Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Kyrith
Jasper is with Dakari, down on the first floor of the Restoration Tower. I tuck the little box behind my back, appearing a shelf away only to stop before I can reveal myself.
The room smells…tropical. It reminds me of the wax melts Eddy likes.
“Thanks for helping,” Jasper grunts, and something scrapes across the floorboards, the sensation rubbing against my skin. “I know you’re busy with the search for her grimoire.”
Dakari huffs out a grumpy little noise.
“Oh. Going that well?”
Another grunt. “The last record I could find placed it in the Ackland archives, but I broke in there last night. It’s gone, or they’ve moved it.”
“Ackland?”
“Yeah. Mathias took control of Kyrith’s possessions after her death. Probably used it to try to get back into the Arcanaeum.”
That makes sense…but why didn’t it work? The grimoire is linked to me, and by extension, the Arcanaeum. Much like the dagger, it’s a direct line into the Library’s magical well.
This makes no sense.
I’m so dumbfounded that I almost miss Dakari’s next words.
“I’m going to humour my uncle and attend a family dinner with him and the Carltons.
See if I can get access to their manor again.
I’m going to run it past Kyrith first. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea about me and Anthea, but they’ve upped the security since I broke you out.
I don’t think I can get past the new wards unless I pretend to humour this stupid betrothal. ”
“Is that safe?” I ask, stepping out from behind the bookshelf, only to be stunned to stillness by the view before me.
They must’ve found one of the widest doors in the library. A stout, circular portal to the outside world, granting a spacious view of the beach beyond.
The ocean is so blue that it redefines the word azure.
White sands are already trickling over the doorstep, blown by the same soft breeze that wafts through the room, bringing with it the scent of salt, hibiscus, and frangipani.
The room is awash with the sounds of some tropical paradise, and bright with the midday sun from the other side of the world.
The Arcanaeum must have helped—of course it did—because all of the books are safely locked behind new glass doors, protected from the humidity.
My hand rises to cover my mouth, but Dakari tugs it away so he can press a toe-curling kiss to my lips. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Enjoy your date, baby girl.”
That quickly, he’s gone, and Jasper is left kneeling beside the door to paradise. He smooths out a wrinkle in the picnic blanket with one hand, while the other rubs uncertainly at his beard. His gaze drops to the bowls of steaming food in the middle of the blankets.
“I thought you might enjoy travelling, but if this feels like I’m shoving it in your face that you cannae leave—”
“It’s not.”
I’m pretty sure my heart is trying to hammer free from my body through my oesophagus.
The tight lines around his eyes ease, and he dares a glance up at me. “Then…welcome to Hawaii? Dakari called in a favour to get a door installed on this beach, and it’s pretty private.”
His head drops again, but catches at my feet, Adam’s apple bobbing at the sight of my heels.
Silently, I take a seat on the cushions, still staring at the ocean.
“Ah ken it’s not pigeons,” he adds. “But you did say you wanted to see beaches.”
And he took note, even when I was crying and broken.
“This is the nicest thing I think anyone has ever done for me.”
I freeze as a small white ball of fluff finds my lap and starts trying to climb me to reach the stray strands of my hair.
“You’re a lot cleaner than you were a few hours ago,” I say to the cat before me.
The dirt is gone from his coat, leaving it a gleaming white peppered with the faintest grey stripes. His little yellow eyes are clearer and no longer bulge out of their sockets, and his overbite has been sorted.
“I made Lambert bathe him, which he didnae enjoy. Then I fixed his infected eyes. The ears are just like that, though. Must be a breed thing.”
I frown as I trace the line of the folded triangles on the top of his head with one fingertip, only to fight back a surge of warm affection as the creature licks me.
“You’re not really going to call it North, are you?”
My brow wrinkles in disbelief. “I despise naming things, but no. Not if it were the last name on earth.”
In my day, there was a very limited pool to choose from. Saint names were the most common, but the cat doesn’t look like a Mark, a Thomas, or an Andrew. Equally, I shudder at the idea of naming him something cutesy like Mittens.
Plus, if I name it, I’m only encouraging Lambert to bring back more strays. While one cat might be manageable, he is not the type to stop there. Next, it’ll be a small dog, then a large dog. Soon he’ll be trying to convince me to keep chickens in one of the gardens or a goat in the clock tower.
Magic, I can just picture him waltzing in here with a horse and the Arcanaeum building a stable instead of letting me banish him.
