Chapter 8 – Markos
“She worked well today. Has clearly never tended plants, let alone touched dirt, but she figured it out,” Dorothea muttered as she kneaded the bread.
Holding my plate, I leaned against the wall.
My aunt would take good care of Serena, a woman couldn’t ask for a better mother-in-law.
Yet as I looked around the homey kitchen, unease shifted through me.
Something about turning her over to this family didn’t sit right.
It was a feeling, one I couldn’t name. There was no logic to it; my aunt and cousins were good, kind people.
But it was more the idea of letting something go to another than to whom it went that unsettled me.
Which only made sense because I was a selfish bastard, hoarding my treasures.
I certainly couldn’t keep Serena.
But that didn’t mean I wanted to let her go.
“The boys will be back in three nights,” she grumped. “I swear, the moment they are home, they go running off again.”
“That’s the nature of business.” I took a bite of the sandwich.
Dorothea plopped a hand on her hip and rolled the nicotine pouch around her gums. It was odd to see her without her pipe of tobacco laced with herbs no one knew the names of beside her.
“You sure I can’t fix you some real food?” she rasped.
I shook my head. “This is enough. Thank you.”
I handed her the plate and popped the last bite of crust and meat into my mouth.
Dorothea caught my wrist. Flour and specks of dough rubbed off on my skin. “And where do you plan on sleeping tonight, lad?”
My lips twitched. “Who said anything about sleep?”
“You can’t stay in that house with her.” My aunt wagged her finger at me. “That’s not proper. I raised you better than that.”
“Did you?” I blurted out.
She smacked my ear. The ring reverberated through my skull. “I most certainly did!”
I gave her a roguish grin.
“You’re not her husband,” she insisted.
No, but wait until you hear who will be. Atlas would be the one to tell her. He had balls, our voice piece. That was why they called him king. I would rather play with the sharks than tell Dorothea her baby boy was going to marry without her being consulted on the matter.
“What if she invites me? It’s my own house.” My own bed.
Imagining what Serena looked like sprawled under the quilt was a distracting thought.
“It’s not proper.” Dorothea’s gnarled fingers dug into my wrist. “Don’t be a donkey.”
“A jackass?”
“Watch your language,” she snapped, annoyed that I was picking on her English. “No sleeping with the girl. Got it?”
Part of me wanted to keep egging her on. But I was ready for a long nap after the last forty-eight hours. “Got it.”
“Stay away from her,” my aunt warned.
There was more to the matter than propriety. It was the way her eyes flicked over the left side of my face. A quick glance, so fast it was nearly imperceptible, and then she busied herself with her bread.
But I saw it.
I knew in my heart what she wouldn’t say out loud. While the others were used to my hideous visage, a stranger would be terrified. Dorothea was old-fashioned and held traditional values, but that was just the front for the real problem.
No woman in her right mind would seek me out.
The food turned sour in my belly as I pushed from the door.
That was why if I wanted a bride, I would have to take one. Yet even after I kidnapped my Russian, she wouldn’t willingly come to my bed. No...I would have to coax her. Give her space and time. Maybe years.
Maybe never.
But first things first. If I wanted a wife, one with power and status, I would have to take one.
I slid into the tree line, cutting a direct path to the sand. I’d had no intention of sleeping in the cottage. Last night I was too busy with work to rest my eyes. But tonight, I would nap on the sand as the sea sang her mournful lullaby.
Hinges creaked.
I stopped short, rounding on the cottage.
Veiled by the darkness, a whisp slipped from the front door. She paused only to look about before darting to the same trees where I hid.
The air under the boughs seemed to thicken. My pulse thrummed in my veins.
Where are you going, little one?
The muscles in my body coiled tight, ready to spring. But I let my prey think she was doing it, let her think escape was within her grasp. It would make catching her all the sweeter.
Serena didn’t head for the road. The path that led from the village was densely covered by oaks and pines. It would be a hard trek out of here on foot. No, she was sprinting to the shore.
She passed close enough that I could reach out from where I stood and touch her shoulder. Her long hair fluttered, tempting me to brush the golden strands. Gone were the clothes she’d arrived in. A black tank top hung from her shoulders, a size too big. But it allowed me a look at her smooth skin.
So pretty...so very pretty.
Hunger stirred deep in my belly.
When she was a few paces ahead, I took a tentative step. But the caution was unnecessary. She moved like an elephant, stomping and lumbering over the earth, finding every stray twig to step on while her feet shuffled over leaves.
I stalked after her, gaze pinned on her body. Those curves beckoned me. My gaze dipped to her ass, concealed by the cotton shorts, but barely.
My aunt was right to warn me off.
Serena was any man’s dream.
I stayed in the trees as she raced to the water, hair streaming behind her in a wild veil.
Was she going to swim? I frowned. The waves were strong tonight, and it would be a challenge to round the peninsula we called Shark’s Fin.
After that, it was another thirty minutes by boat to the next vestige of humanity.
Just before I shouted for her to stop, Serena dropped onto the sand. She waited, reaching slowly out as the surf rushed to shore. The moment was pure. Moonlight lit her enthralled features. There was an innocent, childlike delight in the prospect.
I stood transfixed, fascinated— entranced.
The reverence on her face was otherworldly.
The desire to capture her face between my hands, to taste the awe from her lips was strong. I struggled to remain hidden, forcing my breaths to quiet. My best effort didn’t stop my dick from twitching.
“No!” I hissed. “She’s not for you.”
Serena was a casualty, an innocent caught in our web of schemes. Not only was it unfair that she was here, ripped from the world she’d known all her life, but now we were forever taking that away from her.
Because I fucked up.
I didn’t deserve to taste her, to see if she would kiss me back under the shadow of night—because there was no way she was touching me once she saw my face.
I disobeyed a direct order, and now this woman would pay for my sins. I deserved every bit of punishment that was coming my way in the next few nights when the meeting of the Twelve would take place.
I shoved a hand over my hair, leaned against my palm, and braced my elbow on the tree trunk.
Standing there, I watched as Serena played in the waves, growing bolder with each oncoming rush, until she finally jumped into the spray.
Her delight was euphoric. Her happiness infectious. Maybe she wouldn’t mind living here.
Maybe she won’t hate me for what I’ve done to her.
With a pleasant family like my aunt and cousin, and a handsome groom, she could learn to like it here.
That was my saving grace. It was all I deserved.