Chapter 40
Skull's Row is full of escapists who are starving to appease all carnal desires of man. Many establishments do well to offer the finer things in life, like a carrot at the end of a fucking golden stick.
In the basement of Rosmertta’s is a private bathing room for that very purpose, the water from a nearby stream trickling into a basin reserved for the finer customers.
And being me, I get whatever I want.
But we're not here for my own desires. I don't need these luxuries, as I already have it all—the carrot and the stick, all doused in liquid gold. The finer customers bow to me like the puppeteers that the Zenith are.
No, I’m here to dangle this carrot in the face of someone that I can't force to take it. My innate abilities mean that I can always tell when an emotion is forced, so illusions are nothing more than bitter attempts to assuage what can’t be manipulated.
Miss Jane is going to get the luxurious bath she so desires, and she better let me in.
It’s the strangest turn of who I am as a man, as if I met her two years ago, then she wouldn't tempt me like she does now. I simply didn't crave this type of temptation.
That change didn’t occur until I smelled death so close in my shadows, swearing I felt his putrid breath on the back of my neck, and I awoke to feeling older… wiser. My wine didn't taste as delicate, and fucking women hungry for my affection was nothing but empty.
Nearly bleeding out and waking up a week later changed me. It wasn't the first time it's happened, but it was different than the times before.
It even made me miss home . The kind that only lives in memories.
My own mother helped me see what it is I lack—many make new homes when time has claimed our youth. Something is missing in my life that no swipe of a blade can claim, and I crave it more than I ever did before. Even if my sister is still out there, I want my own family.
I want what inspires the Scorpion to risk everything and break all the rules.
Jane relaxes in her steaming bath as her beautiful, wet hair dangles behind her. My feelings are multifaceted and also incredibly basic—I want her. I'd swing many blades to claim her, but her heart is still something she has to give .
It's addictively maddening.
Her being the daughter of a Zenith fills in every gap that's ever existed when bedding other beautiful creatures. Violence is as natural to Jane as breathing, yet she's soft. Feminine.
She'd kill a man for me if she harbored enough loyalty. I know she would. And she makes me earn her favor.
I wonder if she knows how much I enjoy her, how she's an escape that's so different from everything else. I'd even dare to say I enjoy unwinding Jane more than gutting a man.
Gods how it would be different if she trusted me without question. Opened up to me like how she does to Kathleen. I thrive on being someone's stability, on having her need me. Of being the darkness that keeps her safe.
It's what I was born to do.
In that, I understand that having someone like her loving me for the truth of who I am is what's lacking in my soul.
Death felt hauntingly empty when it recently tried to ensnare me.
Rounding the bathtub, her eyes lock onto me, trailing down and taking me in. I wear only my tunic and pants for both of our comfort.
She could see many sides of me if she so chooses.
Blood pounds harder in my veins when I notice her warm eyes are different. Less reserved.
Such a good violent little creature.
I place a stool right next to the tub, the sound of wood on stone the only noise against these brick walls. Warm candlelight flickers all around, and a more sensitive man would even find this romantic.
It's when I see the matching tattoo on her chest that I feel the romance—a woman who doesn't just walk in the same darkness as me.
Jane Ritter was born in it.
"Foot out," I gently command.
Her wet, lithe body creates ripples as she moves, the water cloudy from soap. She requested to wash first. I don't think she believed I'd actually follow through.
"You're really going to rub my feet?"
"As long as you keep that heart open to me," I reply, staring her down. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I know once she lets me in, I'm not going anywhere. She's addicted to understanding me just as I am with her, but refuses to break because she knows once she does, she won't be able to back away.
So, I'll be the first one to do it. "I also want to ask you one question before you ask yours," I say.
Where she might have been a pain in my ass before, she relinquishes and lifts her leg out of the water, resting her ankle on the edge as her skin shines in the golden light, little water droplets hitting the floor. "Deal."
I can't stop the smile that forms, her cheeks reddening, and not from the steam. I run a hand against her warm leg, rubbing her calves first.
She does her best to pretend like a hundred streaks of lightning didn't just blaze right through her, but we both know how much of a waste that is with me.
I touch her like she's mine, gently and with care. It's just as important for me as it is for her, as I know this is what her damaged heart needs. "When did you start assaulting people at taverns?"
