Chapter 69: Overly Helping Hands

Ren let out a high-pitched squeal that echoed off the high stone ceilings, her arms jerking up instinctively to cover herself.

But before her hands could even reach her chest, someone else beat her to it.

Syris moved with the blinding speed of a striking cobra. In one fluid motion, he was on his feet and closing the distance. His large, cool palms pressed firmly against her exposed, plumb breasts, effectively shielding them from the nonexistent paparazzi.

“There,” Syris said, his voice calm and terrifyingly innocent. “I am covering them for you.”

Ren froze. Her brain short-circuited.

The contrast was startling. Her skin was burning hot from embarrassment and exertion, while his palms were soothingly cold.

“I know how you get about decency” Syris continued, his thumbs brushing lightly against her skin. “I did not want you to feel exposed.”

Ren stood there, mouth open, unable to form words. She could feel her own heart hammering against his hands. She could feel her nipples hardening against his cold palms, betraying her body’s reaction to the sudden contact.

Syris’ amethyst eyes darkened slightly. He admired the softness, the weight, the way her heartbeat thumped.

He couldn’t resist. He gave a small, experimental squeeze.

“Eep!”

Ren let out a strangled squeak, steam practically shooting out of her ears.

“You pervert snake!”

Smack!

She slapped his hands away. She scrambled down, snatching the tattered remains of her snake-skin top from the ground and pressing it frantically against her chest.

“That was not helping!” Ren shouted, backing away, her face burning so hot she felt like she might spontaneously combust. “That was groping!”

Ren turned on her heel. “Get Kael to the dungeon! And be gentle! If I find one bump on his head that wasn’t there before, I’m putting you in the gumbo!”

She marched away toward the Royal Bath, clutching the rags to her chest, her walk a strange mix of indignant stomping and limping.

Syris watched her go, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure. He lifted his hand to his face, inhaling the scent of vanilla and sweat that clung to his palm.

“Gumbo…” he whispered, testing the strange word on his tongue. “What is gumbo?”

Ren didn’t stop running until she hit the steam-filled sanctuary of the Royal Bath.

She slammed the heavy stone slab shut and leaned against it, sliding down until she hit the cold floor. Her heart was beating a mile a minute.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, bringing her hands to her flushed cheeks. She could still feel the phantom sensation of his cold hands. It was infuriating. It was embarrassing.

And it was… decidedly not unpleasant.

Ding!

[System Alert: Time is Ticking, Chef.] [Time until Subject ’Kael’ awakens from sedation: 1 Hour 29 Minutes.]

Ren snapped back to reality. “Right. Focus.”

She tossed the ruined remains of her clothes aside and stepped into the warm, natural pool carved directly into the rock.

She scrubbed frantically, using a fibrous sponge plant she found growing near the water’s edge. She washed away the swamp muck, the black mud from the floor, the dried blood, and the residue of the white powder.

Ren paused, her hand hovering over her collarbone.

There was a long, angry red scratch running across the delicate bone. It stung as the warm water hit it.

She looked at her reflection in the still water of the pool and traced the mark with her fingertip. Kael had done this. In his madness, in his blind rage, he had nearly clawed her throat out.

“You idiot cat,” Ren murmured softly. “You came all this way… just to find me.”

She didn’t mind the pain. The scar would heal, but the memory would stay. It was proof that even when his mind was gone, his heart had still been looking for her.

Her hand drifted down to her inner thigh.

The puncture wound from the Leech-Fish was healing, thanks to Syris, but the skin was still tender and bruised.

Ren bit her lip, a flush rising on her neck.

She remembered the feeling of Syris’ mouth on this wound. And she remembered what happened immediately after.

Ren splashed water on her face to cool down. “This snake is going to be the death of me.”

She looked at the two marks.

“Battle scars,” she decided, a small, fierce smile touching her lips. “They’re going to leave marks. Good. I don’t want to forget anything.”

She stepped out of the water and grabbed a bundle of soft, thick brown fur that was on the stone ledge. She rubbed the plush fur against her skin, drying herself off.

She dropped the fur and looked around.

Lying in a heap on the stone floor, exactly where she had discarded when Syris had first forced her into the bath, was a splash of bright, artificial red.

Her Puffer Coat.

“Hello, old friend,” Ren sighed with relief.

She grabbed the coat, shoved her arms into the sleeves and zipped it up.

It was warm. It was comfortable. But, it was… insufficient.

The coat was oversized on her small frame, which was good, but it stopped mid-thigh. Without pants or a skirt underneath, she looked like a toddler wandering around in her parent’s jacket. Or Winnie the Pooh.

Ren looked down at herself. If she raised her arms, the coat would definitely ride up, exposing her butt to the world.

“Okay,” Ren muttered, quickly lowering her arms and clamping them to her sides. “Note to self: Do not raise arms.”

Her hair was a wet mess, sticking to her neck. She reached up—keeping her elbows tucked—and felt the smooth, cool surface of the hairpin Syris had gifted her, still miraculously tangled in her messy bun.

She pulled it out, twisted her damp red hair into a tighter, more secure knot, and jammed the pin back in to hold it in place.

She looked ridiculous. She was barefoot and wearing a giant red puffer coat.

But her eyes were sharp. She had a soup to cook.

“Let’s do this.”

She turned and marched out of the bath.

Ding!

[Countdown Update:] [Time Remaining: 1 Hour 15 Minutes.]

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