Chapter 39
I'm not quite sure why she's doing this. Moving my gaze back to my Zenith, the stark lighting of the window makes him look almost regal. Like he's a warped king watching over his subjects.
When the door to the vast space shuts, and it's just the two of us in sudden silence, Soren stands, his heavy footsteps the only sound in the room. I don't need powers to read that he did not like Shade coming near me. It's ruffled his pretty little feathers, and I'm honestly curious now.
He cants his head to the side as he nears me, a controlled frustration laced in his brutal, rough voice. "You so easily give him your attention..."
"What? I give it to you," I counter, standing.
"I mean your undivided attention..." With each step forward, I take one back until I'm against a cold wall that he flattens a hand against, towering over me. Deciphering his mood seems almost pointless. "Your nerves even calmed when he talked to you, in ways that he's lucky I don't feel like staining Rosmertta's rugs in blood for. Is that what you want? A gladiator?" He leans in, hovering his face in mine. "Perhaps have them fight over you in the pit?"
His intensity, after such a gentle moment in his room the previous night, confuses me... especially since it actually makes me trust him more. I'll trust a man's anger over his niceties any day, even if I'm not entirely sure where it stems from. Is it territorial? Jealousy? Both?
I still can't hold my tongue. I'm a damn daughter of this world, not a cowering peasant. "I did, actually," I reply, as if he casually asked me the question. His body stiffens, his breathing deepening. "I fantasized about that very thing when I was younger and in Coalfell, especially when I still allowed myself to miss this world—" I want to make him squirm, especially after learning he has a penchant for 'the pretty ones'. I lean into his cheek, so ours are touching as I speak into his ear, speaking with the confidence of a Zenith's daughter. "If I had been known, and my father still relevant, many would have fought for me. I'll never forget that, no matter how much you dress me up as yours."
He reels ever so slightly, growling in my ear, "How right you are."
Soren fists the back of my hair, watching me as he holds my gaze. I pant, the pain from pulling on my scalp just enough to steal my breath out of surprise, my eyes flitting back and forth between his. I can't get enough of his undivided attention; of hearing that others really don't sleep in his bed. Of Kathleen's theory that he might just genuinely be captivated by me.
As I am, admittedly, to him.
His lips are so close to mine that I could lick them. He rasps, "You're so misguided when it comes to judging me, Jane."
Confusion overwhelms my needy heart, believing his sincerity with more ease than before. I want him to kiss me. To touch me. The more I’m in Skull's Row, the more I crave the life I should have had, as if living this out will fill the void that loneliness and misery have carved out.
In some way, I think I am mourning a person who should have been, and having Soren fuck it out of me is as sweet as punching men at taverns. I bleed the desire out of me, hoping he picks up on what I want. When a flash of intrigue appears in his eyes, before he covers it, I ask, "You're not going to kiss me?"
"No," he muses, then thinks on the answer. "No... I think you should." He runs his nose alongside my cheek, inhaling deeply, no doubt catching lingering traces of whatever floral scent he covered me in. "You promised to give me your undivided attention. So, kiss me like you want to keep that word."
I'm so fucking confused. Some part of me completely believes him, and the other screams that he wants something from me. But if he does, what's the worst that will happen? He breaks my heart, and I spend the rest of my days figuring out how to kill him? What's the best? I get to engage in... whatever, this is? "I don't think you even know my middle name,” I tease.
"What is it, then?"
With zero pushback, I reply, "Marella."
His icy eyes flash with intrigue. Even then, I don't move. It's the weirdest feeling to want him so badly and yet be utterly afraid of that desire. He sighs, knowing I need more. I love that I don't have to say anything as he adds, "Do you know how hard it is to find a woman with as much danger as you, who is also as gorgeous as you?"
My lips wordlessly part as my body relaxes. He seems intrigued, raising a brow as he adds, "I call you my desert rose because they don't grow in the desert... so to see one would be special enough to kill others for it." He brushes his lips on mine, the grip on my hair tightening so I can’t lean into the motion. "And I revel in the way it feels when your heart unwinds for me—that's from selfish reasons, Jane, that have nothing to do with the Council, Skull's Row, or Cypress."
Those words slither deep within, entwining with every fiber of my being... I'm reminded why I hesitate so much.
His affection means something to me.
It's been over a decade since I opened my heart like this, even if just by an inch.
Give in. Even if it hurts you. So, you can live and hurt the rest. Including him if he deserves it.
It's as if the thought is the permission I've been desperately grasping for, effortlessly pressing my lips against his, despite the grip on my hair. His hand on the walls drops to touch me like I'm something he's yearned to find. He's ruining my outfit with his rough grip, but I don't care. Not when his tongue parts my lips, or when he wraps his arm behind my back, readjusting us so greatly that I wrap a thigh around him for support. He even lifts me, pinning me on the wall, both legs wrapped around him. His armor hurts my inner thighs, but it means nothing to me.
