Chapter 12
I stand outside the bathing room, crossing my hand over my wrist, holding it to my chest as I mindlessly rub the fastenings of my glove. Jane dresses inside with the door shut behind me. My attention is locked onto her emotions, seeking out any thoughts that indicate a hint at her hidden truths.
That heart of hers is a complete fucking mess, and for a moment, her entire body had begged for me to touch her. Maybe the thorned rose needs me to show her how much she wants me, because she just can’t ask for it. I don’t need to have a unique sensitivity to know that, either.
Feeling others, I imagine, is a lot like how animals communicate with the smallest nuances in body language. I can sense what goes through another, can perceive someone’s presence even if I’ve never smelled or seen them before. I’d be dead by now without that ability, as I’m a tenacious fucker and didn’t get my reputation by playing it safe; my heightened intuition has saved me from death’s embrace more than once.
I snicker at the thought of sensing Jane as she had raised her hand. I could tell she didn’t mean to attack, but I had to teach her that she’d never be able to surprise me, not as long as she was close enough to feel her. My ability to dissect a person only increases the longer I’m near them, too.
And oh how close she had been...
My cock twinges at the thought of tasting Jane’s flesh. How could I not steal a lick of her warm skin while she smelled so sweet? Especially as a daughter of my kind? I did release her when she revealed a deeper hesitation... but before her heart revealed that layer, she craved me. And I wanted to see what she’d do if I dismantled any of those fortified barriers of her heart.
Her reaction did not disappoint.
Maybe the demanding bitch with large tits will know a whore around the area with auburn-colored hair; she seems to know everyone . I won’t be able to focus like this, not with Jane’s gasp in the echoes of my mind.
Let alone all the other shit I just learned about her.
That fucking tattoo...
I've never fucked a Zenith's daughter before. Claiming her heart and cunt would be a different kind of sweet, like finding a rose blooming in the desert. And as I imagine plucking that rose, careful to avoid the many thorns that Jane wears—I halt the idea. Wouldn't making the effort to steal such a flower make it more special than the rest? Why bother elevating her importance when there are roses all over if one knows where to look?
Something in my subconscious answers that—Jane feels like a treasure chest found deep within the sea, sucking someone in like a siren stealing the hearts of men, drowning them in the pitiless ocean.
It’s probably a good thing she lived so far away from Skull’s Row. The men there would do desperate things to claim they’d fucked a woman with a last name one can only inherit, not steal.
Jane Ritter is rare.
“All right, I guess I’m ready,” she says, her feminine voice muffled through the door.
Nerves. All I feel are nerves as she opens it. It’s something I can quiet if I want, but I’m fucking keyed in on her; the smallest variations in her thoughts are as clear as crystal to me.
I pivot to look at her—she wears a rather plain outfit of an emerald tunic and some leather pants, and I’m annoyed at whoever handed these clothes for Jane to wear. Would have been nice to see her in a dress, one that hugs her perfectly and leaves her neck and cleavage open for my viewing. Even then, she’s still tempting with her cleaned-up face, her damp hair leaving little darkened spots on her shirt, her plump lips and high cheeks slightly rosy from the heat of the bath—
That predictable reaction suddenly happens whenever I look at her. Jane’s face hardens as her heart mixes dangerously with her thoughts.
I take a step to the side. “Ladies first.”
“What?” she asks, raising a brow, like I might be an imposter.
With a snicker, I lean in and cock my head. “I’m not giving you my back while we walk down the stairs.”
Her pretty face scrunches as she huffs, rolling her eyes.
Careful love, that eye roll does things to me.
She focuses ahead of herself, her chest swiftly rising and falling as she passes me. I start to wonder how wet her pussy is, if she’ll moan with her lips around my cock... those thoughts make me grin, and when she’s close enough—when I can feel someone the deepest—I want to say she’s almost mad that I didn’t pull her out of that tub to fill her cunt with every fucking inch that I can give her.
Well, little Jane, if that’s what you want…
I follow her down the stairs, my common sense telling me that she doesn’t matter; she’s dangerous. She’s a flavor of honey I’ve been eager to find, and that’s how all men fall.
But haven’t I survived long enough to say, ‘fuck it’? Shouldn’t I pluck the damn desert rose, just to see what fucking happens? I’ve got the gold, the men, the title, the lands, and the scars to tell the stories of my triumphant warfare, and yet, something about Jane intrigues me. Pestering her is a kind of fun I don’t often get to indulge in.
I can be patient, and let her warm up to me... but I won’t be subtle.
No. I want to watch Miss Jane squirm.
* * *
Bones stands guard in the foyer, his armor covered in more metal pieces than mine. He claims everything on him can be used as a weapon, and who am I to stifle a murderer’s capability? Bones eyes Jane as she descends the stairs. She strides right past him like he doesn’t even bother her, and my gaze is locked onto the back of her damp head. In Skull’s Row, I could have her fully pampered; all the oils and soaps to make her smell like the softest temptation, just so I can ruin her.
