Chapter 22 Salem
CHAPTER 22
SALEM
The next time she woke up, she felt more well rested than she had in a long time.
She yawned, looking around her small room, and saw it was dusk outside, the sunlight fading as darkness descended. She had slept the day away. Thank goodness it had been the weekend.
Feeling gritty, she quietly moved out of the bed, aware of Caz still sleeping peacefully, his back to her, a massive skull on it with a multitude of classical artwork designs within it. His whole body was a work of art, one she wanted to trace with her fingers, taking her time with it.
Leaving him to slumber for the moment, she tiptoed her way to the bathroom, pulling out a fresh set of clothes on the way. Stripping off, she stood in front of the mirror and took stock of herself.
There was a reddened hickey on the side of her neck, one she hadn’t even felt in the haze of her heated lust. Her mouth was swollen, as were her eyes. Her face looked puffy, and a pillow crease ran vertically down her cheek. And her hair that she never left loose while sleeping was a massive, messy poof of a cloud around her face, her curls looking like snakes. Was that why he called her little asp? Her curls?
Shaking her head, she took out her contacts and brushed her teeth. That done, she turned the water on, cold as she preferred, and stepped into the shower, letting it drench her hair, her face, her whole body.
Not even a few seconds had passed and the hair on her neck prickled.
She turned her head to see Caz standing in the small bathroom, making it so much smaller, shirtless but wearing jeans now, leaning against the counter, arms folded, watching her.
Salem turned back, and knowing how obsessed he was with her hair, took hold of her shampoo. The scent of pine and flowers filled the tiny space, and she poured a dollop on her palm, all the while aware of him watching her. She took her time, massaging it into her scalp, letting the ritual relax her. It took her a few minutes to wash her hair and condition it, and he stayed there the entire time, in the same posture, watching his own private show.
Finally done, she wrapped a towel around her hair and another around her body, stepping out and almost into his personal space in the tiny area. He didn’t straighten, just tugged her into himself, his gray eyes taking in her fresh-faced look.
“You could bring gods to their knees, you know that?” he murmured softly, his hands tightening on her hips, before drifting to the corners of her eyes, tracing them like he did. “Just one glance from these eyes would have driven men to murder in old times. Still might.”
Salem tilted her head to the side. “Would it drive you to murder?”
He pulled her closer. “Oh, little asp. It would drive me beyond.”
“What is beyond murder?”
“Damnation.”
Salem gave him the eyes he was so fond of while gazing into his. “You didn’t leave.”
“You didn’t want me to,” he stated simply, and Salem felt the surprise. How had he known that when she hadn’t?
He tapped the side of her head. “I own this pretty little mind of yours, Salem. I know the way you think. Why do you think I pushed and poked you so much during class?”
To learn how she reacted and what she said. He had always done that with her—picked on her, gotten her to react more than anyone else—and Merlin had never stopped him. To anyone else, it would look like he was trying to bully her, create a rivalry of some kind, but she understood now what he’d been doing. He’d been learning her thought patterns and behavior.
Damn.
But speaking of class, it reminded her of Merlin and of everything else that had happened.
Proving that he did know how her brain worked, he heard her unasked question. “You want to know how we got out?”
She nodded.
He pulled away his hand that had been tracing her face softly and pushed it into his jeans pocket, taking out an old-school metal key, a very old one from the looks of it. “It’s a skeleton key.” He showed it to her. “Opens almost every lecture hall and auditorium in this place, especially the ones without any digital keypad.”
She hadn’t even known that could be possible. She’d grown up in a house with different keys and locks for each and every room. This was very novel, very cool to her.
“How did you get this?” she asked, taking it from his hand and weighing it. It was heavy.
“One of the perks of my membership,” he stated, taking it back and pocketing it again.
“Will you tell me what the membership is about?” she ventured, and he was shaking his head before she had completed the question.
“It’s for your own safety.”
Which meant whatever he was involved in was dangerous, dangerous enough that she would be unsafe if he told her. And it wasn’t Mortemia, that much she knew from his reaction.
What the hell was it, then?
“After you passed out,” he informed her, “I picked you up and got us out. Came right here. Thankfully, no one was around so getting up here was pretty easy. You got agitated in your clothing so I took it off and let you be. I’d meant to leave but…”
He trailed off, his eyes shifting to the side, to a spot beyond her shoulder, as if lost in some kind of thought.
“But?” she urged him, putting her hands on his chest, willing him to come back and continue.
