22. Chapter 22
22
Graysen
I ’d been so wild with fury over Danne Pellan I had taken no notice of Wychthorn’s quarters the first time I’d stepped in there.
This time, my pace faltered as I carried her inside.
She had large rooms. No surprise there. Spacious living room—the usual multi-media, soft couch and armchairs, and a workspace. Her bedroom door was ajar and I could see that pretty four-poster bed we’d tumbled and fought and dry-fucked on. No doubt a walk-in closet and bathroom would be off that room too.
I turned around slowly, taking it all in. I don’t know what I had been expecting. Maybe stuffed teddy bears or Hello Kitty with everything adorned in a gaudy pink.
Not what I was greeted with at all.
I’d walked into a psycho stalker’s lair.
Except not.
Her walls were covered to the point I had absolutely no idea what color they’d been painted. There was one lonely area not dedicated to Wychthorn’s obsession: a floor-to-ceiling bookcase overly stuffed with books crammed into every available space, even piled around the massive TV and music system.
But these pictures plastered all over the walls weren’t of some random guy, his face tacked across the wall with a myriad of photographs showing him meandering unwittingly through his droll life paying bills or going off to work or private moments at his home.
But shouldn’t I have suspected this?
Every day Wychthorn and I had spent together, her head had been shoved into some kind of book…or her Kindle. I couldn’t help the stupid grin. I knew exactly wh at kind of books were stored on her Kindle.
Maps of the world and pictures of anything of interest covered every inch of wall space. There were the usual things, like the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China, and Uluru. But, interestingly, odd information as well. Like a news article about a small family-run bistro that served a secret recipe of stews passed down from generation to generation. A news clipping showcasing an urban garden of weeds tucked into a street corner of Ascendria. A close-up picture of belladonna flowers and their deadly petals, which grew where krekenns lurked beneath manholes in the city.
There were images of street performers and mime artists. A tattoo parlor. The best stall to get a knock-off designer handbag. A diner with plastic red-checkered tablecloths. Buskers. Art galleries too.
My gaze skimmed over a map of a rambling warren of catacombs that resided beneath the sprawling city of Ascendria, before moving over to a picture of a pristine lake, no doubt tacked on the wall because of the brilliant azure blue of the water. But black-scaled creatures that lurked in its depths often dragged swimmers to their deaths.
Entering her bedroom, I lowered Wychthorn to her bed, carefully removing my jacket from her shoulders and untangling the fairy lights from her too. As I pulled up the pale-yellow quilt and tucked her into bed, she wiggled a little, getting comfortable under the cozy layers, and gave another breathy sigh.
Sage jumped up and curled up into a ball at the very end of the bed, resting his head on his paws and keeping a close eye on me. As I sat down, the mattress dipped beneath my weight. But I had to see. I unwound the strips of material from both of Wychthorn’s hands to have a peek. Sure enough, exactly as I had suspected, her fingernails were still torn, some of them to the quick, but the wounds were knitting together faster than they should.
Not quite the unnatural healing that my siblings and I possessed.
But close.
Interesting.
Tendrils of blond hair had fallen across her brow. I pushed them back, pausing as that prickling sensation sparked at my touch.
I should have left then, but something snagged my attention.
An enormous map covered a single wall in her bedroom.
With my jacket held in one hand, I rose, silently padding over to the wall. Squinting, my gaze dragged across the map, trying to decipher what place this was. It struck me then, what she’d done. It was the Wychthorn estate. She’d mapped it out like a cartographer. The mansion in the middle, streams, the river that ran along the eastern border. A well of water. The rolling hills. She’d marked out the woodland. Even her favorite spots, the trees she liked to sit in, the trails she’d carved through the woods. Nests of birds she checked on. The burrows of woodland animals.
Fuck me. Did Byron ever allow her off the estate?
I glanced about her bedroom, at the furniture in pale beech wood, their fabric patterned with ivy in shades of lemon. A dresser caught my attention, and a surprised smile tugged at my lips— well, what do you know— silly things, stupid things, were kept in an open box on her dresser. My heartbeat quickened to see the bar coasters. A dried pressed flower. A subway ticket. A menu and napkin. Even a sea shell.
And a tiny paper bird.
My eyebrows shot up.
Fuck.
She’d kept it.
I hadn’t fully understood why I’d made it for her the evening we’d signed the Alverac. I just found myself tearing a page from a random book, my fingers bending the paper to my will. I’d been mocking her, but there was also an apology in the creases, the tucks and folds of the tiny paper bird. Even then, I’d known I was going to cage her. Clip her wings.
The soft sound of rustling behind me had my upper body half-twisting around. I glanced over my shoulder and found Wychthorn awake. She rubbed at her sleepy eyes before flicking her gaze to the window and the curtains cast aside. Abruptly pushing into motion, she sat up, and with a voice still slurry with slumber, asked. “Is she—”
“You fell asleep. But we stayed until morning until the servants came and took her to the temple.”
