Chapter 93
Lirael
I let him lift me from the floor. Let him carry me to the bathtub and settle me on the edge while he turned on the taps. Steam began to rise, and Sebastian knelt before me, his expression almost tender as he reached for the hem of my bloodstained gown.
"Let's get you cleaned up," he said quietly. "Then I'll have Marcus bring proper supplies. The heavy-flow kind you prefer."
The heavy-flow kind I prefer. As if he's bought them for me before. As if this is routine.
I should have protested. Should have maintained some boundary. But the cramping was relentless, and I was so tired of fighting every single battle, and maybe—just maybe—I could use this.
If Sebastian wanted to play the attentive husband, let him. Let him think I was buying into his carefully constructed fiction. Let him believe his lies were working.
Because while he was busy building this false intimacy, I could be gathering information. Learning his patterns. Finding the cracks in his control.
So when his fingers brushed my shoulder as he helped me out of the ruined gown, I didn't flinch. When he tested the bathwater temperature with the same hand that had threatened to break me, I didn't pull away.
Instead, I whispered, "Thank you, honey," and watched something complicated flash across his features.
The word still tasted like ash. But if playing the grateful wife bought me time and space to plan, I'd swallow the bitterness.
"The pain will ease in warm water," he said, his hands moving to the hem of my bloodstained gown. "And there's something else that can help."
I caught his wrists instinctively. "What—"
"Medical research," Sebastian interrupted smoothly, meeting my eyes with perfect sincerity. "Recent studies show that an Alpha's saliva contains specialized hormones that regulate a mate's endocrine system. Deep kissing alleviates menstrual cramping through biochemical transfer."
I stared at him. "That sounds completely made up."
"Cutting-edge science," Sebastian assured me with a straight face. "Published in several peer-reviewed journals. The effect is most pronounced with sustained contact—ideally ten sessions per day, at least three minutes each."
Ten times a day. He wants to kiss me ten times a day and call it medical treatment.
But another cramp seized my abdomen and I couldn't suppress a whimper. Sebastian took advantage of my distraction to ease the gown over my head, leaving me in just my underwear as he guided me into the warm water.
The heat did help. I sank into the bath with a shuddering exhale, feeling the tension start to ease even as my face burned. Sebastian settled on the edge of the tub, one hand coming to rest on my lower abdomen through the water.
"This is where it hurts?" he asked, and when I nodded mutely, he began to massage in slow, deliberate circles. The pressure combined with the heat made the cramping fade to something almost manageable.
"See?" Sebastian's voice held satisfaction. "Already better. And once we add the hormonal regulation—"
He leaned in before I could protest, capturing my mouth in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. His tongue traced the seam of my lips until I opened for him, and I tasted something faintly metallic—his blood, from when I bit him—mixed with mint and something uniquely him.
The hand on my abdomen never stopped its circular massage, and between the heat, the pressure, and the distraction of his mouth, the pain really did recede. My body relaxed despite my better judgment, melting into the kiss.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathless and flushed.
"Ten times a day," Sebastian repeated with obvious amusement. "Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor," I managed weakly.
"No, but I'm very good at following medical advice when it benefits me." He reached for a towel. "Now let's get you cleaned up properly. You're too weak to stand on your own."
He was right, damn him. My legs felt like water as he helped me from the tub, and when I tried to insist I could manage myself, he simply raised an eyebrow.
"You can barely walk. How exactly do you plan to shower?"
"I'll figure it out—"
Sebastian's foot shot out, hooking around my ankle with just enough pressure to make me stumble. His arm caught me before I could fall.
"See? You need help. Stop being stubborn and let me take care of my wife."
My wife. The words sent a complicated shiver through me. I let him guide me into the shower, let him adjust the water temperature and support my weight.
His hands were careful as they soaped my skin, clinical in their efficiency even as I felt his gaze tracking the water running down my body. When his fingers brushed the inside of my thigh, I flinched, but he only murmured something soothing and continued.
We stood there in silence for a moment, just the sound of water and our breathing. Then Sebastian spoke, his voice quieter than before.
"You know," he said, "I've been thinking about what kind of future we could have. If you stayed. If you chose this."
I tensed, unsure where he was going with this.
"Not the version where I keep you locked up," he continued. "The real version. Where you're here because you want to be."
His hands stilled on my shoulders. "I know I've done everything wrong. I know I've hurt you. But I want to try to do better. To be better."
This is manipulation, I told myself firmly. Just another way to control me.
But there was something in his voice—something raw and uncertain—that made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, he meant it.
"We'll see," I said finally, and felt him exhale against my hair.
---
Sebastian insisted on drying me himself, wrapping me in towels and carrying me back to bed like I was made of glass. He'd called for fresh clothes—soft cotton pajamas—and helped me into them with surprising gentleness.
"Rest now," he murmured, brushing damp hair from my forehead. "I'll have someone bring you dinner, and then we can work on helping you recover those lost memories."
I watched him move toward the door, my mind already spinning.
I pressed my hands to my face, feeling the ghost of his kiss still tingling on my lips. The "hormonal regulation" was obviously bullshit—no medical study would ever conclude something so self-serving.
But the massage had helped. The heat had helped. And damn him, even the kiss had provided enough distraction to ease the cramping.
Ten times a day, I thought with dread and something I refused to name. He's going to kiss me ten times a day and call it medical treatment.
And the worst part was that some traitorous corner of my mind was already counting down the hours until the next "dose."
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, soft footsteps were approaching. I kept my eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
A nurse, from the rustle of her uniform. She checked my IV, adjusted something on the monitor, then retreated to the corner.
Sebastian left someone to watch me. Of course he did.
I waited until her breathing settled, then cracked my eyes open just enough to orient myself. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the window. The nurse sat with her back to me, scrolling through a tablet.
And on the bedside table sat a meal tray—soup, bread, protein. Steam still rose from the bowl.
My stomach growled. The nurse's head turned slightly but she didn't look back.
She thinks I'm still asleep. Good.
I let my breathing even out again, mapping the room's layout. Hospital bed against the wall. Door to my right, bathroom to my left. Window behind me, too high for escape. Single chair in the corner.
And mounted on the ceiling in the far corner—a smoke detector that was definitely not a smoke detector.
Camera. Sebastian's watching even when he's not here.
The nurse's phone buzzed. She stood, checking the screen, then moved toward the door. "I'll be right back," she murmured. "Just need to grab some supplies."