He nodded curtly. “I’ll be staying here tonight. To stand guard.”
A wave of relief washed over her. “Perfect. Thank you.” She crossed to the bathroom, leaving the door partially open. Bael’s presence both unnerved and calmed her at the same time, but she still had a million things to ask him. She leaned over the bath, turning on the water. Steam filled the room, and she unhooked her bra, sticky with blood, then stepped out of her knickers.
As the bath filled with warm water, she stepped in. “I saw your bandages,” she said, calling to him. “Are you hurt?”
He paused a moment before answering. “Without my wings, I can’t use magic to heal myself.”
She grabbed the bar of lavender soap, lathering her arms. Bael’s healing magic had left not a single scar on her skin. “I don’t understand how you plan to fight the champions with two bloody holes in your back. You know you’re not invincible. You could die trying to keep your manor.”
“It’s not like I have any other choice. If I lose, Hothgar and Abrax will hunt me down. My existence will always be a threat to them.”
She splashed the water over her soapy skin, and her blood stained the water pink. Suds dripped off her shoulders and breasts. “Why would your existence be a threat to them?”
“Because Nyxobas chose me to be his Sword. He didn’t chose them. And I am the strongest warrior the Shadow Realm has ever known.”
“Not really big on humility, are you?” He was silent for a moment. “I’m starting to learn. I’m no longer as strong as I was.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll return in a moment.”
Outside the bathroom, the faint sounds of tinkling glass filtered through the air.
Ursula’s mind churned. Bael was obviously trying to fulfill his role as protector—whether he liked her or not, it was his duty. But how much could he really do—especially with this tournament hanging over his head? He might have been the best fighter the shadow world had ever known at one point. But now, he wasn’t a match for immortals.
She pushed the thoughts to the back of her skull, and rose from the bath. Water trickled from her skin. She leaned over, unplugging the bath.
As goosebumps rose on her skin, it occurred to her that she’d failed to bring any clothes inside the bathroom. Idiot.
She grabbed a towel, drying off. “I don’t suppose you could grab me some clothes?”
He cleared his throat. “Right. Clothes.”
Clearly, a lord of Nyxobas was unused to fetching women’s dresses.
She shivered. If the lords were going to keep coming after her, maybe she’d have to find a new place to live. The manor was huge—surely there were some hidden depths where she could remain unnoticed.
The door creaked open another inch, and Bael thrust a dress through.
She grabbed it from him. “Thank you.”
She unfurled the dress—black lace with embroidered swirls that climbed up the sheer bodice. Way too fancy for hanging around in a half-demolished house, but she couldn’t expect Bael to be an expert on women’s clothes. Nor could she have expected him to include knickers and a bra—which he didn’t.
She stepped into the living room, eying the floor. He’d cleared up all the glass. Starlight washed his deep golden skin in silver.
For just a moment, Bael’s eyes roamed over her body, then he nodded at the remaining sofa. “Get some rest. I’ll keep watch to make sure no one returns for you.”
“This place is huge. Why don’t we go to another part of the building?”
“You’re safe as long as I’m here.”
“You need to sleep, too.”
He cut her a sharp look. “I have lived over twenty-two thousand years. I can survive a night without sleep.”
As she crossed to the sofa, he sat in an armchair facing the window, arms folded.
She dropped into the sofa, pulling a soft blanket over her body. “Twenty-two thousand years?” The number made her dizzy. “Where do you come from, anyway?” “Canaan.”
Okay. Bael was maybe a few millennia behind the times, but it must be hard to keep up with things when you’re twenty-two thousand years old.
Still, despite his staggering age, he wasn’t one of the original fallen. They’d arrived on Earth a hundred thousand years ago. “Was your father a high demon? Or your mother?”
“You have a lot of questions for someone who is supposed to be sleeping.”
Her muscles ached, and she pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders. “I can’t answer the questions about myself, so I have to satisfy myself with learning about other people. And you have a lot of history to cover.”
“We’re not going to cover my history,” he said tersely.
“Fine.”
A silence fell over the room, and she closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but her tense muscles wouldn’t relax.