Chapter Seventeen
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Ily
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“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU learn to fight like that?”
I looked up from where I kneeled beside Henri. The wooden deck beneath my bare legs was comfortingly warm, the new sunshine extra bright as if shining in apology for the storm’s wrath three nights ago.
God...has it really been three nights?
Time had never passed so slowly or so awkwardly.
The energy in Victor’s citadel was electric with animosity.
All the Masters kept a careful, hateful eye on Henri, avoiding him as if he might suddenly kill another of their ranks. No guest dared come near me. No one even looked in my direction.
It was as if we’d been in a snow globe of untouchability for the past three days—thanks to Henri’s ruthlessness during the treasure hunt and Victor’s ominous disappearance.
Seventy-two hours he’d been missing, and now...here he is.
Lucky me.
I schooled my face to remain impassive as I glanced up at the lord of this despicable estate. He looked as cool and collected as usual, with orange-tinted sunglasses perched on his sharp nose.
Henri shifted in his chair, finishing his swallow of coffee as he looked up at Victor. “Excuse me?”
Victor helped himself to an unoccupied chair and sat down. Dressed in a beige polo and linen shorts, he was the epitome of a rich asshole on holiday.
An inconspicuous waitstaff appeared, placing a plate of cut fruits, mini pastries, and a freshly brewed cup of coffee before Victor.
Grabbing a piece of pineapple, Victor plopped it onto his tongue and said midst-chew, “What you did to my two unfortunate guests the other night. Where did you learn to do that?”
I shot Henri a look.
His white t-shirt almost blinded, and blue jeans made him far more handsome than any man had the right to be.
Even now, after everything, I still couldn’t look at him without a kick of unbearable attraction.
It didn’t help that his knuckles were still raw, and a few bruises hinted he’d been in a brawl and won.
A small smile crossed his face, sinfully hot and devilishly gorgeous.
Ever since what happened between us.
Ever since my body proved exactly what it needed and embraced the awful word Henri called me, I hummed with vicious arousal.
His every move, his smell, his presence.
Watching him read was pure torture.
Having him refuse to talk to me was ridiculous foreplay.
Masochist.
I’m a masochist.
I wished it wasn’t true.
I waited for my heart to refute it, but...he’d weaved a curse around me.
As soon as he’d mentioned that damn word, I was his.
Unbearably, unwillingly his—and he’d avoided me ever since.
“So?” Victor scowled, yanking me out of my thoughts. “You gonna tell me how you did what you did, or is it some sort of secret?”
Henri dabbed his mouth with a napkin, wincing a little as the cuts on his knuckles refused to heal. “Secret? Why would it be a secret?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Victor rolled his eyes behind his tangerine lenses.
“The fact that secrets seem to be a trend with you? First, you sneak into my home under false pretences, then you announce you’re a Mercer, and now you murder as easily as if you’re a hired assassin.
” Leaning closer, he smirked dangerously.
“What other skeletons are in your closet, mon ami?”
Henri flicked me a look, his eyes black and stony.
God, my golden collar and cuffs seemed extra heavy today.
The bite mark on my neck ultra bright.
For three days, he’d shut down.
Buried himself in books and closed out the world.
The longing I’d grown used to—the unshielded yearning within him that made my heart flutter despite myself...all gone.
Or at least...hidden.
He’d been monosyllabic ever since he’d left me dripping against the wall, and I probably deserved it.
He saved me.
Avenged me.
That one act of kindness had somehow negated all his badness...at least in my newly twisted mind. I curled my fingers into fists on my knees, ignoring the small twinge in my hand from punching Larry.
When Henri had exploded out of the darkness like some murderous werewolf—when he’d given a lupine howl on the storm’s wind and morphed from a man into a tornado of violence...that’d been the moment things had changed for me.
Not in the shower.
Not in our bedroom.
That moment.
And...no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t undo that moment or change how my heart now felt.
He’d saved my mind from ruination.
Protected me from a lifetime of emotional scars.
He’s still good...deep, deep inside.
I know it.
Running his fingers over my bare shoulder, Henri didn’t seem aware he’d reached for me as he tipped his chin at Victor. “No more skeletons, Vic. I swear.”
The way he reached for me...even now. The bond between us...despite everything.
I’d been wrong to think he was heartless.
If anything, he was heartful.
Too full.
Overflowing.
Drowning.
“Fine...tell me, then. How did you fight so well?” Victor asked.
“Would you believe me if I said I have no idea?”
“No idea?” Victor’s eyebrows rose. “You’re saying it was all instinct?”
Henri continued caressing me.
I wished he wouldn’t.
