20. Wolfgang
20
WOLFGANG
T he room falls silent. The air turns into frosted ice, and I can practically see my breath when I let out a small puff of air. Claire’s gaze lingers on mine, then moves to Mercy whose facial expression doesn’t betray any of her inner thoughts.
The only small tell in her cool exterior is the twisting of one of her rings around her finger. I have a knee-jerk reaction to place my hand over hers, and I’m thankful I’m just far enough away not to follow through.
My attention returns to Claire. Something about her body language and the careful way she delivered the question informs me that it was not meant to be incriminating.
She’s just merely doing what I employ her for—reporting. My eyes slide to Bartholomew standing near the door. His eyes are wide, thin lips pressed together, gaze ping-ponging from me to Claire. His alarmed expression, however, makes me question if he knew.
I’ll deal with the weasel later.
I break the tension by letting a warm chuckle roll off my lips while I smooth a hand over my trimmed beard and stand up. “Claire, darling. An insurrection?” I ask, my voice as sweet as honey. Straightening my suit jacket, I button it closed while my hard stare pins her to her seat.
My power tingles up my nape. The tether between us tightens. My grasp on her psyche strengthens. Her expression turns soft. Malleable.
“That would be a waste of everyone’s time, don’t you think?”
Her eyes appear slightly dreamy when she answers. “Of course.”
I clasp my hands together. “Now that’s all settled,” I say slowly, having trouble keeping the ire out of my tone, “The interview is over.”
With a flick of the hand, I dismiss my staff, except for Bartholomew. I turn my back to the exiting crew and stare out the window at the dark rainy Pravitian skyline. I ignore Claire’s parting pleasantries, my jaw clenching harder with every passing second until finally the clatter of her heels and the shuffle of assistants following her out fade into nothing.
Swiveling on my heels, I stalk across the room, slamming Bartholomew into the wall. I feel his yelp vibrate against my palm as I hold him steady by the neck.
Mere inches from his face, I growl, “You knew.” I slam him harder into the wall, his head bouncing against the portrait above us, nearly knocking it off the wall. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t gouge your eyes out and feed them to the dogs.”
His gaze widens, sweat trickling down his temple. “I — I had planned to tell you, Mr. Vainglory, I s — swear, I really was.” He swallows hard before continuing to babble, “But with the Lottery and — and the exchange in power, I was just waiting for the right moment. You already had so much on your plate. Forgive me, sir. I — I was going to tell you, I promise I was.”
“Wolfgang.” Mercy’s tone is sharp, and my impatience spikes with her interrupting me.
I twist my head to the side, teeth bared, catching Mercy’s gaze from the corner of my eye. She’s stood up from the settee, her expression now a lot more transparent, revealing a worried crease between her eyebrows. I say nothing, waiting for her to speak again while tightening my grip on Bartholomew’s throat. Something about hearing his pained gargles calms me somewhat.
“We should speak in private.”
Logically, I know she’s right, but every muscle in my body is singing for bloodshed. When Mercy sees I’m not moving, her gaze turns slightly miffed as she lets out a small puff of air and cocks a hip.
“I don’t need Gemini’s ability to sniff out a lie to know Bartholomew is telling the truth.” She gives a small wave of the hand toward him as if proving her point. “He’s as loyal, and pathetic, as ever.”
I feel Bartholomew’s head vehemently nod in approval, and I suddenly want nothing more to do with the boy. I give his body one last hard shove before releasing him. “Tell Dizzy to meet me in the boardroom in an hour.” I try not to get enraged even further, knowing that my second-in-command has most likely kept this from me as well. I’ll deal with her later.
He scampers to the door like a fearful little mouse.
“Oh, and Bartholomew?”
“Yes sir?” he chirps, shoulders straightening.
“If you ever withhold this kind of information from me again,” I grit through clenched teeth, “I’ll let Constantine debone you like a roast duck for her personal collection. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”
As soon as he disappears, I turn my attention back to Mercy.
“And you ,” I say heatedly as I step toward her.
Her black brows lift in surprise, but she quickly schools her expression and doesn’t move an inch, carefully standing her ground.
“Did you know about this?” I snarl, now crowding her. “Thought you could make me look bad in front of Claire? Or maybe …” My face is much too close to hers. “You’re behind all of it. Planning another coup, are we? Now that you realize this kind of power shouldn’t be shared?”
Her dry laugh scratches my heated skin. In her heels, she’s nearly the same height as me but her eyes still slowly lift to mine. She juts her chin out and regards me with a sneer.
“Do you hear yourself, Vainglory? You’re being paranoid. Pamphlets? Please. Don’t make me laugh.” She tries to give me a hard shove, but I snatch her wrist before she can even hit the mark. “Let me go,” she hisses.
“Or what?” I taunt. With her free hand, she tries to go for the dagger on her left thigh but I slap her hand away. “You’ll try to threaten me with your little dagger?”
Mercy might be clever but she’s still weaker than me, and I take advantage of that fact by slamming us onto the table behind her. With my upper body, I force her backward, her dress bunching up and over her knees. Before she can react, I slide my free hand over the top of her left thigh trying to reach for her dagger.
“You insipid waste of air,” she barks, “Get off me!” She struggles against me, trying to pry my arm away.
I snicker as I savor feeling her struggle under me, my anger morphing into something much wilder. A carnal metamorphosis pulsing full of lust. “I recall you declaring that I wasn’t and would never be above you, Crèvecoeur.”
Her reaction is almost comical. She lets out an infuriated shriek before her hand flies to my throat. I laugh when she squeezes hard, lacking the strength with just one hand to do anything but give me a pleasurable shiver down my spine. Hiking her dress even higher, my palm finally catches on her dagger, and my laugh deepens.
“I wonder,” I muse, my finger tracing the leather harness over to her inner thigh, “if your dagger has ever marred that perfect skin of yours.” Mercy continues to struggle against me, baring her teeth. It only makes me grip her wrist even harder, my body pinning her to the table as I shove a knee against her thigh, widening her legs. “I wonder,” I continue slowly, trying to keep my voice controlled, but now much more serious than before, “if that blade has ever tasted the life force of a cold-blooded Crèvecoeur.”
My hand slides higher, and I allow one finger to trail upward and slowly drag across her lace-covered cunt. Her breath hitches and my gaze flies to meet hers, her eyes wild with flames. She grows still under me, and my finger lingers over the dampening spot near her entrance.
Mercy’s breathing is just as fast as mine, and when her mouth falls slightly open as if wanting to say something but deciding against it, my eyes dip to her red-painted lips. It’s a split second but it’s enough for my cock to twitch in my slacks, and suddenly her skin on mine burns worse than it did before.
In an instant, I let her go and take a large step back while Mercy breathes heavily, barely moving from the table, eyes wide and full of what is most likely scorching internal turmoil.
Similar to mine, I’m sure.
“Right,” I mutter, dragging my hand over my beard and forcing a bored look over my face. “I’ll have Dizzy look into it.”
I turn to leave, but Mercy’s icy voice freezes me mid-step. “One day soon you’ll wake from your precious beauty sleep in agony and realize that I’ve cut off both your hands for ever daring to touch me.”
I conceal the small amused twitch on my lips, and from over my shoulder, I say, “You better go recite your violent little poems to a more impressionable audience.”