Chapter 31
As soon as they leave, I put on a ruby red robe and unabashedly walk past Anya, as if to rub it in that I’m not a threat, and head into the bedroom so I can sleep. My eyes are puffy, and I feel like I just cleansed my soul of everything that’s tormented me for over a decade.
But I only get so far as the doorway.
As I stand in the threshold, I know this is Soren’s only dwelling away from his lands—as these men all have different places that they truly call home—but this is as private as it gets in Skull’s Row, and I nearly strode in like it's a tavern's sleeping quarters. As if I’m comfortable .
But once I see his bed, it calls to me. A thick, maroon blanket awaits me with no creases, the stone floors frigid against my feet. There's even a fire already started—possibly by a noir, as it only took one of them to dry my hair with a towel. I shut the door to trap in the heat, dropping the robe once I'm next to the bed. There's no point in looking around or being nosy. I'm exhausted, and I need to rest. I crawl underneath the heavy materials, shivering from the cool fabric. The pillowcases are black silk, and for a while, I stare at the empty side of the grand bed.
He really sleeps in opulence, doesn’t he?
It’s almost too much to think about in the totality of it all, that Soren sleeps in here when in Skull’s Row.
Eventually, my body radiates enough heat that a cocoon of warmth makes my eyelids grow heavy. I fall asleep with such ease that the next time I open my eyes, I'm in the same position and the sun is nearly down.
My heavy lids close again.
I don't know how long I was asleep after that, but when I wake up next, it’s completely black outside and there’s someone in the room. The bedroom door is shut, the hearth roaring with a new blaze.
Barely moving, I try to spot the intruder. On the off-chance it's not Soren and I need to play pretend. But my heart rushes with everything forbidden when I spot Soren's bare back, the mercenary legend returned.
My nudity feels extra risky underneath these sheets, watching him untie his hair at the nape of his neck, his chestnut waves coming loose.
His voice blends in with the warmth of the fire, his back still to me as he sits on a bench and removes his boots. "You feel extremely relaxed."
I stretch, spreading my legs and grazing against the cold side of the bed. "Well, wine and a bath will do that for you." I clear my throat. "And, um... thank you, for that." I don't want that foreign sentiment hanging in the air, as if it makes my throat itchy, so I quickly add, "When did you get that tattoo?"
He looks around for a moment, as if wondering what I refer to, then asks, "The one on my spine?"
I observe the long black lines, and how they taper unevenly near his hips. "Yes."
He leans forward again to untie his laces, the tattooed spine pronounced as the back muscles flex. "When I was sixteen."
I frown, looking up at the ceiling that mimics the wooden design of a ship. Father always said that to wear the black stripe of Death's Wing was a brutal membership, requiring terrible acts of aggression, just like the Zenith tattoo. "That's young for a tattoo like that."
Humor laces his rough voice. "Concerned for my life?"
"No," I say before thinking. Almost too fast. He stands, running a hand through his hair as the fire light casts harsh shadows in juxtaposition to the brightly illuminated strips of him. He places his blades on the bedside table, right next to his Black Skull mask. I glance at the skull tattoo over his heart.
I dare to meet his gaze—he’s surveying the curves of my body through the blanket with a patient desire; like he's going to take his time tonight.
"Do you always sleep with pants on?" I ask, risking the sexual response in return, realizing he’s not taking them off.
"If someone barricades in, I'd rather have them on. Unless you want them off, love. I assume you might, wearing nothing under there yourself.”
I don't move. I don't know what I’m doing. This moment feels so… ordinary. My heart wants to leap in like this is a break from reality—my heated cheeks grow so warm that I must look as red as the comforter. I angrily flip over and give him my back, although I let a smile spread once I know he can't see me. I suppose that’s a wasted effort if he can feel it.
How I would love for him to stand before me completely bare, so I may stare at the masculine parts of him, to touch him in ways that make him groan just for me.
I hear something that sounds like an amused huff. The cooler air touches my skin as the covers lift even more so he may enter. The bed takes his weight, and his rough hand instantly makes contact with my lower back, my body stiffening. It slides up to my shoulder blade, and he leans closer.
The cold side of the bed is now filled with a behemoth of a killer, and I’m nothing but willing.
He's close to the back of my head, his hand gently sliding into my slightly damp hair. “Fights are happening in the Savage Sands tomorrow. Tempest was down here when you came to the spiraling stone. There’s a warlord that has taken over the Crimson Isles. They’re rallying to teach him who owns those lands, and Tempest is having some men fight for her here. I’m attending to watch because it feels important that I go. You’re coming with me.”
"As your pet?" I ask, staring at the wall. The fire is already losing its light.
The sexual charge is electric, my heart racing so furiously with desire that I'm nearly panting. A desperate part of me wants those massive arms to pull me right into his heat, to lay over me, for his breath to mix with mine in this secluded darkness, where he reigns.
"Do you want to see how the world has changed, or not?"
"Yes," I mutter.