Her chest rises, slowly exhaling as she looks away. Those lost eyes flash with many decisions. I feed on every flexion of her emotions, staring at her face. When she speaks, I hear the truth. "My mother used to heal injured whores. It's why I don't like these places very much... This one time, there was a man who came barreling in while my mother healed someone, and he threatened the poor woman. He was a cunt—" her voice thickens with disgust. "My mom stabbed quite a few men and women that have crossed lines, and so I took it upon myself to stab him in the balls—" I poorly stifle a chuckle, gripping her calf tighter as my other hand thumbs the heel of her foot. The tension in her heart loosens significantly. "Mom nearly killed him for me when the prick realized what I had done. She healed him right after, you know, so he wouldn't die, but I don't think his cock quite worked after that." Her face scrunches, a maelstrom of emotions confusing what I feel. She quietly adds, "I think Dad killed him later. Just as a precaution, so he didn't hurt me. I'm starting to realize Mom used to let him finish those tasks. I think he was just better at disposing of them. So, I don’t know… going to the bars to search out the assholes almost reminds me of home.”
Gods how I fucking love her history as a daughter of a legendary Zenith. Someone like her would never question my behavior if I felt the need to murder anyone in cold blood if he touched my family.
Fleeting thoughts cycle through Jane, uncertainty like a whirlpool she can't escape. It's wearing her down, too.
She sees me as a life raft, but is convinced I'll take her away and throw her back into the unforgiving riptides. I need to give her more. Convince her I won't throw her aside. Gliding my hand down to work her foot more, I offer, "My mother is a healer."
That snags her attention. Her leg tenses as she connects her gaze with mine. "What?"
Her skin is so soft in my hands, something I could get used to touching. Speaking to Jane is effortless, as if I know she won't tell others of this side of my life. "She often healed women in childbirth." I stare her down. "I grew up in a sea of vagabonds. Injuries everywhere. She was quite busy because of it. Lots of bastards, too... including myself. She was a caretaker to many."
Immediate affection blooms in those warm eyes before mistrust distorts them. I grip her ankle so she can't pull away, her lips parting before pinning shut.
"Jane."
She raises a hand and rolls her eyes to look at the ceiling. "Oh come on, that's a great lie to tell."
She tries to yank her foot away, my hands tightening in a reminder that as long as I have a hand on her, she's not escaping me. "Every word everyone has ever spoken could be a lie. You have trust issues, love. We just have to mend that.”
She clears her throat, leaning back into the tub and relaxes her ankle with a sigh, watching as I resume working on her foot. Those words stroked something immensely tormented inside of her. "Okay," she concedes, something between us bonding. She takes her time to think before she slyly asks, "What's your favorite color? Let's start there."
I grin as I stand, moving to the other side. "Red," I reply, sitting back down. She sticks her leg out expectantly, watching me as if she hopes she'll suddenly learn how to read me like I read her. I stare her in the eyes as I say, "Your hair is a very nice, dark shade of it."
There it is—the flicker of affection that bled out of her from earlier. I begin gently rubbing the other foot as I felt nothing of her heart.
I narrow my eyes on her when I detect something I don't like, nor understand. I swear every time a thorn is removed, another one fucking grows back. "Why do you think of daddy dearest when your heart opens to me?"
She seems to nearly choke on air at the way I read her like a book, tilting her head back, looking up at the ceiling in annoyance. Silence sits between us for a while, and I don’t push her. Maybe I need to peel back the raw layers, force her to stare at her own imperfection that prevents her from giving herself to me.
Her eyes flick back and forth like she's searching for a secret message above her that will give her all the answers. She's so desperate to love. To trust. So lonely.
I patiently reply, “I'm a man before I'm a killer, love. I've already told you this." I continue to run a hand up her calf, massaging it. "You're the first woman in a long time, Jane, that has made me desire affection.” Her breathing stills. Gently, I add, "That's all I want right now. Your affection... if you want to guard your heart, you can. But I'll seek you out. I'll give you patience, but I'm a mad fucker that is known to hunt what he wants, and as long as some part of you wants me, I'll hunt you."
Her body relaxes as if she wants to be pulled under. She's almost forlorn as she quietly says, "It scares me that you excite me so easily." I stop my movements. She looks me in the eye and continues, "I've seen elaborate schemes to get to someone... my father always said that the only ones who can betray us are the ones we trust. I'd never forgive myself if I fell for a scheme now."
That's fair, but she will give in to me.
"So then, ask me your questions, " I say, looking down at her foot. "You don't have to believe the answers. But I'll tell my truths to you, regardless. Just know that no one gets my time like this. That's a truth anyone can answer."
Her eyes close, and I gently massage the pads of her feet. So far, I've counted seven scars, one even on the bottom of her right foot. I have the strangest desire to learn about each one...
"What do you think of the sirens?" Jane asks, opening her eyes.
"They are a part of the magic of the ocean. To disrespect them is like angering a god."
Her body relaxes, my hand trailing almost to her knee. She connects her gaze with mine as she asks, "What do you fear the most?"
Superficial fears cover the ones that truly haunt me. "That is very personal."