If anything, it just reminds me who holds me.
Soren doesn't understand how much he hooks me at this moment. When I was a teenager, missing home and trying to enjoy the boring life around me, I often thought of here. Of tending to a young gladiator.
Of finding romance that way.
Maybe, I could sneak back into Skull's Row as a healer.
This kiss is very different from the others. Fear is replaced with desire, giving this questionable man a true bit of my trust—it's senselessly divine.
I've never kissed a man while feeling any emotion.
Everything about him morphs in my mind, imagining the potential I have with him. My body freezes when the concept overwhelms me. I'm still in danger. Still alone. Our lips part as his gaze bores into mine.
"Don't pull away from me, beautiful. That's not a part of the deal. I want all of you."
His expression bleeds with so much desire that I can nearly read him ; I touch his cheek with affection, his icy eyes are vulnerable, like the beast has a heart so closed that he, too, doesn't know what to do when it's open.
Whatever emotion sprouted is drowned away, his reluctance mirroring mine like his own heart might actually be threatened, too.
We are both in need of rapture, afraid to touch the light.
So, instead, the Zenith fucks me inside of the whorehouse with carnality rather than sentiment, and I'm grateful for the familiar intimacy, or lack thereof. The sounds we make nearly echo in the giant, empty room. He rips at my clothes, gripping my neck so tightly it might bruise as he fucks me like I’m his pleasure to own.
I cling to him like I've never grabbed a man before, eager to touch someone lovingly while they’re at a violent distance; practicing what it would be like, amorous, without the fear, and uncertainty of rejection. I even come twice in the brutal exchange, and he ensures he’s as deep as my body will fit him when he spills into me.
When we’re both spent, he grabs a towel and even cleans me up with his cock still out, silently observing. Once I’m standing and his pants re-buckled, Soren attempts to repair the damage to my elaborate outfit as he ties it in the back. I stare out a window, watching the many boats as they congest the river. He's helping dress me after bruising my thighs from how hard he fucked me against a table. He quietly asks, "Did you really see your father in the alley?"
Old habits initially protect my words before exhaustion unleashes them. There's no wall guarding my heart as I say, "It makes no sense... but I swear I did."
He tightens my binds one more time before tying them. In our solitude, the safety he provides is magnetic. There's no reminder of who he really is, and he can just be the man I'm enjoying passing the time with.
“What do you mean you swear you did? Was he hard to see?”
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“We’re beyond that, love.”
Smiling, I decide to give him everything as I say, “It didn’t look like him—physically—but he moved like my dad. When our gazes connected, I felt him. It was… healing, almost. Even if it’s not him. I’ve spent so many nights crying, wishing for the impossible. At some point, it was almost like my life was made up. Even when you came for me, my dad felt like a figment of my mind.” I breathe heavier, speaking without restraint, “I don’t know. It’s like having a dog that died and seeing one that looks exactly like them. It reinvigorated me. Made me realize I can accept who I am, rather than tame myself for the sake of the villagers in Coalfell.”
The dead air behind me fills with his body as he closes all space between us, the man tenderly wrapping a hand around my throat, his breath is on my ear. “Let that part of you open, Jane. I can feel it, and you need to heal. Which you can do here, as we’re staying for an undetermined amount of time. They’ll think I’m trying to open you up, but if your daddy's showing himself, things are about to get very colorful, and whorehouses have a way of keeping secrets. Especially if you pay them well. You’ll be sleeping with me, and no man is to touch you."
I lean into Soren, his touch nothing but gentle even if it might look aggressive from the outside. His other hand runs through the back of my hair—I'm learning he likes to play with it. "What of your duties to the Council? Surely, they’ll know.”
"Those bastards have a lot of fat that needs trimming.” His nose burrows into my hair as he adds, "I have a feeling those that burned down your village are still out there. Something is going on, and it’s more than just them wanting to know who marked you without permission. Blackwell and his ilk are too distracted by their magnitude to remember we’re all fragile when the ocean's storm barrels into us. I'm planning to ride into the eye."
I believe him. For better or for worse, I trust that he's playing chess rather than being entirely selfish or senseless. Perhaps it's all simply too much and I’m forced to believe him for my own preservation.
But if intuition is a real guide, then mine tells me that Soren smells blood in the water and is letting the Council bleed out before claiming what's left. Maybe my appearance makes them all realize they’re more fragile than they’d like to pretend.
He shocks me when warm lips press against my neck in a kiss before he says, "We will worry about that later. You still owe me a day, and I have every intention to drain even the last minute out of you."
There's no point to my usual words of protest, ones that are like dirt in my mouth now.
I want to live.
"Then, I'd like another warm bath, some wine, maybe a foot massage, and the freedom to ask you ten questions."
For the first time since meeting him, his laugh sounds like it comes from a normal man rather than a callous mercenary as he says, “Deal.”