting up from the tub. The water sloshed around him, pouring back into the bath. When I caught a glimpse of his bare legs, I froze, turning my head down as far as it could go. As he reached for the robe beside the tub, I barely managed to breathe.

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you getting up?”

He asked, sounding like he might come closer. Panicked, I scrambled to my feet, trying to steady myself, but my numb foot buckled, and I lost my balance. I nearly fell hard to the floor, but Igon’s arm shot out, catching me around the waist just in time.

I let out a shaky sigh of relief, but then I caught a glimpse through the opening of his robe, revealing his bare chest. I gasped, quickly shoving him away as I tried to stand on my own. But as I shifted my weight, a sharp pain radiated from my ankle. I must have twisted it in my surprise.

I bit down on my lip, unsteady on my feet as I tried to hide the pain.

“Are you hurt?”

Igon asked, his tone still casual. I shook my head quickly, denying it.

“That’s not true.”

He chided softly, scooping me up effortlessly. In my current, smaller form, it was easy for him to lift me. He carried me over to the chair beside the bathtub and set me down gently.

Igon knelt in front of me, lifting my skirt just enough to examine my ankle. Before I could protest, he cradled my foot in one hand, pressing carefully along my ankle to assess the injury. A brief look of concentration crossed his face, and when he pressed on the twisted side, I let out a small, involuntary gasp of pain.

“It doesn’t seem broken, but it’s swollen.”

He observed. Now that he knew what was wrong, he should have let go, but he kept hold of my ankle, his blue eyes fixed intently on the injured area. Something about the strange light in his gaze made my skin prickle with unease.

I tried to pull my foot away, but his grip tightened, pinning my leg down against his thigh. For a moment, a terrifying thought crossed my mind—that he might actually hurt me, that he could easily break my ankle if he wished. Panic welled up in my chest, and I clung to his shoulders, my hands turning pale against the firm muscles beneath his robe.

He lifted his head to look at me, his expression unreadable as my gaze remained focused on his chest.

“Look at me.”

He gripped my chin, tilting my face up until my eyes met his. The blue-gray depths of his eyes seemed to trap me, pulling me into their chilling clarity. Memories of a distant summer came flooding back—sunlight filtering through leaves, the briny scent of water, and the warmth of an embrace holding me steady in the cold river. How could I even begin to describe such memories? The feelings attached to them had no shape, no easy words to capture them. The beauty and comfort of those moments could never be recaptured.

As if waking from a dream, the pain in my ankle and the pressure of his grip on my chin brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to let go, so I raised my tear-filled eyes to him, silently pleading. A single tear slipped down my cheek, landing on his skin.

The warmth of the tear slid down, tracing a path across his stern, unfeeling face. His damp, reddened lips curved into a twisted smile. He closed the distance between us, brushing his lips lightly against mine as if pleading with me in return. Just as I tried to pull back, his hand caught the back of my neck, holding me in place, and he pulled me back into the kiss.

Our lips met. As my breath hitched and I parted my lips, his warm tongue slipped between them, claiming the space with a quiet urgency. The deep scent of him filled my lungs as I breathed in, and the sound of our wet kisses echoed through the steam-filled room. The sensation was so intense it made my head spin. Igon held my lips for what felt like an eternity before pulling back slightly, leaving me half-reclined, braced against the edge with him between my legs.

His head came to rest against my waist, and in a low, almost growling voice, he muttered a curse. It sounded like the desperate, raw sound of a beast in pain. Then he lunged forward again, pressing closer to me with a hunger that I could feel in every touch. I accepted him, meeting his fervent kisses as they rained down like a summer storm. I couldn’t decide if I hated him or if I loved him, if I wanted to push him away or pull him closer. In the end, I chose not to give this feeling a name. I had left behind complexities like that in my past life.

I pressed my forehead against his strong shoulder, trying to steady my breath. When I turned my head to meet his eyes, I saw the raw, unquenched desire that lingered there, the thirst that even these kisses couldn’t fully satisfy. At some point, my damp maid’s uniform had slipped down around my ankles, soaked through. His fingers traced slowly along my collarbone, brushing the thin fabric that clung to my skin, and he whispered against my ear with a voice that felt like a dark temptation.

“If you don’t want this, push me away.”

His low, husky words sounded like a challenge, like an invitation I couldn’t ignore.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice a rumble against my skin as his lips brushed my cheek and neck over and over. My hands, clinging to him, trembled violently. I exhaled shakily, trying to cling to the last shreds of rational thought.

Should I continue with this, let it spiral out of control like playing with fire? Was it wise to start a relationship that would become nothing more than a passing rumor, a brief whisper in the halls of gossip? I hesitated for a moment, considering whether I should stop or plunge forward without a care for the future.

But that uncertainty vanished as he moved closer, and my doubts dissolved like smoke. I clung to him with the reckless desperation of a moth drawn to a flame. I repeated his name silently in my mind, over and over.

‘This is what I wanted.’

I had wished for love like this, for someone to hold me this fiercely. And I let those thoughts spill from my lips in a whisper as I fell deeper into the moment.

* * *

What began in the bathroom ended in the bedroom. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, exhausted, and could remember nothing of the night after that. When I woke again, it was because my sore muscles, worn out from the previous night, cried out in protest. Rubbing my bleary eyes, I realized that the sun was already high in the sky. This was the first time I had slept in so late since becoming Liliana.

I tensed up at the unmistakable warmth of another person pressed against my back. A firm arm encircled my waist, pinning me in place. I struggled to lift his arm, grunting with effort, but before I could manage it, he bit gently into my shoulder. My body rolled, my view shifting as I turned to face him.

Igon was already awake, his eyes now clear of sleep, gazing down at me. His head dipped, and he caught my lips again, pulling me into a kiss. I gasped for air, pushing weakly against his shoulder, but his lips moved languidly against mine. His hand at my waist roamed down and back up, exploring the curve of my body.

I was beneath him, breathless, and the sound that escaped my lips wasn’t a word but a shaky moan, swallowed by his kiss. The memories of the previous night flooded back—how I’d discovered, to my surprise, that even in this new form, I could make so many different sounds. My body warmed again, stirred by the lingering heat of his touch.

Though intense, it wasn’t a sensation that overwhelmed me. It was raw and unrefined, with a stark honesty that left me exposed. It was unfiltered, almost primal. But I didn’t push him away. Instead, I clung to him tighter, even as I shook my head at the conflicting feelings that churned within me.

Igon let out a low chuckle, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin beneath my wrist where my arms looped around his neck. My thoughts swayed, like a boat rocked by the waves. In the light of day, his body seemed almost like that of a mythic figure—every muscle defined, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

He whispered rough, almost crude words into my ear, his voice turning hoarse with desire, then furrowed his brow as a groan escaped him. The sound made my head spin. My instincts, no longer fully under my control, ran wild as my fingers raked across his back. I lost track of how many times my vision blurred, my body shuddering in his arms before I finally managed to pull myself away from his bed.

“Do you know the story of the Little Mermaid?”

Igon asked as I clung to the headboard, struggling to stay upright. I nodded, still catching my breath.

“It’s like that.”

He said, lifting me effortlessly again and pressing his face into the crook of my neck.

I rested my head against his shoulder, breathing in the sweet, floral scent that clung to him. He continued to treat me with a surprising intimacy, and my emotions kept swinging between exhilaration and uncertainty, caught between the closeness and the weight of everything that had changed between us.

TL/N: Okaay so we got half-baked sex? And my question is what about his love for Evelyn? He can sleep around knowing she died? Lol sorry.. Ill accept the sex tho cuz she no longer looks like his dead sis