Her mouth opened to protest, but I raised my hand to stop her. “There’s nothing you can do for her. You know that.”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat, but a moment later, she gave a single nod. Leaning forward, she pushed the blankets down to her hips and her gaze became wary and considering when it met mine. She wet her lips with her tongue and cleared her throat. “Thank you for staying with me.”
I turned back to the wall covered in her map of the estate. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
“You know that. ”
I suppose I did. I just didn’t realize how seldom she could leave her home. The youngest Wychthorn was kept a mystery from the rest of the Houses. But, given my position in her life, I was one of the few let into her little world. Obviously, a small, confined world, restricted to the estate.
Behind me, I heard the quilt being pushed aside; the sound of approaching footsteps muffled by the carpet; then a yawn and a stretch of limbs.
I turned fully, my inquiring gaze clashing with hers. “Why do they keep you caged, little bird?” It was the same question I’d asked in the aviary five years ago, slightly reworded. “Why you and not your sisters?”
“Who’s to say they weren’t caged too?”
My family had kept a vigilant eye on the Wychthorns for many years. And I knew that while her sisters were let out, she remained on the estate. I didn’t think she’d ever been on vacation. Nor had she joined her siblings when they traveled to fashion houses in Rome or Barcelona, even as near as New York.
Wychthorn made her way to a tall set of drawers. She pulled open a drawer to rifle through cottony underthings. “They’re only allowed out to play because they’re either married or engaged.” She snagged a pair of underwear. Soft, white cotton. Virginal. My lips twitched. I bit back the grin—I hadn’t thought to find out if she wore panties beneath that short nightie of hers.
“You are too,” I answered, my gaze covertly sliding all over her legs. She really had a tight, toned body. And that ass, round and firm. I wanted to run my hands over it again.
She swiveled around and I schooled my features not to give away the fact I’d been leering at her like a godsdamned creep. She realized what was in her hand and bunched the material in her fist before hiding her underthings behind her back. A flush of dusky pink burned her cheeks. “Not in the same way they are.”
I had to agree. “No. Not in the same way.”
Her gaze was level, not shying from her truth. “Isn’t that what we daughters are? Something to barter with? Earn a higher placement. To join Houses together.”
Yes, in our sinister world, especially within the upper ranks, daughters were possessions to be used for their House’s advantage. But there was no way my family would cage Ferne as my little bird had been by her father. Sure, my brothers and I were overprotective, but Ferne wasn’t a thing, a piece of property. Ferne was an independent soul—sharp and cunning and full of life. We’d never stifle it. She might very well be chosen as the heir to House Crowther. Unlike the rest of the Houses, we selected our heirs based on merit, not because they had been born first.
I rolled my jacket up in my hands, finding it safer to look at than Wychthorn when I spoke. “There’s a wider world out there, even within the Houses. Women aren’t always chattel. They rule too. Houses Estlore and Qillisan and V?duva—all headed by women.” All Lower Houses, too, but I didn’t say that out loud.
“Not us,” she said with a shrug. She gave me a wide, wary berth as she skirted past, disappearing into her walk-in closet. “My father’s heir won’t be Annalise or Evelene, or even me. It’ll be the first male baby born to either of my sisters. Her husband will rule the Great House as regent until the child comes of age.” I heard the noise of rattling hangers pause. She stepped back into her bedroom holding the usual attire: an oversized dress shirt, this time in a pale blue. She flicked it over a shoulder, obviously intending to get dressed a little later.
Shock and a pinch of disbelief washed over her. “Is that it? The reason I was chosen for the Alverac. Someone easy to dominate?”
A soft chuckle rasped from my throat. Who the hells did Wychthorn see herself as? “If we wanted someone easy to dominate, we would have picked either of your two sisters. Not you, little bird.”
She tilted her head on her side, staring at me long and hard, a ghost of a smile tickling her lips. I started feeling uncomfortable. I gave her a look— What?
Her pale brows rounded. “A compliment? Was that a…compliment, Graysen Crowther?”
I rolled my eyes, “Gods, Wychthorn, don’t let it go to your head.”
She grinned. “I think I will. I think my head’s swelling so big you won’t be able to tug me out my bedroom door. Imagine, the sullen and brooding Graysen Crowther giving me a compliment.”
I huffed a laugh and hers joined mine.
But then the mischief in her eyes died. There was something uneasy in her gaze as it landed on me. “Crowther.”
Fuck, we were back to that again.
She nervously shifted her weight, her fingers combing through the messy, tangled locks of her hair. Buttery sunlight poured through the window, gilding her in gold and shining through that flimsy nightie so her figure was apparent.
