Chapter 36
Arax
Apull woke me. It was almost imperceptible at first, then settled dull and heavy in my chest. I sat up, keeping my eyes closed, and took long, slow, painful breaths.
The covers were lost to the floor or somewhere in the farthest corners on the bed, and I curled into myself, shivering.
It had to be early; the darkness disoriented me.
A myriad of sensations were zapping through my body.
Thirst, nausea… My head pounded, and every bit of my skin was clammy, but none of these compared to the aching void that surged from the deepest parts of me.
It forced my eyes open, which were burning from the little sleep I’d gotten—or maybe I wasn’t remembering it right.
The tears had come on their own, and there was nothing I could do about them. I’d gone to bed but lain awake for hours until they started and wouldn’t stop.
The pull tugged at me again, a little more gently, as though it was sentient and knew I was fragile.
I was more awake now, though my head was no less clear.
My thirst was becoming hard to ignore, so I reluctantly maneuvered my stiff body off the bed.
No sooner had I taken a few small steps toward the en suite that I tripped and went crashing into a chair.
I fumbled for a light switch, and in the middle of the bedroom lay a pile of presents that couldn’t have been there before.
There were four of them—pretty boxes, expertly and thoughtfully wrapped with cards tucked beneath their ribbons.
But the one that caught my eye, the biggest of all, was leaning against the sofa away from the rest. It had no card and no frills, but it stood gleaming, wrapped in silver.
My sweaty hands tore at it more roughly than necessary, and upon opening the lacquered box, I gasped.
Inside lay the most exquisite acoustic guitar I had ever seen.
The cherrywood still smelled like it had been brought in from the forest outside and sanded into shape just hours prior. The lines were perfection, and when I set it in my lap and gave it its inaugural strum, it purred.
I wanted to smash it against the wall.
The bastard. He was here. I knew that somehow the pull in my chest, the tears that had only paused because of sleep, and this raging anger that was taking over the longer I looked at the guitar were because he was here.
I got up, dismissing the dizziness and the thirst, and splashed some water on my face.
Last night with the girls, I’d tried my damnedest to convince myself I had no right to these feelings, that I’d been granted a visit at the request of Drake and had been given to Penelope and Vallon to entertain. But I was tired.
My feet marched themselves barefoot at a thunderous pace up several flights of stairs. They knew where they were going even if I did not. Silly enough as it was to think, the pull appeared to be my guide, turning me left and right, and soon I was standing in front of a set of double doors.
I didn’t hesitate for second. I went ahead and barged into this mystery room, never surer that I was in the right place.
Though the space was dark, I saw that sometime between discovering my anger and traveling the castle, the sun had started her ascent. His room faced directly east and would soon be engulfed in light.
I took slower steps, expecting to come upon him at any given moment, but it was so quiet—no sign of life anywhere.
I passed through the sitting room, taking note of the bookcases that took up most of the wall space.
In between them hung large, framed paintings, the details of which I could not see.
A large terrace lay past another set of doors, these glass, and in the corner, a sliver of light shone through a partially open door.
I breathed deeply and went toward it. I held my shoulders tense, but there was nothing on the other side except an immaculate bedroom with an even more immaculately made bed.
Not finding him asleep or, worse, awake and angry at my intrusion should have been a relief, but it was not. The void doubled in size, and the ache grew stronger.
The minutes waned by, and the room grew brighter. My tired eyes resented the light, but it would be the last time I would see this sunrise, here, and I wanted to commit it to memory.
I padded quietly back to the terrace doors and squinted out at the infinite countryside.
It was lit from without, bursting with a glow that was more jarring than it was pleasing.
The light washed away the landscape, bathing it in excessive brightness and stripping it of its color and nuance.
It was left overexposed, radiant but flat, devoid of the small details that defined its beauty.
Just as I was about to turn away, a shadow appeared on the other side of the glass. I caught my breath, afraid to exhale… fearing it would catch his attention and I’d be discovered.
He was in his regular clothes, straightening himself from where he’d been leaning on the terrace railing. His hands were stretched low behind his back, and he raised his head, letting it drop back. It was a pensive stance; one I’d seen him have many times before.
Despite how perceptive and aware he normally seemed to be, he took no notice of my presence. Instead, he stood glued to the spot, staring at the sky. And from within my chest, the ache and the pull together told me to make myself known.
I threw open the glass doors and stomped toward him, the travertine tiles cold and hard under my bare feet.
The air had a distinct bite, but as soon as I crossed into the sun, my skin burned under its heat.
It didn’t feel quite right. It was too warm, as though the sun was burning too closely to the earth today.
The climate in this strange and beautiful place was almost always perfect, but today it was humid and uncomfortable.
But nothing deterred me, and my anger grew.
I couldn’t explain anymore why I felt this way, but I didn’t care. I simply knew I did and that the pull was beyond me, controlling everything I was doing. Moreover, I wanted to let it.
“Extended indefinitely, huh?” I shouted with more snap than the air. “At least last time you had the courtesy of showing up to say good-bye.”
He took his time turning around. And once he did, if I hadn’t been so angry, I would have paid more attention to the dark circles that had to have been there for days.
