Chapter 225: Spa Treatments And Borrowed Time

"Fine." Kane’s tails curled tight. "But I want updates. Every step."

"Deal."

Cyrus sealed the promise with a kiss—brief, consuming, tasting of desperation and saltwater.

Kane melted into it, fingers tangling in wet fabric as Cyrus’s warmth sank through him.

The headache still pulsed behind his eyes, but Cyrus’s presence dulled the edge.

When they broke apart, Kane’s ears flicked back.

"How long?"

"Until Elias surfaces?" Cyrus straightened, already shifting into tactical mode. "I expect seventy two hours. Maybe less."

Kane’s stomach dropped.

Three days left of peace before everything went to hell.

Cyrus’s lips curved into something genuine—rare and devastating in its softness.

"Better start planning on how to make the most of the days we have."

Kane’s throat tightened.

If the plan failed, these would be his last days with Cyrus. Period.

No more ridiculous arguments. No more watching Cyrus pretend he didn’t enjoy terrible romance movies. No more waking up tangled together with nine silver tails wrapped around obsidian wings.

Just... nothing.

Kane’s mind flicked through the past few days.

Midnight beach walks. Snorkeling while Cyrus paddled the kayak with barely concealed amusement. The cave disaster that nearly drowned them both.

Maybe today could just be... calm.

"Is there a spa on the island?" Kane glanced up at Cyrus, amber eyes hopeful. "Like a massage or something?"

Cyrus’s expression shifted—surprise flickering across his features before settling into something pleased.

"There’s an exclusive couples spa journey. Private pavilion overlooking the reef. Hot stone treatments, aromatherapy, mineral baths."

His thumb traced slow circles against Kane’s hip.

"I can book it for this afternoon."

"Yeah." Kane leaned into the touch despite himself. "Let’s do that."

Cyrus pulled out his phone, fingers moving across the screen with practiced efficiency.

Kane watched the dragon work, realizing he’d never actually experienced a professional massage before.

The BSA’s medical wing had basic physical therapy equipment, but nothing like what Cyrus was describing.

Hot stones? Aromatherapy?

His tails swished with nervous anticipation.

"Done." Cyrus pocketed the phone. "Two o’clock. They’ll send a golf cart."

Kane nodded, already wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

Probably something ridiculously expensive that Cyrus would dismiss as "adequate" while Kane tried not to combust from sensory overload.

At least it would be relaxing.

Probably.

Cyrus caught Kane’s chin, tilting his face up.

"Nervous?"

"Should I be?"

"Probably not." Cyrus stepped closer, fingers threading through Kane’s hair. "Though if you’ve never experienced professional bodywork, it might be... intense."

Kane’s breath caught.

"Define intense."

Cyrus’s smile turned predatory.

"Guess you’ll find out."

Hours later, as the afternoon sun climbed high, the golf cart hummed up the villa’s private drive.

Kane climbed in beside Cyrus. The cart whisked them along coral paths bordered by hibiscus and sea mist.

Along the way, he watched Cyrus’s profile.

The dragon stared straight ahead, jaw tight, fingers drumming against his thigh in a pattern Kane recognized—tactical thinking.

Probably mapping out every contingency for Elias’s arrival.

Kane’s chest constricted. Even at the spa, Cyrus couldn’t stop planning.

The golf cart rounded a bend, and Kane’s breath caught.

The spa sat in an open-air pavilion overlooking the reef—privacy incarnate, draped in gauze curtains that billowed in the salt breeze.

Incense smoke curled through the humid air, mixing with jasmine and sandalwood.

Polished teak floors gleamed beneath his feet as they stepped inside.

Two massage tables waited, draped in pristine white linens.

Crystal bowls filled with orchids and smooth river stones decorated low shelves. Candles flickered in hurricane glass, casting dancing shadows across the space.

Kane noticed every luxurious detail—the hand-carved bamboo screens, the heated towel warmers, the subtle sound of water trickling through a nearby fountain.

Beside him, Cyrus looked completely at ease.

The tension melted from his shoulders as he surveyed the pavilion, crimson eyes reflecting candlelight.

A predator at rest.

Kane couldn’t decide if that was comforting or dangerous.

Two therapists entered through silk curtains, bowing respectfully. "Lord Drakhal. Welcome."

The woman’s gaze slid to Kane with professional warmth. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. We’ll return shortly."

They retreated, leaving Kane and Cyrus alone.

Kane’s ears flicked back. "So... do we just...?"

Cyrus’s lips curved. "Strip and lie down."

Kane’s face heated.

Right.

Professional massage. Totally normal.

Definitely not about to combust from anticipation.

His fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. Cyrus’s hands covered his, stilling the motion.

"Let me."

Kane’s breath hitched as Cyrus worked each button free with deliberate precision. The linen shirt slid from his shoulders, pooling on the polished floor.

Cyrus’s knuckles brushed Kane’s collarbone, trailing lower to the waistband of his shorts.

"You seemed anxious"

Kane’s ears flattened despite the warmth pooling in his gut.

Cyrus made a low sound—amusement mixed with something darker—as he hooked his thumbs under the fabric and pushed down.

Kane stepped out of the shorts, skin prickling under Cyrus’s gaze.

Nine silver tails swished behind him, betraying his agitation.

"Your turn." Kane crossed his arms, feigning confidence he didn’t feel.

Cyrus stripped with efficient grace, muscles shifting beneath bronze skin as his own clothing joined Kane’s on the floor.

Kane swallowed hard.

They’d done this before—been naked together countless times—but something about the candlelight and incense made everything feel different.

Cyrus gestured to the massage table. "Lie down."

Kane obeyed, settling face-down on sun-warmed linen.

The therapists returned moments later, carrying heated stones and aromatic oils.

Professional and courteous.

Kane’s muscles tensed as warm oil dripped across his shoulders. The therapist’s hands followed—firm pressure kneading knots he hadn’t realized existed.

His tails twitched involuntarily.

"Relax," the woman murmured. "Let the tension go."

Easier said than done when Cyrus lay three feet away, separated only by gauze curtains and wishful thinking.

Kane caught glimpses through the fabric—broad shoulders gleaming with oil, the masseuse working methodical patterns down Cyrus’s spine.

The dragon’s eyes were closed, face peaceful in a way Kane rarely witnessed.

Heat bloomed where heated stones pressed against Kane’s lower back, melting through muscle and sinew.

His breath slowed despite himself.

The therapist’s hands moved lower, thumbs digging into tight spots along his hips.

Kane bit back a groan.

This was supposed to be relaxing, not...whatever this electric awareness was.

Through the curtain, Cyrus shifted. Kane heard the quiet exhale—not quite a sigh—and knew the dragon was equally affected.

The air grew thick with jasmine and unspoken tension.

Kane’s fingers curled into the face cradle, counting heartbeats until this exquisite torture ended — or until he forgot what fear felt like.