Sleeveless nightie, low neckline, the hem skirting mid-thigh. Panties— dammit .
“What I said…” she began, letting the words drift apart.
“At the tithe prison?”
She nodded. “I don’t know why I shared that…with you, I mean…” She glanced away, then brought her gaze slowly back. Her hands twined together. “I think if I was in my right mind, I never would have.”
I stepped closer, frowning. “How can you forgive your mother for doing that to you?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Easily.”
I shook my head, pushing the locks from my forehead. Really? Was it really that easy to forgive someone who locked her up in darkness? And though I knew deep down the answer was of course, yes you could, I carried on still seething on her behalf. “You can’t even sleep without a night light.”
She blinked. “How do you know?”
I jerked my chin at the glowing lamp. “Saw it last night too.”
I took a step closer. She took a step back.
“Your mother made it so you can’t bear being in the dark, even to sleep.”
Just thinking of Marissa doing that to her had ire stirring in my veins. Byron, I wanted to bring down. But I had always been conflicted about Marissa.
“I know… I know…” Wychthorn replied, her hands rubbing anxiously at her arms, prickling with goosebumps.
“She locked you in a tithe prison. No light. No window. No way out.” With every sentence, she flinched, her shoulders shrinking inward. Misery pinched her delicate features as I kept pushing onwards. “You were trapped in there over the course of a year.” Anger began to boil my blood. My hands fisted at the thought of what Marissa had done. “You were a kid.” I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. “And you forgave her?”
With one more step backward, she bumped into the wall. The abrupt halt seemed to snap her out of distress. Fury sparked. She flung an arm wide. “I did. I did, alright. I hated her. Is that what you wanted to hear? She shouldn’t have done it!”
As suddenly as the anger had ensnared her, it swiftly left. She slumped against the wall, bowing her head, and replied with anguish infusing her voice. “She’s my mother. I love her.”
I took one more step so we were flush with each other.
Her expression was wretched when she finally looked up. “I forgave her. What else was there to do?”
With her braced against the wall and me leaning in—I guess right then we both realized how close we were to one another. She sucked in a breath—I did too. Shock flared briefly as the scent of her, that heady spiciness with notes of fire, suddenly spiked.
Something changed in her stance. She’d become softer, more pliable. She’d become vulnerable opening up to me. And, like the prick I was, I sure as hells was going to take advantage.
Her gaze swept across my chest, causing heat to bleed through my veins as it stroked upward to linger on my mouth a moment before her gray eyes met my blacks. Her pupils had dilated, eating up the glacial charcoal of her irises. She wanted me. I could taste it. “No one knows what she did…” she whispered, her breathing a little uneven.
Hells, I realized mine was too.
I reached out to trail a hand up the side of her graceful throat, and she curved away from my touch but didn’t break contact. She didn’t push me away either. Her breath quickened as she stared at me with big, wide eyes.
“Are you asking me to keep your secret?”
Something glittered in her gaze, disappearing like a comet streaking across a night sky. Something so swift and clever I didn’t quite catch it, couldn’t grasp what was going on in that brilliant mind of hers. All I could think about was those plump pink lips of hers, how the top lip was a touch fuller than the bottom.
“ Ah-huh… ” she murmured, closing her eyes on a soft sigh.
I bent my head, deciding to take a risk. “What will you give me to keep your secret?” My mouth was so close to hers, I could taste the sunshine in her breath. We shared the same air as she parted her lips slightly in invitation.
My mouth brushed against hers.
And then—
Something sharp and hard stung my nose.
I jerked back, scowling. “The fuck?!” She’d flicked my godsdamned nose. I rubbed the stinging pinch from the bridge. Fuuuck!
She bristled with her hands braced on her hips. “You must think I’m an idiot, Crowther.”
I bit my fist in frustration. I wanted to kiss her. She wanted me right back, too. Godsdamn her!
“No, I don’t,” I barked, thumping the wall above her head with my fist. “You’re a fucking thorn in my ass!”
“Good, because I hope it hurts like fuck! I hope I infect your sorry ass!”
Gods, this girl! This tiny thing was doing my head in!
I grabbed her by the forearms. I’d steal that kiss if I had to.
She shrieked, finding herself hauled upwards. “Put me down, you pigheaded prick!”
“Kiss me!” I roared .
“Like fuck I will!” she roared back, and I slammed the flat of my palm against the wall beside her head, shouting, “Now, little bird! NOW!”
She let out an exasperated hiss. “Godsdamn you, Crowther.” Wrapping her legs around my waist for further support, she threaded her hands through my hair. And gods, that felt good. Those fingers curling around the nape of my neck. For one brief stupid moment, as I leaned forward, eager for the kiss she’d denied me, I thought she was complying, that she wanted that kiss as badly as I did. Until—
She fisted my hair, tugging painfully and yanking hard to arch my neck back so I couldn’t do anything. “Never!” she chanted, “Never, never, never!”
