Betty's POV. 

His room was lit warmly in soft lantern light, steam drifting lazily from the large stone bath, the air smelling faintly of cedar and crushed herbs. 

Damien sat with his back to me, hair damp and falling messily over his shoulders, muscles tense but slowly easing beneath my hands.

At first, I felt confident.

My fingers moved over his shoulders, kneading gently, and his quiet sighs told me I was doing something right.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” he murmured, ...