If the tightness inside wasn’t so painful, I would’ve seen how much older he looked, more than when he had the day I’d shown up in his foyer with Drake.
I would’ve paid attention to his thinned bloodless lips and the forlorn expression he wore.
But I didn’t. My emotions were too chaotic. I was right before him looking up into his face, bristling with fury, unable to see anything but a smug man who was on the cusp of breaking my heart.
“Is this it? Your parting gift is a guitar that you sneak into my room in the middle of the night?”
No response.
“What am I supposed to do with it? Take it home and remember the good times we had every time I play it?”
He continued staring at me, yet I wasn’t sure if he even saw who was standing before him.
“Answer me, you asshole!” I pushed him, he didn’t budge, didn’t sway. Even solid rock would have given me an inch. “Tell me, is this it? You’re sending me away again?”
Before I could take another step, he spoke.
“It’s for the best, Arax.”
His voice was hoarse, and it made me see him, really see him. His pale skin… his tired eyes. I also saw right through him, though his words, but I didn’t understand why he was saying them.
“Fine, if that’s what you want, then fine. Be miserable.”
I had regained the upper hand on my faculties, but I was fighting other emotions.
Embarrassment and rejection were growing rapidly. I didn’t want to acknowledge them, not here, not even on the drive home. Only in my own bedroom, far away from all of this.
It took some effort to walk away from him. Each step back inside felt so wrong, like we were committing a crime against all that was natural and right in the world.
“Good-bye, Konstantinos,” I said, echoing the past, and reached for the door handle.
My shoulders were grabbed from behind, and he spun me around. I hadn’t heard Konstantine follow me, but he commanded my gaze, his face twisted into a labyrinth of emotions. Frustration piqued above all.
“I’m doing this for you.”
Though he said it lightly, his words measured, the grip that had fallen on my shoulders told me a different story. I tried to twist out of his grasp.
“Understood,” I replied, playing his game. “Then let me go.”
Nothing.
“Konstantine, let me go.”
He stepped closer, his grip tightening.
“Let me go,” I whispered, and slipped an inch towards him, matching his movement. “Let me go.”
Konstantine’s face was grim, lips parted, his breathing heavy. I waited, my body vibrating on adrenaline, high on fear.
“Damn you, woman,” he snarled, never loosening his hold on me.
A jolt passed through us. We both felt it. Our eyes met, and a second later, he pulled me to him.
“Damn you,” he said again and pressed his lips to mine.
It was a rough, desperate kiss, and my body felt like it had died and come back to life.
I gently placed my hands on his neck and savored the moment.
His arms circled my waist, and I took a small step forward to tuck myself further into his embrace.
Konstantine’s hands tightened around my back, sliding under my night shirt, and gripped my skin, and what had begun as a rough and desperate kiss catapulted into a flurry of pulsing lips and roaming fingers.
His hands tangled into my braid, taking out my tie, and his tongue took possession of my mouth. No permission requested. None required.
I brushed my hips against his, falling into a bottomless well.
He groaned against my lips, and the vibration drew me in further.
I pulled on the collar of his shirt, and suddenly my feet were no longer touching the ground.
My back hit the glass. It burned against my skin, yet nothing was as hot as the fever rushing through me.
His lips flitted into the groove of my neck, and my head was thrown back.
I raked my hands into Konstantine’s hair, lifting his head, and I saw his eyes, onyx from stem to stern.
“Don’t send me away, Konstantine,” I said breathlessly, overcome with all of which I’d been trying not to feel.
Those unusual black eyes of his found me again. “How could I, Arax jaan, now that I’ve had a taste?”
He carried me to the edge of the terrace and set me on the railing, not letting go. The second and third set of kisses were even better. The sun had risen higher by the time we stopped to breathe, but I wanted more.
“Arax,” he said gently, moving to hold my face, his thumbs caressing my cheekbones. “There’s much we need to talk about.”
“Later,” I replied, impatient to have him again.
He smiled. Everything about his body language told me talking wasn’t what he wanted to do, and I was more than happy to be a bad influence.
The air became hot, adding fuel to our already-growing fire.
Sweat gathered in the small of my back, and Konstantine’s forehead was coated in fine dots of perspiration.
We were generating our own heat, his hands tugging at my shirt and slipping underneath the hem—mine counting the buttons I popped open.
We were so tightly wrapped around each other that I thought the quake rippling where we were was our own making.
I smiled into the kiss, but Konstantine’s eyes were wide open, back to their green.
His head snapped upright, and together in a whirl of bodies, he threw us to the terrace floor, his form shielding mine.
I hadn’t the time to see where it came from, but a blast shook the castle, followed by another seconds later.
Above me, the sun’s iron grip on the sky turned it a fluorescent orange, too anomalous a color for what should have been a mild spring day.
Far away, a series of detonations rocked the stone walls, the windows trembled, as did I.
Their sound pierced my ears, and I shook in his embrace, but Konstantine held close.
From somewhere down below, I could hear the faint calls that sounded so much like the howls made by the hounds of hell.
Though he held me, unyielding and steadfast, Konstantine had gone stiff, his gaze distant.
“What should we-,” I began but was caught off by the terrace doors flying open, and a petrified, panting Penelope running outside.
“Stan! Come quick! We’re under attack!”