And how fucking glorious it would be to watch that heart of hers betray her pride—then I can proclaim that not even a Zenith princess can deny me.
I nod to Anya, who stands near the door. Her brown leather armor looks freshly polished, the scar on her cheek more visible than usual with her cleaned face, the interlocking design of a snake’s body carved out in the front of her chest—my sigil.
I’m the snake one never sees coming, one bite being all it takes to destroy a man. Only those high enough in my ranks wear the same sigil, except for Bones. His loyalty has never been given to anyone but his own fucking self, and everyone still believes that.
The delusion benefits us, nearly everyone convinced that he’s not my man through and through.
“Get Jane on her own horse, then tie that horse to mine,” I instruct.
Anya nods, opening the door of the home to call out to the stable master, the light outside silhouetting Jane who spins to glare at me. “Don’t tie me to your horse. I’m not stupid enough to try and outride your entire group of men.”
I rest my hand on the hilt of my sword. “And I promise never to fuck a whore again.”
Bones snorts.
Jane's plump lips crook upward into a smile, the humor making her whirl around so quickly she nearly stumbles, only wanting to ever give me her cold shoulder.
Jane crosses her arms and remains silent, moving only when Anya approaches and grabs her by the arm. The little woman initially fights Anya, and something odd in me stirs at seeing her struggle in another’s grip, but I ignore it as Anya gives Jane a rather dangerous glare, subduing the little fire.
With a slow step near the open door, I survey the area that has at least two dozen of my men waiting for my command. The citizens of Coalfell slept in barns with haystacks. It’s not up to me what they do with their lives, but as is custom for this part of the world, survivors can follow for protection as long as they don’t get in the way. I speak to Bones, “Has any more information been uncovered since we last spoke?”
“No. We’ve got the head of the one you killed, sending it with Bryon so he can deliver it to the other Zenith while it’s still fresh. The villagers didn’t know who the attacker was. They claim the men with fire just wore black capes and black masks, tossing torches into homes as they were devoured in flames unusually fast. Unusually simple, some said. Same with their weapons.” Bones takes a pause, and I watch as Jane is led to a horse. “My kitten reckons they’re not from here. They didn’t seem to know their way around.”
I pause and frown, looking down at the grass. “Your what now?”
Bones speaks in an unnaturally gentle manner. “Kathleen. She said her name was Kat at first, so now I call her kitten.”
Oh, fucking hells. “I'm sure she loves that,” I say, stepping out into the bright sun, keeping my watch on Jane, wondering if Kathleen will be stuffed away somewhere for Bones to play with. One of the most ruthless and stone-cold killers I’ve ever met sounds utterly smitten by that damn villager.
Bones' ragged voice follows me. “She blushes when I call her that, seems to piss her off, too, but I’ve caught her staring at me, those pretty cheeks turning pink… unlike that stupid bitch who just tears apart perfectly nice rooms.” He nods toward where Jane stands.
My body stiffens. I’m not sure what to do about the foreign reaction to Jane, other than knowing that treating her like cattle is the wrong decision. “Don’t call her a stupid bitch.”
Bones’ demeanor completely changes, stepping closer as if to hear me better. “Why not? She sucks cock that good?”
“It doesn’t feel right to do so.” I’m unsure what all I can share with Bones. “I learned some things, and my gut doesn’t like treating her poorly. I believe we just found ourselves caught in a riptide with her, but I don’t know the extent of it yet.”
“Wait, what?” He scans the area to ensure we’re alone before staring at my face, like it might not be me. “Does it matter? The Council will kill her just to make a point, at the bare minimum.”
I don’t meet his mismatched gaze.
Something eats away at my instincts: Charles Ritter was never confirmed dead. Allowing Jane to be slaughtered brings a sense of foreboding I’ve learned to listen to a long time ago.
Bones looks off like he's contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “She can’t be that important.”
“I’ll tell you soon, but she’s no ordinary person,” I conclude, stepping forward to Phantom.
Jane sits on a brown horse underneath the shade of a large tree, the reins of hers tied to mine by a long rope. She looks down at the creature, petting its neck. I'm not quite sure how I would act if I couldn’t decipher her truths from lies. She speaks about Charles Ritter like she believes it’s veracity... and yet, I still can’t fathom that being a reality.
Either way, if she’s going to feed me what her heart believes to be the truth, I will let her have free hands as she rides on her horse as a reward.
I mount Phantom, the horse so black he seems to absorb light rather than reflect it. Settling into my saddle—the black skull mask affixed to a bag on the back—I say, “If you pull any shit on our ride, I’ll tie you up and drag you behind for good measure.” I glance at her, and she’s only partially looking my way as if she’s trying to ignore me. “But maybe you like it rough. Which, of course, I can always oblige.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she grunts.
I grin.
Any other woman and I would reprimand her for that… but instead, I just kick the horse to get us to move, everyone swiftly mounting their steeds to follow me.
It’s time to pick her apart.