His hand gently grips my hair, my cheek moving against the silk pillow as he pulls my head back. I can hear him sigh, a growl laced within. He releases and glides his hand from my back to my hip, pausing with a firm grip, his breathing deepening, as if his imagination suggests many things he wishes to do. I already know that I will let him touch wherever—the silence makes sense now. He's feeling me out. He finally says, "Yes, as my pet." He adds the next words like an observation. "You still don't completely trust me."
No... why is he ruining this? Why can't he just be domineering like before? Force me into wanting him? I don't want to think about how I’m smarter than this, and how only a horny idiot would let her walls down so easily. It's not my fault that Soren is so tempting that it nearly hurts.
I gently speak the truth, his body resting behind me in a way that makes me feel full of want . He's got the tattoos of two powerful, legendary coalitions on his body, and he's earned them.
Men like him use women like me. Both my parents warned me of being coerced, and the Council even called Soren their manipulator. "It would all be too convenient, Soren, if we really are just two people who miraculously met and got along so well. It’s hard for me not to think that.”
He leans into my hair, breathing in what must smell like heaven to him—he's the one that picked the damn scent.
My skin is even as soft as velvet, just for him.
The next words from his mouth shock me. "What if I tell you a story from my childhood?"
I stiffen, my eyes widening. “What?" I ask with intrigue.
With one tug of my hip, my ass slides closer to him, a slight gasp escapes me. The rise and fall of his breathing grazes my back, his hand slowly running up my stomach. For a moment, it almost feels like he's holding me, enveloped in a light embrace. I don't move. I'm so turned on I'd probably do whatever he told me to do. And I just know he's taking his time because of that.
Soren fists my breast and I whimper—he chuckles in my ear—and his calloused grip moves to around my neck, holding me to him as his mighty arm wraps around me. "You want the selfish answer? I’m eager to feel you with your walls down. I will break them if I have to—and don't ask why. I don't know. But it's what I want."
"You want my affection?" I ask, smiling with triumph, staring at a dresser. The metal handles faintly glint with firelight in the dim room.
He gently chokes me, his voice roughening, my body pressing harder into his. "Just as you want mine."
"I don't even know you," I whisper. My body doesn't seem to give a damn about that. He's not wrong. I crave a side of him that only my imagination has seen.
“I’m aware… so let me tell you of myself."
What the hells? He can't do this to me. He can't make me feel these things . "You're trying to gain something. I just know it."
His voice is terse. "I'm done repeating myself. You interest me, and it's not more complicated than that." He moves quickly as his iron grip releases, only for one of his fingers to slide through my parted lips and into my mouth, pulling on my cheek so if anyone could see me, I’d look rather ridiculous. The rest of his fingers grip my jaw to hold it still, hooking me with his index.
"Whaf fa hells..." I mutter, trying to bite him.
His tone is assertive. "Yes, I know you can bite ." He moves closer to my ear, his other arm perching him up so he can lean over from behind, creating an effect of dominance that makes me wet between my thighs. It’s the least alluring act a man has done to me, and yet it turns me on. "Now, you can either listen to what I have to say and lay here rather peacefully with me, or I can tie you up again. Your choice."
I continue to stare across the way, not wanting to look at him. If I do, I might start kissing him. This makes me feel like I need a substantial amount of soul-searching so I can understand why a move like this makes me bend so easily for him. Before he can say anything else, I nod.
He pulls his finger out of my mouth, and without wasting a moment, I request, "Tell me of the time you knew you had powers."
Soren takes the same hand and runs it through the back of my hair again, and I get the sense that he's looking at me like a curious animal he caught. My eyes close at his touch, and for a moment, I just give in and pretend this moment is actually real versus layered with many hidden motives.
"They've always been there. The powers to feel others," he breathes, speaking once I'm calmed. “They’ve grown over the years, to the point I swear I can hear thoughts when keened in on someone, and even sense the energy of a room… but I was first aware of them when a man was thinking rather dangerous thoughts about my mother." I tense, opening my eyes. He continues to slip his fingers through my hair. "And I didn't understand at first. I saw him and knew what he intended. But still, I wasn't certain. I was only nine, and while I didn't grow up in Skull’s Row, I grew up near the men who eventually gifted me the tattoo on my spine. I was used to atrocious behavior, but so far, it had yet to hurt my mother. She took care of me in that world. It's her last name that I carry."
His touch doesn't roughen, but his voice thins of its favorable nature, donning an echo of the terror that this man is capable of. “But then he cornered her, and she cried for me." I blink rapidly as I look down at the silk pillow, where my head lay. "I could feel how he wanted to leave her raped and bloodied, so I grabbed a blade I had stolen a few months prior and stabbed him right between the legs, tearing away that piece of him. I then looked at my mother and felt her fear. Fear of me —" for the first time, I hear the closest thing to anguish in his voice "—then nothing but love and gratitude. And I've made it a habit to castrate those that go near something of mine ever since." His grip loosens and his tone lightens. "I've changed how I've used my ability over the years. Whores hate me for it. I can always see through the ones that are just there to make money. I'm not a very good tipper because of it. Unless she does her job well."
