56. Harper
56
Dimitrius moved faster than Harper could perceive in a blur of shadow and grabbed her wrist, the knife suspended between them at his throat. “My goodness. You are a murderous little thing, aren’t you? First you try to shoot me, now you try to cut my throat with my own silverware? That’s poor thanks for saving, bathing, and feeding you, little huntress. Or perhaps I should call you a wolf? Your bite is sharp and wicked, and it seems I shall not tame you today.”
“Let go!” She wrenched away, but his grip was iron as he drew her closer until they were almost chest to chest, so close that she could see the curl of those shadowy tattoos creeping up his collarbone. His smile was deadly as he looked down upon her with revenge promised in his heavy gaze. Lightning sang through every nerve and muscle in her, and she had never felt so alive as in the danger of that moment.
“To do what, precisely, hmm? Shall I help you?” He drew her arm closer and cocked his head. Then bared his neck to her and to that blade, drawing it closer until it nicked his skin. “Is this what you want? Please, be my guest. Put me out of my misery in this foul place—but be prepared to deal with the consequences.”
Harper stopped breathing. Her wrist throbbed in his grasp. He grazed his throat across the very edge of the blade—to no effect—and laughed as he twisted her arm. She dropped the knife with a cry of pain, and a moment later, the blade was in his grasp between long, elegant fingers. It clinked as he set it down next to his wine glass on the stone.
“What were you hoping to achieve?” he scoffed. “Oh, don’t bother answering. I suppose I cannot blame you for trying to escape—but do not mistake my courtesy for kindness, or my generosity for weakness, Harper. You are here because it serves my purpose. For now.”
Dimitri took her chin between his forefinger and thumb and tipped it up, forcing her to meet his eyes. This close, his stare paralysed her, the threat of the power brimming within enough to make her heart stutter. “Do not try that again,” he warned. “You will do as I say, or we will both die. Know that I am as invested in keeping you alive as I am myself, for at this moment, they are one and the same.”
At last, he let her go and Harper staggered back into the stone railing, crashing into it with a painful impact. She breathed heavily, unable to shake the dread that curled through her, nor the exhilaration of the moment. Her eyes darted over the railing. If she jumped now, would she make it?
“The answer is no, Harper,” Dimitrius said softly, watching her. He tipped his glass and drained the last mouthful. “If you try, you will fail, and we will both die. I cannot allow that to happen.”
She swallowed, and his attention flicked to the bob of her throat.
“I mean you no harm. Truly,” he offered. “I commend your pluck, that you would choose to take me on, despite the vast impossibility of your success. Turn that foolish bravery to your real chance of survival.” He watched her—but she could not respond, frozen against the stone, her chest heaving. “If you do as I say, I will ensure you leave here alive. I promise once. I promise twice. I promise thrice. Do we have an agreement, Harper?”
His magic caressed her, charging the feelings raging within her. Her legs shook, and she was glad for the stone to hold her up. Before her, he simply stood. The pure, raw power of him balanced in that moment, waiting for her choice. Those dark eyes were impassive once more, no feeling betrayed in his masked expression. She could glean no emotion from the preternatural stillness of that predatory body of his that oozed the promise of darkness.
Her agreement was the best hope for her survival in that moment. That was all she had to do. All this was. One step after another. And at each one, she simply had to choose the path to surviving. To freedom. “Yes,” she breathed. And his magic coiled around her like the jaws of a wolf promising a beautiful death.
“Good,” he crooned.
That was not the word she would have chosen. But she was not dead—and so she had won this step in this very real game of chatura she now found herself playing. Exhaustion dragged through her, and she sagged against the stone.
At once, his hand was at her arm, steadying her. Her stomach swooped with the threat of his proximity as his citrus and musk scent washed over her. She pushed him away and stood, swaying slightly. They had an agreement—yet it did not mean she trusted him. She had let her guard slip over dinner, lulled by warmth, unthreatening conversation, more food than she had ever been allowed to eat, and a seemingly generous host, but she had since shown her hand. There was no way that his kindness was genuine and without motive. Or that he would trust her in the slightest after the stunt she had just pulled.
“You must be beyond exhausted. Come, rest.” Fear bloomed in her belly as her thoughts turned to sleeping arrangements. Would he expect payment for his hospitality? He knew she had no money and nothing else to offer, which meant… She knew what men wanted from women—the men at the inn, at least. She wouldn’t. She would fight him tooth and nail if he forced her.
“Come,” he repeated at her reluctance. “I have a spare bedchamber that you are welcome to use. No one else knows you are here, so you are safe tonight. I promise you.”
She blinked. That wasn’t what she had expected from this dangerous male. Am I safe from you? She did not dare to ask. No doubt the bedchamber had a latch on the door that would be equally as ineffective as the bathing room’s at keeping him at bay.
Dimitrius tsked. “Sleep in there, sleep on the floor out here. I care not. For your own safety, however, you may not leave my quarters, may I make that expressly clear. I can return you to the dungeons, if you find that a preferable option.” He smirked at her visible shudder, and those violet eyes drank her in. “I thought not. Come.”
She followed him in and he led her a short ways down a dimly lit panelled hallway. “This chamber is yours for the night. I shall not bother you, have no worry of that. Good night.”
“Wait,” she called, then swallowed, worried at her boldness.
Dimitrius turned and fixed her in an impassive stare, an eyebrow raised.
“There…” Harper took a deep breath. “I had a bracelet with me. A leather thing, old and worn, with a silver bead on it. It’s nothing much. It has no worth to any but I. I don’t suppose you have it?”
Dimitri narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want it?”
“It’s the only thing I have left of home.”
“Where did you come by it?”
“I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. Please, it really is worth nothing to anyone else. I don’t even think it’s real silver. May I have it back?”
“I shall see if I can find it. Perhaps.” He inclined his head and slipped down a corridor to what she presumed were his own quarters.
She walked to the bedchamber and opened the door. Harper swallowed, looking around. She doubted even Lord Denholme had chambers so fine. With a backwards glance at the empty living quarters, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her, before leaning against the cool wood and letting out a lengthy exhale. None of this seemed real anymore.
It was almost dark but for a few lamps dotted about, all of which contained small, bobbing faelights that cast the room in a faint, warm glow. Harper edged into the centre of the room and spun on the spot, taking in every detail of the wood panelled room as her toes scrunched in the furs beneath her feet. She looked down. It must have been a huge beast to almost cover the parquet floor, but its fur was as soft as a rabbit pelt.
Slowly, she approached the bed—a giant four-poster that shamed her rough, wooden pallet—and ran her fingers along silken oversheets, thick undercovers, plump pillows and cushions. It was hard to put a price on such luxury. Certainly more than she could have earned in ten lifetimes of eking out an existence in Caledan. It put a lump in her throat.
The room was hers. Again, her gaze flicked to the door. The image of Dimitrius between the sheets before her flashed through her mind. He terrified and attracted her in equal measure, and she was not entirely sure what to feel about that. She crushed the thought.
Trust… Do I trust him? she wondered. Not in her lifetime. Yet it was no prison, at least not the same one she had been in earlier that day, nor did she seem to be in mortal danger from Dimitrius. Another yawn threatened. She swayed with tiredness, but remained standing. What’s better? To knowingly sleep in the home of my enemy, or to collapse from exhaustion?