He seemed to return to himself at her touch, and she made a mental note for it for the future, just in case.
Touching anchored him.
He glanced back at her and took a deep breath, his look tenuous, tentative.
“Let’s make a pact for trust talk.”
Nice play on words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, whatever we tell each other in this space can never be shared,” he clarified, his gaze intense. “It means you and I take it to our graves, no matter what.”
That sounded like a step forward, a way to tentatively try trust. She nodded. “Okay.”
He held her jaw and planted a deep, solid kiss on her lips, biting her lower one until skin opened and he sucked it in. Salem rose on her toes and let him plunder, giving him a bite in return when he smiled.
He pulled back and she saw a smear of red on his lip. “Had to seal the deal.”
She felt like rolling her eyes. Barbaric beast of a man.
“So, trust talk,” he started, and Salem focused, intent on listening to what he would share, hoping it wasn’t a confession that he was some kind of a serial killer or one in the making. She could deal with everything else and keep it in the vault of her mind.
“Can I also trust you not to ask me anything more if I tell you something?”
Salem hesitated. That could be tricky for her, given her curious nature, but she nodded nonetheless.
His hands tightened on her hips as he picked up the thread from their previous topic. “I meant to leave, but your bed looked inviting.”
Salem waited.
And waited.
Confused.
That was the secret? Her bed looked inviting? What?
“Okay,” she drawled, trying to understand what he was saying.
He took another deep breath in. “I haven’t slept in a bed in over a year, Salem.”
Salem stared at him in shock. What did he mean by that? Hadn’t slept in a bed in over a year? What? How could he not have slept in a bed in over a year? Where the hell was he sleeping then? Why?
“Don’t ask me,” he reminded her, his demeanor serious. “Not yet.”
Salem swallowed down the words, biting her lips, the place where his teeth had been tender.
Something had been off about him since the beginning, secrets surrounding him like shrouds, and learning one caused even more to rise from the ground, like ghosts being mass summoned on a dark night.
She didn’t really know how to respond to it. So, she asked the one question at the forefront of her mind, one that would see how far her trust talk could go.
“Can I trust you not to kill me?” she asked him seriously, her nails digging into his pecs with the tension in her body.
“Yes,” he assured her, his voice strong, unshakeable. “Killing you isn’t in the cards.”
“Then what is?”
“Possessing you,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “For now.”
“And later?”
She saw his face shutter, ignoring the slight pang her chest gave in response.
“Later cannot be in any of our promises, Salem,” he told her seriously. “My purpose here forbids me from even being around you, much less anything else.”
“Then why are you here?” she murmured, her heart beginning to pound as she waited for his answer.
He considered her, his eyes roving over her face. “Because I was a man on the path to damnation and I saw salvation instead. Because being near you makes me feel something beyond rage. Because the chaos inside me quietens when I’m near you.” His words were shaking by the end of his sentence, his hands holding her possessively. “You’ve become my muse, little asp.”
Salem knew he meant every word, the lines of tension etched on his face, the ferocity of his gaze, the heat of his body, all of it witness to his truth.
Her heartbeat stabilized, glad to know she wasn’t the only one affected.
“Can I trust you not to destroy me?”
The damn smirk twisted his lips. “Depends on the destruction.”
She slapped the side of his bicep, letting the light moment fade into seriousness again. “Your purpose here isn’t just education, is it?”
He didn’t respond.
Salem hesitated. “Does it have something to do with the deaths?”
He gave a brisk nod.
Alright then.
“I cannot say how things will be tomorrow and I can’t give you anything more than this, right here, right now.”
Salem was okay with that, for now. She had decided while cuddling up to him that she was going to take it and enjoy it to the fullest, as long as it lasted, relieving her stress and filling her tanks with the touch and affection she had been denied. It helped that their mental and bodily chemistry sizzled.
“In that case…” She took a step back and grabbed his hand, leading him outside. He followed, ducking under the doorway because of his huge build.
She quickly changed into a fresh pair of shorts and a new tank top with her back to him while he picked up his sweater. While he checked his phone, she slowly moved to the murder board, turning to see him watching her.
He pushed the phone into his pocket.
Salem paused. “Can I trust you not to use any of this against me?”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Depends on what it is.”
Exactly the answer she would have given in his shoes.
Taking a deep breath in, she flipped the cover up, and gave him a front-row seat into the dark, depraved crevices of her mind.
And all I loved, I loved alone
—Edgar Allan Poe, “Alone”