Chapter 8
I only agreed to take care of Bones because it’s better than engaging in combative behavior with either of them. Weaknesses reveal themselves when one thinks they have control, so I’ll grant them that illusion.
Besides, I can’t quite focus, anyway. Not when I’m wondering what in the hells is going on with my reaction to Soren’s touch?
He’s darkness personified, and here my body is betraying me: the weight of his armored body, mixing with the vibrations of his gruff voice in my ear... it enrages me.
The simple men of Coalfell were never interesting, a loathsome reminder that altering the core of my identity is, well, impossible.
Soren confirms everything for me. The bastard has captured me, bound me, had me assaulted, and I’m fucking turned on by him—especially when I was immobile underneath him.
I observe Bones, his face reminding me of a toad with the way his nose and eyes have swollen. So far, violence hasn’t helped me at all. Perhaps healing Soren’s man can get me into his good graces, even by an inch. Anything to keep me away from the hands of the Council.
I doubt he’ll truly keep the Council off of me… but damn, it tempts me.
Bones saunters over with a confident gait, his slightly curly black hair tucked behind his ears, barely reaching his shoulders. Scooting closer to the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding the broken shards of the mirror, I notice a deep scar on his outer neck, another slicing through his cheek from chin to ear.
Bones leans down on one knee in front of me, his intense glare warning that if I so much as sneeze , he’s going to cut me. “Try anything on me other than to heal me, and I’ll carve my name in your skin.”
Soren watches in the background like a sentry, and I note that he doesn’t seem to mind the threat in the slightest. All he does is stare at my face like my thoughts are scrawled on my skin for him to read.
Rolling my eyes, I hold my breath so I can steady my anger. Play nice. Do this so you can understand Soren better . Through tight lips, I say, “Well, if you’re done being dramatic, then let’s begin. This will hurt for a moment. You’ll feel things shift around, and then the swelling will start to subside.”
He doesn’t move; not even to blink.
I hold my hand out, glimpsing the blue tattoo on my wrist that’s scrawled in a language I can’t read, shaped into a circle. I hover my magic over his nose, the inky lines glowing blue as a faint light emits from my palm. The way it feels to heal another is akin to waves of vibrations, and I can interpret the way they feel when they return back to me, gauging the damage so I can properly direct the powers gifted to me.
Every healer is born with an innate ability to mend, the tattoo connecting the gifted ones to the ancient roots that made us.
His battered skin moves to accommodate the healing cartilage, wincing and grunting when the most painful part begins.
I stare at his mismatched eyes, concentrating hard to remove the swelling. For a moment, my head grows so light I worry I’ll pass out; I nearly forgot how exhausted I am.
The effort is enough to get the job done, though, Bones breathing deeply through his unclogged nose when it finally straightens; I pant from draining what little reserves I had regained.
It’s almost annoying to note that Bones would be rather handsome if he wasn’t so brutish. I can now see he’s got a square face with another scar on his lip, that one blue eye fascinating against the darkness of him. He even wears a necklace consisting of many knuckles hanging around his neck, the only thing standing out besides his eye.
He rises to leave, reaching up with weathered hands to stroke his newly healed nose. “Don’t fucking break it again,” he grunts.
“Then don’t hold me down again.” I sweetly smile, a little too cordial. I can’t help myself; he’s fun to annoy.
Before Bones can properly retort, Soren motions for him to leave with a minor flick of his fingers—it’s all that’s required to leash Bones and keep him off of me.
Soren’s attention is mine once more, which is an unnerving experience. “You can either sit out in the hall, or in here, while they clean.”
I don’t trust a single hair on his head—not even his eyelashes—but I know sitting in this room is the last thing that will help me. “I won’t try anything,” I say while standing.
My heart races like a caged animal who’s centered her attention on the open gate.
“Sure, you won’t,” he says with absolutely no conviction in those words.
I think about his previous offer of becoming his concubine, even if it was offered in jest, taking in his formidable body when his back is to me as he exits the room. What would he be like as a lover, even if it was just an exchange to keep me alive? Is he rough? Will I know what every inch of him tastes like by the time he’s done with me? Will he force me on my knees to worship his cock like I’ve seen so many of his kind do?
There’s no way the Council isn’t planning on killing me, which means any option for survival has to be considered. Fuck Soren for a few months, get his guard down, then cross the Black Seas into wilder lands where no one will know of me…
It is a solid plan.
But I’m not ready to concede. Not yet.
I follow him out of the room, the dim candlelight only adding to the misery of this dungeon.