Wished I didn’t have to shift to hide what he did to me.
“I’m saying they made me irrational,” he said. “She makes me irrational.”
“Ah, yes.” Victor scowled. “You became...how did you put it? Murderous?” He dropped his navy stare to where Henri stroked me. “Tell me, have all your crushes created this sort of violence in you, or is it just lucky Ilyana?”
My nipples pebbled beneath the scant silver bikini a maid had delivered after Henri had called for clothes for me. Something suitable for swimming. Something that allowed him to see me but hid forbidden parts from others.
Not that I was complaining.
The stretchy Lycra was the most decency I’d had since arriving here.
“Just her, I’m afraid,” Henri muttered. “And as much as I wish I could undo her hold on me, I can’t. Besides, I did warn everyone not to touch her.” He threw a scowl at the guests having their breakfast, deliberately ignoring our table. “Least they’re aware now.”
My skin broke out in goosebumps as my heart quickened.
The longer Henri touched me, the harder it was to ignore the rapidly building fire between us. A fire that only seemed to grow stronger every time we were near.
Flames incinerated my insides the longer this awful silence between us stretched.
Say the word...
Admit what he might be...
You were warned by that astrologer. He said one day you’d find your—
Enough!
Just like I knew Peter wasn’t my soulmate, I refused to entertain the idea that Henri might be my...
I shut that thought down.
God...if only he’d kept fighting that night.
If only he’d grabbed me and run the opposite way—toward the drawbridge and onto the plane—like a true gallant knight should. Everyone knew the saviour saved the damsel, not carted her back to the tower to ravage her.
And wow, did he ravage me.
“I need information, Henri,” Victor clipped. “Tell me how you did it.”
“I have nothing to tell. I just...let myself go.” Henri shrugged, his fingers still sending pinwheels of heat through my blood. “I wasn’t thinking about anything apart from making them pay.”
“And you’ve never trained in Muay Thai or mixed marital arts?”
I looked between the two men.
Was Henri a master in warfare like Victor suspected?
The way he’d attacked those creeps. The typhoon of fists and hurricane of violence.
I could see why Victor was interested.
He’d seemed...inhuman.
“Never.” Henri shrugged. “However, now that you mention it, I used to watch quite a few matches on YouTube when I wasn’t working at the bar. MMA has always interested me. Brutal sport. Maybe I picked up a few tricks that way?”
“Perhaps,” Victor muttered, all while looking highly doubtful. “From the accounts of my battlement guards, it sounds as if you turned into a death machine.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Victor smiled thinly. “It’s got me thinking...”
Henri finally stopped touching me and placed his hands on his lap. “Thinking about what exactly?”
Victor just tapped his nose.
“Am I in trouble, then?” Henri raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’ve been MIA for three days?”
“Trouble?” Victor blinked away his thoughts.
“Frankly, you’re always in trouble, Mercer.
And no, I had other urgent business come up.
” He sighed. “To be honest, if your last name wasn’t Mercer and I didn’t get such a kick out of befriending my enemy’s brother, I think I would’ve tossed you in the sea by now. ”
Henri chuckled.
Chuckled!
As if Victor—one of the most unpredictable, menacing men I’d ever met—just made a joke.
“Ah, come now, Vic.” He smirked, the bruise on his freshly shaved jaw from someone’s punch slightly green in the sun. “You’d miss me far too much.”
Victor’s mouth twitched. “And there is the crux of my little problem.”
“Your problem being that you like me?”
Victor huffed. “Strong word.”
“So...did I kill them?” Henri asked warily. “You said if I killed them, we’d be having another conversation. Is this another conversation?”
Biting into a strawberry puff pastry, Victor pouted as if he honestly didn’t know if he enjoyed Henri’s company or wanted to choke him with his danish.
“A friend of mine at the local hospital called yesterday. Daxton passed away, but Roger is stable. However, he’ll never walk again, seeing as you snapped his neck. ”
Henri leaned back with a scowl. “Isn’t a broken neck usually a death sentence?”
“Not if the spinal cord isn’t damaged. You were close.” His face darkened. “Lucky for you, you didn’t succeed.”
“But Daxton—the one who hurt Ily...he’s dead. That’s a bonus.”
Victor shot me a black look. “Pronounced deceased at five a.m. that morning.” He pinned Henri with a judgy glower. “Died of a ruptured penis, if you must know. Apparently, whatever trauma you delivered created a hematoma that burst. He bled out before they could operate.”
“Serves him right.” Henri toasted Victor with his coffee. “He shouldn’t have touched her.”
The sun slithered behind a cloud, drenching all of us in shadow.