And that’s how Princess Number Two found us.
Evvie strolled into the bedroom carrying a breakfast tray, chittering about something to do with tomorrow night. She stumbled to a halt, her eyes flying wide. “No fucking way…no way…not you two…”
I’d never heard her swear before, ever.
Wychthorn’s fingers loosened their grip on my hair, and her astonished gaze snapped to mine. She grinned. “Holy hellsgate, she never curses.”
I grinned back. “There’s a first for everything, Wychthorn.”
Evvie drew in an awful breath. A silent accusation leveled at her little sister.
Wychthorn suddenly flushed, and I guess it must have slammed into her what it might look like—her dressed in a flimsy nightie with her legs hitched around my waist—as if her sister had caught her in the act of making out. Such a pretty color suffused her cheeks—a deep rose pink. It might now be my favorite color. “No!” she shrieked. “As if!” She struggled within the cage of my arms. “It’s not how it looks.”
“It’s exactly how it looks,” I shot back.
But I let her free. Let her slide to her feet. She skittered sideways.
“Then what’s he doing in here? With you? Like that?” Evvie demanded. Before Wychthorn could answer, Evvie stormed away to slam the breakfast tray down on the bedside table, the jarring noise rattling through the room. She rounded on me, glaring as if I’d just offed a sweet litter of kittens.
She was a fierce thing. I wondered why I’d never recognized it in her before.
All I could think of was what Wychthorn had shared with me. I saw, in my mind, Evelene as a child, sitting outside the tithe prison, spinning tales to keep her sister’s fear at bay.
My little bird’s flush deepened as she ran an anxious hand through her messy hair, her fingers snagging on a knot. She jittered on the spot, gaze darting everywhere about the room but at me. “He… uh …I…we… ah …” She lo st the power of coherent speech.
How delightful.
Finally, her gaze snapped around, and she looked at me, silently begging me to help her out.
Sure, little bird, with pleasure.
“Gods, Wychthorn,” I purred, stepping right into my little bird’s space and draping an arm over her slender shoulder. “You’re old enough to invite someone into bed with you. And last night…exceptional.” And I slapped her ass.
Her mouth fell open. I expected some kind of cutting retort, maybe even an attempt to punch my face, but she merely gaped. I pressed a finger beneath her chin, guiding upward, pressing her lips shut. She slowly blinked. Still silent. Still staring.
Bending lower, I whispered, “That’s for flicking my nose.” In my periphery, I grinned to see her older sister’s horrified expression. “And this is for lying. We both know you wanted to kiss me, little bird.” I blew a gentle swirl of air against the shell of her ear. My grin broadened when I felt a slight bow in her spine at the erotic sensation of my caressing breath. Her mouth slightly parted before straight teeth bit down on her bottom lip to stifle a moan. The distinctive scent of her desire flooded my nostrils—she could deny me all she liked, but that fragrance that was unique to only her, of bittersweet berries and spice and flames, said otherwise.
“Not in this house,” Evvie snapped, tugging at the long sleeves of her dress, but not quick enough for me to see the bruises of fingerprints branding her lower arm like a bracelet.
I almost snarled.
Why the fuck is Byron giving his daughter to that monster?
Well, I guess I knew. To secure his family’s position. He didn’t want to be the one at the head of his House who lost the seat as Great House. Egotistical asshole.
Wychthorn shrugged out from underneath my arm and darted away to the safety of the breakfast tray. She snatched up a piece of dried toast, glaring at me as she waved it my way. “Evvie, he’s messing with you.”
“I know,” Evvie said, her gaze narrowing on me. “As if you’d go there. Ugh, Graysen Crowther.”
Shit, she made me sound like a gross flesh-eating disease.
I rolled my eyes. Then jerked my chin toward my room. “I’ll be seeing you later,” I promised the youngest sister. “Knock anytime you feel like round two.”
“Un- fucking -likely Crowther,” she bit back .
I winked. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
She sent Evvie a smug smirk and when the both of them burst into a crowing laughter, it unsettled me.
What are they laughing at?
And that’s when I saw the armoire leaning in front of the door that adjoined our two rooms. Not that it would keep me out if I wanted in.
As I left, striding toward the door of her quarters, I heard Evvie urge her younger sister, “Off you go and get dressed. I thought we’d have breakfast together before everything turns to chaos.” Already the sounds of construction rang outside. Trucks were pulling up, and the contractors brought in to erect the marquee for the engagement party tomorrow night had begun their day. “I’m glad I came when I did. You were about to kiss him.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I heard Wychthorn hiss, mortified.
“Yes, she was!” I sang out.
“NO!” she roared at my retreating back.
“YES! YES! YES!” And I kept chanting it on my way out of her quarters.