He sits down in a seat that’s brought for him, the Zenith almost too big for the damn thing. I sit in another when a guard places it down, the wooden chair cold against my skin. Soren watches me like he’s not truly looking at me, but something else.
What that is? I’m not sure. And I’m so tired that I don’t know if I have the energy to process it. Just relax, be patient. Show you can work with him. Then get some rest and try again.
Bones strides up the stairs at Soren’s command, breathing extra loudly as if to make a point that he got his way.
We awkwardly sit in silence, my fists clenching as I observe his men cleaning my mess. I harbor no remorse for making them do such a thing, and why should I, anyway? I’m a dead woman walking, and they’ll all rest their heads on soft pillows long after I’m gone. It felt good to get that pent up aggression out, and it clearly bought Soren’s attention.
Completely worth it… even if his intense gaze never releases its hold on me.
“Why are you after me?” I mutter, not averting where I stare, but watching him in my peripheral. I’m wasting precious time in this silence. “Why did they send you ?”
He finally relinquishes that unnerving stare and looks ahead like he contemplates whether or not he wants to answer. It’s then that I steal my own glance. Unwavering calculation fills his eyes, a sinking pit forming in my gut—outsmarting this monster might prove entirely useless.
Soren sighs through his nose, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “When the Council needs to get a job done, they send one of their own.” His head rolls to look at me, my pulse quickening, “And I haven’t failed once in collecting a bounty, no matter what I have to do.”
Fidgeting with my injured hands, eyeing the drying blood smeared on my skin, I listen to the guards complain as they clean up the feathers. Keep going, Jane. Prod more. I practice the words in my mind before I attempt a gentler approach, “I didn’t do anything, you know, to make them come for me. I really didn’t.”
He snorts. “Sure, you didn’t, love.”
I roll my eyes, something about that word grating on me. It’s demeaning, like I’m his entertainment. “I’m not your love .”
He snickers, adjusting in his seat as he languidly trails his gaze to the hands in my lap. “I call all pretty women that.”
A blush lies just underneath my cheeks—this fucker thinks he’s smooth. Keep it together, Jane. “I didn’t do anything. Truly. This isn’t fair to punish me, and you’re wasting your time. Both of our time.” I drop my gaze to the stone floor when staring at him is simply too much, like he teeters on which side of patience to choose. “And who burned the village down? Did you catch them? It didn’t look like an accident.”
“That’s all still a mystery, just like you,” Soren slowly replies, turning it right back on me. “You’re clearly hiding something, Jane . Healers don’t end up in random villages... Not with a story like yours, anyway: orphaned young, lives alone, appearing with no backstory and refuses marriage proposal after marriage proposal.”
I clench my teeth, steadying my breathing. How in the hells—the villagers! The drive to march out of here and yell at every one of those betrayers is almost enough to bring me to my feet. Stop. Keep calm. Don’t get mad at them for talking. They’re fucking terrified. He’s using that to make it seem like he knows more than he actually does .
“Well, good to see you did your research,” I reply, trying to act as calm and in control as possible. “How is everyone, then? Since you seemed to have spoken to them all?” I think of Kathleen, my tongue nearly tying at the thought of receiving bad news. “Was there a woman, a blonde one? My age?”
Humor etches in his tone. “Yes... we saw who I imagine you’re referencing. She was worried about you. Bones is quite infatuated, in fact. Doubt she’s going to get rid of him anytime soon.”
I glare at him, my blood running so hot it nearly damages my skin. “ That man? He’s unhinged.”
“You don’t say?” he sarcastically replies.
Glowering at him, I snap my attention back to watching the men clean, my lips nearly forming a snarl. Suddenly, the seat is entirely uncomfortable, the air stuffy down here.
Focus! I want to say more, to ask for protection for Kathleen, but I also want to avoid placing too much attention on her in case that backfires. What if they use her as a means to get me to talk?
No. Keep her out of this. I shouldn’t have even asked.
Honing in on my surroundings, I’m reminded of the peculiarities about openly chatting with a Zenith as his men clean a room I demolished; I’m not sitting out here because Soren is feeling nice . “Why are you talking to me right now?”
He sucks his bottom lip to his teeth, watching as they carry out the sheets. “Well, I’m not wandering far from you since you’re my captive, which means I can go sit by myself while you sit restrained... or I can try and pick apart whatever the fuck you are.”
All right, a reasonable answer. What do I do with that, though? Play the victim? Maintain my attitude? My nerves speak for me, “Well then, this will be a rather dull conversation. Like I said, I don’t know why they want me.”