Something bitter festers in my heart at the image of him with another woman.
I can hear the smile and approval in his voice. "Is that jealousy I feel, Jane?"
My heart’s torn between wanting him to fuck me so hard that I need another bath, while also being twisted into feeling sorry for him for all he had to overcome. My voice cracks a little as I ask, "Where is your mother now?"
"She lives a comfortable life, back in my lands."
"Really?" I ask, slightly moving so my face is closer to his, my gaze still locked ahead. "And, well... I'm sorry to hear you had to do such a thing, so early. I know what that does to someone.”
"It made me the man that I am. Mother wants for nothing, now.” My ass is still against the ridge in his pants that has not changed since he's laid down, my torso twisted so my shoulder is against his chest. He pulls his head back enough to look down at me while I avoid eye contact. "What happened to your family, Jane?"
Soren is good, I'll give him that. I'm so enveloped in him that my story nearly leaves my lips without thought, but the truth lodges in my throat with how deep those secrets run.
Silence binds us for a very long time as I recall the details. Soren's hand that was in my hair remains still, his arm crossed over his chest. I can feel his heartbeat through the bareness of our skin.
The intimacy nearly hooks and sinks me, but a relic of my survival reels and forces me to consider all the other women that he has told this exact story to, perhaps even while in this bed—
He leans over my face, my blood warming like Soren is the perfect liquor on a bitter, stormy night out at sea. I practically hold my breath, staring firmly at the ceiling. "Other women haven't slept in this bed, Jane. Nor have they heard that story. So don't even try."
I nearly flick my gaze at him. "What?"
Now it's his turn to ignore me. "You don't have to speak of your family, but tell me, vaguely if you must, why the siren gave you her song. They so rarely do it. What was offered, other than a promise?”
As I feel his powerful chest rise and fall, I lean my head into him. I don't like the memories that return. How recalling my encounter with Melona means I have to remember my mother being killed, and also how it felt to kill my first man, only a year older than Soren was when he killed his; my heart feels exposed in this setting.
I move my head so I can stare at Soren's darkened face. The words are in my throat, where they burn with a pain I've never shared with a living soul. It makes me want to cry—the recollections flood me, and I hate that Soren really is a stranger. I hate that trusting him could backfire.
A single tear falls down my face and into my ear, and that's all that I let out as I quietly say, “We didn’t even get to bury my mom, or take anything of hers. Dad was there not too long after, and I held her. I couldn’t tell whose blood was whose, and Dad had to pry me away. He tucked my face into his neck and carried me as I cried. He just kept telling me that I had to be strong. That—that he had to leave. They'd hunt me if they thought he was alive, as I guess he was being hunted, too…" My breathing grows deeper. "He gave Melona, the siren, his Zenith’s mask. I didn’t know it could be given away like that, but he did it. I don’t know what she’s done with it, either. I just know that’s what the offer was. In turn, she took me. She taught me the sunder and drowned me as a means to bind her protection to me, and so I’d keep my promise of never returning to Skull’s Row. She safely guided me through the waters and beached us inside of a pirate's cave that had the basics for survival—you know of all the ones stashed around these lands—and she taught me the song. I remained there for a week while she checked on me." I speak more calmly, as I only have fond memories of her. "And then she got me to shore, I made my way to Coalfell, and I never saw anyone from my life again." My nostrils flare as I frown, and I refuse to look away from him.
Softly, he asks, "Why does it feel like you've never told anyone that?"
My voice shakes as I admit, "Because I haven't."
Something flashes in his eyes, and it even reminds me a little of how Bones looks at Kathleen. Soren asks, "What of your friend? You never told her?"
"Not even her."
Yes… saying that has done something to him. This is personal, and I don't know why. He comments, “I’m surprised you didn’t fight me more just now.”
I don't know. I don't have a good answer, other than a pitiful, "I'm tired of keeping secrets only I know." I've already said so much, so I might as well add, "It's lonely."
He finally moves his free hand and slides under the covers to grab my wrist. Pulling my arm from beneath the warmth, Soren takes in the circular healer’s symbol.
After a brief moment, he turns my hand over to kiss the top of it, his warm lips on my skin. My eyes focus on him with sincerity. I've been flirty with many, sure, but I look at him like his lips have brushed against a needy part of my soul.
His lips part from my hand. "Sleep, Jane."
The desire to bury my face into the chest of a man as powerful as Soren makes me stutter out, "You're not going to make me scream your name?"
A grin spreads almost instantly as the fading fire silhouettes him. "Of course, but not tonight. You need to sleep more than anything else, I think..."
"You're really just letting me sleep in your bed? I'm not even relegated to the couch?"
"Does it matter?" he adjusts himself as he lays down on his back; disappointment consumes me to know that I won't be touching him more. "I'm not tying you up. So, whether you're here or on the couch doesn't make a difference."
I sigh, looking at the hand he kissed, then at the mercenary legend that moves his pillow so it's more comfortable. If I knew him more, I may have asked for him to hold me.
But I don't.