Picking up the stool, her heart is almost disappointed that I'm moving away, and I grin. "Such a greedy desert rose," I rasp, moving behind her with the stool. "Worrying that her pampering is done."
I hardly blink as I devour her sentiment. She doesn't reply. How can she when she wants to pretend like we're not in the very situation we're in?
Something about me comforts her like nothing else, and it makes me ravenous.
Sitting down behind her, I grab a brush from my pocket and begin to comb it through her wet hair. She laughs, pure joy radiating out of her for the first time—well, it's a first for us . She feels that same relief when with Kathleen. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"Brushing your hair, then I'll braid it," I reply, watching the rich auburn strands congeal through the wooden teeth as it straightens.
She asks, "How do you know how to braid hair?"
If only she could feel how personal this is. How much I am giving. How my next words are delivering a true piece of my identity that only Bones and Anya know of.
But I'm a risk taker, and these details could yield extreme rewards. "I have a sister," I reply, touching her hair more intimately for my desire. "I don't know where she is, but when we were little, my mother was very busy. Serena liked her hair braided and I hated to see her cry. So, I learned to braid it for her." I lean down, almost as if I can smell her emotions, my voice stiffening. "What I fear most is what happened to her."
Jane breathes heavily, her genuine sympathy touching me through the stiff air between us. I quickly pull back when the foreign sensation brushes against me, even if there is something pleasant about it. I'm not used to being soothed in such a manner.
With sincerity, she quietly says, "I'm sorry to hear that, Soren."
"We were both adolescents when men came to pillage. I've searched everywhere, stalked every trail. She's across the Black Sea somewhere, and traveling to those lands is the second time in my life I've nearly died. I've never found her. Failure of that measure is something I’ve never experienced. All I know is that Cypress told me she’s alive… so what I fear most, Jane, is that her entire life has been wasted and stolen. That I will never find her." I don't consider Serena’s death, as that thought hollows me out in ways I have no comprehension of processing. "I agreed to become a Zenith because they have more resources and function as a collective. I assume it will be easier to find her that way. That's my true motive among them. None of them know that, but they can sense I’m here for selfish means. It's why they told me very little about you, I'm guessing. They know whoever marked you has power they weren’t aware of. Which means they’ll lose their minds when they realize it’s Tempest and your father. It’s what Cypress told me back when you escaped, and why I agreed to help.”
I pull back, running my hand through her hair as I begin to section it, clenching my jaw as I concentrate on reading her. Don't disappoint me with your response, love.. .
Her sympathy turns to burden, and I nearly grip her hair in painful ways when all I sense is a stormy sea inside of her. Jane’s voice is laced with apology. "I’m sorry, okay? Maybe I am too broken. I can’t shut off the voice that says you’re just trying to make me fall in love with you like the idiot women in all the songs, so you can just use my dad for a favor…” Her hazel eyes almost look pleading. “I don’t know if I know how to open up.”
I lean over, pulling her hair back so it only slightly hurts. I am far from being in love with this woman, and yet I can feel everything needed to build such a connection. I dip my chin so I can peer into her eyes. The possessive, avaricious, and reclusive side of me can't stop from speaking, "Any man who inspires you to speak of love that isn't me, Jane, won't live to see the rising sun. That's the kind of song you’re stuck in."
Her eyes widen as those pupils eat at the warm color, and I don't waste a second of her affection as I claim those lovely lips, Jane's hand rising to run through my hair. It's gentle enough at first as I dip my tongue further into her mouth, a moan vibrating into mine. So breathy, so light. I don't understand the hunger it spurs; the kind that wants to devour her flesh and soul and harvest every bit of her, just for me.
What's the point in dissecting what I want when it won't change how I feel?
I just let it be.
Dropping the wooden comb on the floor, my hand dips into the warm water, sliding over her soft body until I reach down below her navel, the ends of my rolled-up sleeve soaked. In a swift movement, I grip her hair and slide my middle finger knuckle deep inside of her. I scour her body for a response.
All I feel in return is a needy heart that doesn't want to think about the world.
That doesn't please me as much as I want it to. I want her to give herself to me because she wants to, not as an escape.
Sliding another finger in, her warm hands touch my arm, holding onto me. I love feeling like an anchor, especially with the way she looks at me when our lips part.
She seems to give herself to me this way.
It's a place to start.
Using just my hand, I have a point to make her come this way. "Stop fighting, Jane. I only have to use my hand and you're already writhing."
"It's safe to want you like this."
Do I blame her? No. But I need more. "It can be safe in other ways, if you let it."
I plunge a third finger in when I feel her hesitation, my thumb rubbing her clit. She melts just as fast. " Soren ..."
