I grab the plate of food and pick at the breakfast, thinking that I have myself a pretty sweet deal: I’m being waited on hand and foot by one of the horsemen of the apocalypse, and he hasn’t asked for anything in return.

Yet.

I can hear my earlier warning to Zara ringing in my ears. I can only get away with so much for so long. That’s the way this world works.

Of course, that’s not nearly so distracting as the fact that now I’m starting to wonder what it would feel like to be with someone like War. Someone who’s more a force of nature than an actual man. And I’m not altogether put off by the idea …

After breakfast, I pick through my things. There’s my wood for arrow shafts, my shoes, my woodworking tools, my inherited coffee set, and most titillating of all, the tattered bodice ripper I was bequeathed.

There’s also a pile of new clothing sitting among my items, along with a note.

There’s a bath waiting for you. It might be cold by now. Enjoy anyway.

I glance up from the slip of paper, and immediately, my eyes land on the metal basin at the back of the room.

I have the oddest urge to cry. Most water is pumped from wells these days, so a bath is a production. Especially a warm one.

I glance back down at the note, running my thumb over the sure, sweeping grace of War’s writing. Just like everything else about him, there’s a commanding certainty to his penmanship; you’d think he’d been jotting down notes for decades.

Setting the paper aside, I grab the clothes and head over to the basin.

One of the things I’ve learned about myself since joining War’s army: baths are an anxiety-inducing experience. The sound of every passerby has me ready to leap out of the tub. Which is a shame, because the water—while not warm—still feels amazing.

God, I miss indoor plumbing. I miss it so, so much.

At least I get a chance to inspect my wounds. The bruises across my skin are fainter and smaller than they were yesterday. The cut on my lip is completely gone, and my chest doesn’t hurt so much when I breathe anymore.

All that being said, I feel tired and weak, like I’ve been remade in the last two days—which isn’t terribly far from the truth. So in spite of the conversations that drift by and have me tensing in the tub, I let myself linger in the water for a while.

Also, I just really miss good soaks. Sponge baths aren’t the same.

I’m just about to get out when I hear someone walking towards the tent. I hold my breath, waiting for them to pass by.

Instead, the tent flaps are thrown open and War stalks inside.

I freeze at the sight of him, naked as the day I was born.

The horseman’s face and armor are speckled with blood and a thin coat of dust. Some of it sticks to his hair. My stomach drops at the sight.

War’s eyes find mine, and they heat.

This is awkward.

So, so awkward.

I sink a little lower into the tub. “Hi.”

Hi? The fuck, Miriam?

Also, unrelated, but can he see my nipples? That’s a pretty large concern of mine.

“Wife.” His voice is gruffer than usual, and my core clenches at the sound. “You found my note.”

I did. A little too late judging from the fact that he’s already back. How freaking long did I sleep?

Better question: how long was War even gone?

“Aren’t you still supposed to be out …” I can’t bring myself to say it. Killing people. “raiding?”

My eyes drop to his armor. The last time I saw him wearing his gear, it was riddled with bullet holes from Zara’s gun. Now, despite the dirt and blood splatter, the leather armor is smooth and whole once more.

How is that possible?

War strides inside his tent, distracting me. He begins to take off his regalia, starting with his big-ass sword. “I grew … anxious leaving you alone,” he says.

Him anxious? It’s me who’s the anxious one.

He removes his vambraces, then his leather shoulder guards. Next, he unlaces his chest armor, letting it all fall to the floor. Lastly, he removes his shirt.

I suck in a breath at the sight of him shirtless. Beneath all that armor is sweat-slick muscle. The tattoos on his chest burn crimson against his skin.

And that skin! It’s just as anomalous as his armor. I’ve seen bullets enter his flesh and swords slice it, yet his flesh carries no traces of those wounds. He told me he could heal himself, but only now am I seeing actual evidence of that.

War sits down heavily in one of his seats, the wood creaking at his weight. Leaning back, he folds his arms over his massive chest.

“Has anyone bothered you since I’ve been gone?” he asks.

When I meet his eyes, there’s still heat in them.

“No.”

To be honest, I’m pretty sure War stationed several of his men around the tent. There were way too many close footfalls for me to believe otherwise. And if there’s one thing this guy is good at, it’s overkill.

“And how are you feeling?”

Exposed. Vulnerable. Like my tits are on display. “Better.”

War unlaces his greaves and nods. “Good.” His eyes study my skin, and I know he’s checking to see how my injuries are healing, but all I can think is that he’s getting an eyeful of boob. And now it’s become too much of a thing in my mind to actually cover myself like a sane person.

“Close your eyes,” I say abruptly.

“Why?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s still unlacing his shin guards.

“Because I’m naked and I want to get out and I don’t want you to keep looking at me.”

The heat in those eyes seems to deepen. “I will see that pretty flesh eventually, wife.”

Again my core clenches at his voice.

I’m about to protest when his eyes do close. Letting out a breath, I slip out of the bath and wrap a nearby towel around myself. As quickly as I can, I shove on the new clothes War left for me, surprised that they actually fit mildly well. To be fair, a T-shirt and standard issue cargo pants are hard to mess up.

Still.

“Thank you for the clothes,” I say. Because civilization might be dead but manners aren’t.

“Can I open my eyes?” he says in response.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, tugging my shirt to keep it from sticking to my still damp flesh.

War finishes removing his armor, then stands. I don’t know what I’m expecting him to do next, but I am definitely not expecting him to drop his pants.

Which is precisely what he does.

“Holy crap!” I shield my eyes. At least, I shield them a little—I mean, be brave is my mantra …

Technically, I should’ve seen this coming. He was undressing after all. I just expected him to wait until I wasn’t looking to change.

Also, two words: no underwear. And now I know for sure that if War ever wanted sex, he’d break me.

Holy balls—or maybe holy dick is more appropriate.

Clearly the nudity is a me thing, because War seems unfazed by it. He’s not even looking at me as he walks across the room, towards the basin. There’s just zero awareness that’s he’s naked and I am perversely intrigued massively uncomfortable.

My eyes slide back to the tub of water I was just in. The one he’s now stepping into. There’s something literally and figuratively dirty as fuck about the fact that he’s reusing my water. And it’s making me feel strange and self-aware.