22. Mercy
22
MERCY
M y skin is on fire. Feverish hands burn a path even hotter down my body.
One squeezes my breast over my silk slip. The other smooths over my stomach.
Down the crook of my thighs. Between my legs.
My orgasm builds and builds and builds.
Until—
I tumble out of sleep, a needy moan slipping out of my lips. My eyes snap open and I freeze, my body turning to stone while silence softly settles like silt at the bottom of the ocean.
I rip my hand away from between my thighs.
I was … dreaming.
Nausea roils in my stomach when I realize I was dreaming of him .
I can hardly bear the thought. Thankfully the dream is elusive. It fades the more I try to pick at the details. But oh—does my body ache with the invisible memories of his hungry touch. I let out a large sigh, trying to focus on anything but the tormenting throbbing in my clit.
The rain still pattering against the widows. The hard thrum of my heart. The dogs’ soft breathing in their beds. éclair’s snoring. The silk sheets smooth over my skin.
My core squeezes with need.
Gods be damned.
This isn’t working.
I let out a dramatic huff and stare at the vaulted ceilings. Try as I might, my mind drifts quickly to the one thing I’m trying to avoid as if caught in the eye of a storm.
The one memory that has been anything but elusive.
Wolfgang playing the violin.
It’s nearly been a week, yet I can trace the curves of his flexing muscles playing that blasted instrument with my eyes closed. I ache with the desire to feel his hard body under my fingertips. They tingle at the forbidden thought. The image haunts me like a ghost wishing to come back to life. If only I keep paying attention to it.
We’ve barely said a word to each other since Wolfgang pinned me against that table.
That should please me.
Instead, something about his pointed silence has left me on edge.
Luckily, I’m saved from having to further dwell on such vexing feelings when suddenly every wayward sensation in my body shifts. A cold pleasurable chill ripples through my limbs, ending at the crown of my head. A sated smile slips over my lips as I push myself up in bed.
The call.
From the only god I will ever serve with abandon.
My beloved god of death.
It beckons me now to do its bidding. Inviting me to walk the line between this life and the next, my dagger collecting souls with every bleed of the blade.
It’s been far too long. I haven’t purposely killed since the Lottery—that was over two weeks ago. Warmth settles over me, the promise of death like a calming balm over my frazzled nerves.
A few hours later, I’m back in my rooms, considerably more relaxed and freshly showered. The kill was a little messier than expected. A probable outcome when they struggle. I might have been a tad more aggressive this time too.
I needed the release.
I needed the quiet of a kill.
I came back to Mount Pravitia to change into something a little less gory but plan on visiting the Grounds so I can cremate the corpse.
Still only wearing my velvet bathrobe, I pad out of the ensuite and into my bedchamber. My gaze lands on a vase of black orchids on the small writing desk near the door. I stutter to a stop and study them from afar. They must have been delivered when I was in the shower, most likely because it’s my birthday today.
Not that I celebrate such a thing.
When I step closer, I notice the card attached to it and pick it up to read. My eyes trail over the handwritten note.
It’s signed from Wolfgang. Offering his birthday wishes.
When the words sink in, I fling the card across the room as if it had spontaneously combusted. A swarm of butterflies explodes in my stomach, my heart drumming loudly against my ribcage as blood rushes through my ears. The calm I felt after answering death’s call is now replaced by something closer to an embolism.
Why on earth would he?—
My gaze lands back on the card, now on the floor near the bed.
It’s made out of thick papyrus, dyed red.
I press the heel of my palms into my eyes and groan out loud.
How could I have been so foolish?
Picking the card back up, I inspect it closer.
Constantine . Known to dip her stationary in the blood of her victims.
I ignore the minute pang of disappointment at the realization.
Even the handwriting is hers. I take a quick sniff. It’s perfumed. How did I ever , even for one single moment, think this was from Wolfgang?
I must be losing my fragile grip on the threads of sanity.
Constantine and her pointless pranks. Silly doll, I’ll wring her neck next time I see her.
Not that she’d remotely care. She’d probably enjoy it.
It proves quite hard to intimidate a servant of the god of torture successfully. Especially when she can feel no pain, physically or emotionally.
Letting out a large sigh, I fish my Zippo out of my purse and light the card on fire, dropping it in the empty waste basket near the table.
I need respite from this place. I can’t think straight.
My mind aches for the peace only the Grounds and a walk in the Crèvecoeur cemetery can offer.
Changed into a long-sleeved corseted dress and black lace gloves, I pass through the drawing room, the dogs following me toward the stairs.
“Heading somewhere, Crèvecoeur?”
Wolfgang’s baritone voice slithers out from somewhere behind me, and I’m grateful I manage to hide the shiver that hearing his voice creates.
Slowly, I turn to face him.
My eyes travel up his aubergine pinstripe suit, pausing on his fingers fidgeting with his signet ring on his left hand. Finally, I meet his serious gaze, and my stomach dips. I’m mortified, unable to control the flash of heat burning up my body at the sight of him.
“Yes.”
“We have a meeting in half an hour,” he says with far too much authority for a mere co -ruler. “Logistics about the inauguration,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand.
I cross my arms. “Then postpone it.”
He chuckles softly. Humorless and with a hint of a threat as he takes a few steps toward me. “What could possibly be more important than the very thing you double-crossed me for?”
My jaw clenches as I flash him a bored look. “Your hurt feelings are getting old,” I snap, “Move on, already.”
He lunges for me. He’s fast, but this time I’m faster.
My adrenaline spikes when my dagger digs under his chin, the skin taut under my blade. This time his laugh is a little heartier and it skitters down my spine like a cold shiver. éclair lets out a low growl beside me.
Wolfgang’s breathing turns heavy, matching mine. It’s the only thing I can hear, as if even the silence cloaking the room tries to give us a wide berth. We’re at arm's length, but even from this distance, I can smell the vanilla in his cologne. It muddles my head with desire and I swallow hard.
I twist my wrist, my eyes glued to his as the blade softly pierces the skin. Wolfgang hisses, revealing his gold canine and incisor, but his grimace slowly turns into a leering grin as he keeps still, his blue-gray eyes swirling with unspoken threats.
“I’m starting to think,” I muse, tracking the small drop of his blood down the blade. “That damnatio memoriae is a lesser punishment than suffering nineteen execrable years with you.”
Releasing him, I bring the blade to my mouth. I’m mystified as to why I even do it. Wolfgang’s darkened gaze widens, seeming just as surprised as I am. It doesn’t prevent me from slowly licking the blade, my tongue collecting his blood into my mouth.
His taste, inexplicably sweet and with a tang of iron, explodes on my taste buds. I suppress a moan, my body engulfed by a roaring ripple of flames. Wolfgang studies me intensely, his chest still rising quickly as he swallows hard, his mouth falling open as he tracks my tongue glossing over my bottom lip.
I take a step back, my mind ablaze just like my body.
“I need to visit the Grounds,” I finally say, my voice much too soft. “There’s a body, I need to — it’s private.”
Wolfgang’s voice comes out hoarse, the rise and fall of the words laced with a staggering amount of need. “Let me come with you.”