It's almost a plea to make her believe. I don't know how to convince her. Not when she doesn't know my ways or can't understand how many of my own rules I've already broken with her.
"You'll come for me, Jane. Without question." Her body tenses, that lovely cunt clenching my fingers. "Your body bends for me because it knows the truth. You know, deep down, I am your reckoning. You need a man that will kill many just to ensure not a single hair on your head moves." I brush my lips against hers. "And I'll do that without question."
She pants before kissing me again, touching me with hardly any reservation. I allow that sensation to build until I can feel her body tensing.
"Come for me. Now ."
Her grip tightens around my neck as the orgasm rolls out of her, bath water lapping at the edges of the tub. I bare my teeth in a wave of suppressed desire, the thought of ripping her out of the water consuming me, but my instincts are screaming at me not to.
When she's relaxed, I do something I greatly don't want to—I stand to leave, gently pulling on her unbraided hair, leaving it like that. Maybe it will make her ask for me to finish it later.
"Where are you going?" she asks, panic elevating her soft voice.
"You'll finish your bath alone. I'll be outside," I grind out, adjusting my cock as I near the only door to the room, my right arm soaking and smelling like floral oils.
"Well, what was that?" She asks. I grin with my back to her, realizing why this is so important—she's expecting me to use her for my own pleasure, so when I get too close to her heart, she can spin lies about how it's only for me. "Soren, what about every minute of this day?" she coaxes.
"You need some time alone. I'll be outside when you're done," I answer, turning to face her as I shut the door.
I smile at her when she's twisted around to look at me, disappointment hitting her pretty little heart harder than she was ready for.
My intuition is never wrong.
That's how I will conquer her. She will have to stare the truth in the face, one way or another—I won't betray her like she thinks I will.
If anything, I'd care for her in ways she's nearly dying to feel.
Time for her to stew on that.
The hall outside is dim and empty, sensing only my guards at the end of the tunnels, my mask sitting on a lone chair next to Jane's door. Picking up the thing and placing it at my side, it adheres to my belt loops like it's a pet that hates to be put down.
If a man comes in here, he can sure as hell try to fight me while I wear this thing. It's almost as if time slows for the one who dons it, able to maneuver a fight like none other.
And I swear blades don't cut as deep when I'm wearing it.
One of my guards strides over, a man named Michael. He bows his scarred head in my presence, the young bastard born with a penchant for violence that will no doubt get him killed within the next decade.
Some merely prefer to die young and in the heat of a fight rather than let old age rust their bones. It’s not my place to question them.
"My liege. Rumors spread of a man with hell hounds in The Undercroft. But still no mention of the Scorpion."
Strange.
I eye the lines of the stone wall in front of me.
"Blackwell has given me a month to work on Jane’s heart," I say. "That’s how long we have. Gather more information on this man with the hounds—actually, find Anya and tell her to look into it for me, and tell Bones to secure Rosmertta’s for the night and be on duty. We question everyone who comes in and pay her extra for any business missed. Only those within our legion may man the doors." I connect my eyes with his nearly black ones. "And no one goes near Jane unless it's for her protection, to which you'll have to explain to me later."
Michael deeply nods before parting, his armor clinking against the silence of the tunnel.
Meanwhile, I sit and stare at the stone for however long Jane decides to take in there. I even try to separate myself from my fascination with her, focusing on all the moving pieces around us.
I'm almost in a trance by the time I hear the water rippling and moving, the sound of her dripping onto the floor making me lower my gaze.
Blood rushes south when I think of her body all wet and glistening against the candlelight, my cock still wondering why the fuck I didn't spread her legs and leave her dripping with me . Rubbing my chin, I chuckle to myself, listening to all her movements.
For once, she doesn't seem to be searching for a way to kill me.
The door opens and Jane exits, wearing a black dress and robe, her sandals clacking on the floor. She peers around as I stand.
"It's so empty," she remarks.
"Until I understand whatever is wrong with this place more, you'll only interact with me, Bones, Anya, or your friend."
Her attention snaps to me, hope blooming in her chest. "Kathleen? Really? Does that mean you trust her?"
Great. I nearly forgot about the deal Kathleen struck with the Scorpion and how Jane doesn’t know. Even then, it’s not quite time. "I've got a feeling she's a blade you think is dull but could skin the hairs on your arm if she so wanted." My gaze rakes over her without reservation. "It's why Bones likes her."
"He likes her for the tits," she chides.
"She's not the first woman with tits that large. He'd have fucked her, left, and talked about her until he found the next one." I stare her in the eyes just in case it helps her hear me better. I've felt a part of Kathleen I don't think my desert rose knows about, a side that's utterly ensnared Bones. I speak to her with more than one meaning. "He likes her for who she is."