I may have a soft spot for the Winthrop heir, but his impulsivity needs curbing.
“South, then?”
I scoff. “That’s almost worse than North.”
“Snowy? Fluffy? Olaf?”
My eyes roll, and I hold up a hand to stop him. “No. If he’s staying, he needs a dignified name.”
Picking the cat up with both hands, I study it. Nothing is jumping out at me. Why is this so hard?
“Westley,” I finally decide. “It’s close enough to North’s name to irk him, and it’s from a book, so it’s appropriate for a Library cat.”
Jasper inclines his head, scratching the cat behind its ears before the newly named Westley finally grows tired of us and squirms to be released. The moment I let go, he disappears between the stacks, chasing a toy mouse that’s being jiggled this way and that by the Arcanaeum.
“You’re pissed at North again?” Jasper asks, picking up a bowl and handing it to me.
Fire streaks across my cheekbones as I think back to last night. Waking up in bed with the frustrating asshole’s hand clasped possessively over my breast did nothing to soothe my ire, either.
I hadn’t realised he was literally going to follow me to bed to ensure I followed his rules. I also didn’t know he’d continue teasing and denying me all. Night. Long.
“Oh. It’s like that.”
Thinking about North while I’m with Jasper feels wrong, and gossiping about sex with him is worse. “He signed the contract.”
I’ll leave it at that.
“So did I, lass.” Jasper’s eyes are fixed on the beatific horizon before us as he picks up the bowls and passes me mine, handing me a spoon a second later.
There’s silence as we dig in. I’m not sure what the dish is, besides some kind of noodle soup, but it’s delicious. Being alive in the modern era has its advantages, and a varied diet is one of them.
“Did you…” he starts, as I eventually put my bowl down. “I mean, I know you’ve been busy…”
Something about his own clear nervousness settles mine, and I summon the box onto the blanket between us.
“I read what you wrote.” A flush climbs up his neck, and I add, “I liked it.”
The crash of distant waves is the only sound for a long second before he releases a breath. “You dinnae have to, if you’re not comfortable.”
“Jasper. Open the box.” I inject a little steel into my tone, and he dips his chin instantly.
“Aye, Mistress.”
His fingers tremble as he lifts the lid, then he freezes at the thick ring contained within. A dozen emotions flitter across his face. Confusion, lust, nerves, need. One finger reaches out to trace the tiny runeforms around the band, the ones that will turn it from a cock ring to a cage.
‘I want you to lock me up, to own me completely.’ He’d written. ‘I want you to have total control over when I can get hard, when I come. I fuck my hand just imagining you coming up to bed every night and unlocking me to use for your own pleasure.’
“It can wait until you’re a hundred percent sure this is what you want,” I insist. “There are incantations to unlock it, and I’ll teach them to you in case of an emergency. I know you probably need to trust me a little more before you’re comfortable—”
“Naw. I want this. I trust you.” He stumbles over his words. “I’ve just never seen a magical one before.”
“Are you sure? It’s an awful lot of control to hand over to someone else.”
Especially for someone who was kept locked up and used—albeit for completely different reasons—until recently. He’s a grown adult. It’s not my place to question his judgement, but has he really thought about this?
His eyes—those pretty tawny gems—finally catch mine and hold them.
“My body’s belonged to you since you hauled me back from the brink of death, and you know my safe words.
I wrote them down, and I trust you to honour them.
” There’s a pause where his naturally tanned skin flushes even darker.
“Please put it on me, Mistress. I want to wear this for you.”
My core pulses, thighs rubbing together at the drop in his voice and the way he’s shifted to his knees. His palms are face up, head tilted down.
The picture of perfect submission.
I didn’t realise it would affect me quite this much. My breasts heave, my nipples suddenly a hundred times more sensitive beneath the abrasive fabric of my clothes.
But the position brings to light a different problem. “Don’t you think you’re a little hard for this to work?”
His cock is straining obviously against the zipper of his jeans.
He smirks. “I cannae help it. Do you have any idea how often I’ve dreamed of this?”
No, but I might have some clue.
Standing, I press one heeled shoe to his chest. “Undo it.”
There’s no hesitation. He abandons the cock ring to one side, cupping my ankle while his other hand works the brass buckle with deft movements.
When I might’ve ordered him to take it off, he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the smooth black leather, followed by another to my instep. Worshipping. Trusting.
My heart skips a beat.