To His Hell and Back
Chapter 63: Each Rustle Echoes

Chapter 63: Each Rustle Echoes

Imagine this.

There is someone who despises you as much as you hate them. Every word they speak grates on your nerves, just as yours do to them. Every glance, every breath, an unspoken battle of wills. And then, one day, without reason or warning—

They become... nice.

Arabella watched him carefully, suspicion curling in her chest. Cassius stood there, silent, as if deep in thought. Was he even aware of it? The way he had touched her, gently. The way his voice, no matter how clipped, had carried something dangerously close to concern.

Was he aware of it?

"Who said I’m being nice?" Cassius’s voice cut through her thoughts. His golden eyes flicked to hers as he began unbuttoning his shirt, fingers deftly loosening the ribbon at his throat. A slow, lazy smirk played on his lips. "But I suppose I’m always nice to my pets. I told you that."

Liar.

Arabella’s nails dug into her palms. That wasn’t it. She knew it wasn’t. It’s a bit different.

Cassius, however, gives her no time to challenge him. "Go inside," he commanded smoothly. "Take off your clothes."

Her spine stiffened. Absolutely not.

But even as the protest formed on her lips, she knew the truth; she could barely stand. As if reading her thoughts, Cassius moved before she could resist. His hands gripped her waist, lifting her effortlessly. A startled gasp escaped her throat as he carried her to the adjoining bath chamber, its interior lined with aged wood, the scent of pine lingering in the warm air.

"Wait here," he ordered, setting her down before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

Arabella stood there, stiff, her heart pounding. She should run. She should hide. But where? She could hardly walk, let alone escape. She then reasons to herself, knowing that Cassius doesn’t want to bathe her for his sexual desire. He just wanted to get her warm enough as per that "human medicine" book said.

Minutes passed.

Then the door creaked open.

Cassius returned, carrying a wooden bucket of steaming water. The warmth of it filled the small space, mingling with the crisp night air seeping through the cracks in the wood. Without a word, he poured the water into the white bathtub, then turned the faucet, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease.

Arabella said nothing. She remained still, arms wrapped around herself, her damp clothes clinging to her skin.

Cassius crouched beside the tub, dipping his forearms into the water to test the temperature. The dim light flickered against his skin, highlighting the veins that ran along his arms, the subtle flex of muscle as his fingers stirred the water.

She should look away.

She didn’t.

And Cassius, whether he noticed or not, remained maddeningly silent.

It was only now that the weight of the situation truly settled in her mind.

The Crown Prince of the entire kingdom had drawn a bath for her.

A man who didn’t even bother doing such things for himself, who had servants scrambling to anticipate his every need, was now rolling up his sleeves, testing the temperature of the water, and ensuring it was just right for her.

Not that she was touched by it. No. Of course not. But there were moments, brief as flickering candlelight, where she was forced to remember who Cassius was. What he was.

And this, this quiet, absurdly intimate act, was one of them.

Then, as if sensing her thoughts, Cassius turned his head, crimson eyes sweeping over her. His gaze was lazy, but there was something in the way it dragged over her clothed form that made heat curl at the base of her spine.

"I-I can bathe now myself, or we can ask the innkeeper?"

"No," he answered at once, not even choosing to listen to her offer properly.

"What about that subordinate of your-"

"Don’t be silly, Bella." Cassius’s tone was cold, but his lips were curled to a smile, so she couldn’t tell if he was on his usual behavior. In fact, tonight, she couldn’t understand him at all. "I can allow someone else to do it, but it’d be a problem because they need to have no eyes and no hands."

She furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head, "How can they help me bathe then?"

"Not necessary is what I’m telling you. You’re still dressed," he observed, voice smooth as it left his crimson lips.

She tightened her grip on the damp fabric clinging to her skin.

His smirk deepened, as if he could hear the way her breath hitched. "I’ll turn away," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, the slow cadence of it wrapping around her like a velvet ribbon. "You can undress and slip into the bath."

The words were simple. Reasonable.

Yet somehow, they felt anything but.

Arabella swallowed. "Turn away first."

Cassius let out a short chuckle, his lips curling, but, true to his word, he shifted, turning his back to her.

Or at least, he pretended to.

The way he stood, his posture loose, his hands tucked into his sleeves, was far too at ease. He was listening. Waiting.

Arabella could feel it, could feel him, even though he wasn’t facing her.

The air was thick and heavy, the crackling tension between them filling the silence like a charged storm waiting to break.

She had no choice. None at all.

Her fingers hesitated at the hem of her dress.

If she moved too fast, he would hear. If she took too long, he would know.

And Cassius... Cassius always knew.

She couldn’t let herself be embarrassed at this moment! But why was it that every shift of her body made her nervous whether he had heard it or not?

When her dress rustled against her skin made she took a quick look behind to check whether he was looking. The distrust is clear, but after three times of looking backward, she is aware that Cassius isn’t even trying to look at her, which makes her feel relieved.

Crumpling the hem of her dress, she began to remove the damp clothing off her body by pulling it upward as slow as she could. When it was lifted, she looked on her knees and thighs, mostly bruised and wounded. After pressing on it and wincing from pain, she double checked if she was bleeding, and she was. But Cassius doesn’t seem to care?

This is blood, his substance.

He is a vampire, right?

Cassius was not some desperate bastard who had never seen a woman’s body before, nor was he the type to steal glances out of pathetic curiosity.

And yet—

When he happened to lift his gaze, his crimson eyes landed on the mirror before him, its polished surface offering an unobstructed view of her.

Arabella stood with her back to him, unaware of the cruel trick of luck or perhaps her own carelessness. Her movements were slow, almost agonizingly so, as if she feared that even the slightest rustle of fabric would unravel her entirely.

His eyes traced the bare stretch of her back, newly exposed as the dress slipped down her shoulders. The candlelight cast a warm glow against her skin, making it look softer, smoother, and more delicate.

And small. So small.

Her skin was tinged in red, her plump thighs seemed to be wounded, which he noted at once.

She still clutched the front of her dress, holding it against her chest in a futile attempt to preserve what little modesty she had left. But it did nothing to hide the elegant dip of her spine, the subtle curve of her waist, the way her breathing made her shoulder blades rise and fall with each unsteady inhale.

Cassius was utterly still.

For the first time in a long while, he found himself... watching. Not out of cruelty, not out of some twisted game, but because, hell. He simply could not look away.

His tongue flicked over his teeth as amusement curled at the edges of his lips. How fascinating.

She had spent so much time baring her sharp tongue, her defiance, her rage to him. But now, stripped down in more ways than one, her vulnerability was laid out before him, whether she realized it or not.

And wasn’t that far more intimate than seeing a body unclothed?

He exhaled, slow and measured, before speaking, his voice just above a whisper.

"Careful, little bird," he mused. "Your nerves are showing."