Circles. We’re going round and round with no progress, and I don’t know if he’s patient or not. It’s been so long since I had to talk my way out of something, that my skills have completely rusted over.
His attention returns to me, that gaze of his making my heart race in ways I don’t bother to interpret. He speaks like he’s entertaining me, but not for my sake. “I’m sure you have a guess .”
I swallow thickly, nervously running a hand through my hair, regretting that decision as it irritates the injured flesh of my fingers. I choose to lie, “No, I don’t.”
“You’re going to be a stubborn bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, although his tone isn’t as cutting as his words. Perhaps he’s trying different tactics, which could hint that I possess the upper hand. I’m the one with information.
“You’re just charming the pants right off of me,” I grind out, throwing him an insolent look. “Really makes me want to open up.”
He returns it with a knowing grin, revealing a rather nice smile.
This stupid man makes me want to blush even more. In an effort to distract myself, I use whatever energy I have left to heal my lacerations, holding up my hand to examine it, thinking I might see glass in there—
Soren lunges at me, his blade pressed against my throat as he forcefully grips one of my wrists and pins me to my seat. I inhale through clenched teeth, my eyes wide, remaining absolutely still with that cool steel against my flesh; I’m too exhausted to fight back, worrying I don’t have enough energy to heal something as deep as a neck injury.
“What the fuck?” I quietly mutter.
The guards pause with concern, but quickly return to cleaning when Soren is clearly unthreatened—perhaps he often behaves like this with others.
He’s fixated on my wrist that’s in his hand, dark brows furrowed. With his blade steady at my neck and my head craned back, I’m unable to see what has him so bothered.
Soren suddenly releases my wrist, blood pooling back into my hand. The steel never wavers in its spot, the mercenary looking right at me—every gear has shifted to reveal the ruthless man he is, not an ounce of remorse or humanity in those pale eyes.
His voice vibrates against my lips as he leans in. “There’s a scar on your arm. It‘s got a translucent, purple hue to it.”
My expression deadpans.
Of-fucking-course. I had forgotten all about that. No one in the village knew what it was, and it’s so close to my healer tattoos that it blends right in.
No point in hiding it. I know enough to understand that will only anger him; truly anger him.
“So, I do,” I admit with a stark tone, returning that unnerving glare right back at him. So much for not having at least a guess on my end.
There’s no humor reflected from the mercenary this time. “That only appears when naprese gold touches your skin—” the blade presses deeper, my jaw shaking as I crane my neck further back... I hate being cut by others “—that shit is as rare as a Zenith, and only found in the heart of Skull’s Row when they make our masks... which means you’ve been in our world. The Zenith’s world.” A wicked glimmer flares in his gaze. “Who the fuck are you?”
My heart pounds all the way into my ears. This isn’t fair. I left that world, didn’t I? Why does it have to haunt me now? I lick my dry lips from all the panting.
But fine—if they want to kill me for this, then so be it. With as much stiffness in my tone as I can muster, I reply, “I’m obviously not saying anything to you, so do what you need.”
His eyes terrify me with the hundred promises of violence hidden within... I know that’s the look he gives to the souls right before ending their life. “Maybe we bring that one named Kathleen down here? Since you asked about her…”
No. No, no, no.
My hidden truth is what this man craves, which means it’s my buffer to keep others safe. Is it worth trying to negotiate? Or is it simply my time? Do I allow him to kill me now, in an effort to save Kathleen?
I grew up among dangerous, difficult men. I’ve been ready to die for a very long time, as one can never be in that world without seeing violent endings as the inevitable: Either Soren will kill me, or the Council will.
The thought of meeting the Council burns my heart just as much as the smoke burned my lungs. And returning to them would mean I break my oath about never setting foot inside of Skull’s Row again.
I choose to die in Soren’s hands.
Nearly smiling, I move quick enough to headbutt the Zenith, while also slicing my neck in the process. It’s not deep enough to bleed out, but the blood quickly warms my skin all the same.
If I thought I had already glimpsed an idea of his brutality, I was wrong.
Everything about him changes.
In a blurry motion, I’m off my chair and Soren’s knife drops to the ground, the man instantly at my back in a fluid motion. My head’s locked in his arm as he chokes me, my feet barely scraping the floor.
Even though I just agreed to meet death, I can’t kill the instinct to claw at his armored forearm. “Just. Kill. Me,” I manage out through a constricted airway, hoping I won’t wake up after this. I know he said he can’t kill me... but maybe he will. They’re all bloodthirsty, in the end.
The world fades to black while locked within Soren’s grip until my body is limp in his arms.