Chapter 46🌜 Crown & Sword
William's POV
"I have asked for some chicken soup for you, you like it right?" I pull my shoe down with the help of my other one. "Doesn't matter. I have already ordered it. It will be here by seven."
Damn, what am I even doing? Feeding the devil himself?
"Are you even listening to me?" He doesn't reply this time either.
I stride towards the bed, tripping on my own shoe in the way.
"You gotta be kidding me?"
He's asleep.
He's fucking asleep.
Sleeping on my bed like he had a long day, mining coal. With his head slanted on a pillow and hands around another pillow.
"Oh, Mister?" I pat his cheek to bring him out of his daze but he seems to be dead asleep.
"Wait..." His cheek is burning hot beneath my fingers.
I check the forehead and it isn't any better either, burning me more than my mom's tava ever could.
His temperature is significantly higher than it was before..
"Holy fuck... who are you? A furnace-wait, don't die on me. Fuck. What should I do?"
There's no change in his state even after my chatter.
I stop messing around and head straight to the bathroom.
After finding what I need, I put the bowl of lukewarm water on the bedside table along with a white hand towel.
I try to be gentle, cupping his shoulder as my thumb digs into the dampness of his armpit. Slipping another hand under his neck.
'Okay...one...two...and...'
The moment I lift, his head rolls back heavy on my forearm. One of his soft snores escaping his lips.
Back to zero, I guess.
I bite my lip, my biceps trembling as I struggle to not let him slam back down.
"You can do it, William!" After giving myself one more round of 'words of spirit', I plant my knee on the edge of the mattress for better leverage.
Locking both of my hands in their respective positions, I push him forward with all my strength.
This time I succeed.
But there's one catch-this truck of a man pulls me with him. We both land on our backs. With my hand lying awkwardly under his heavy mass.
I flip it, turn it left and then right, but he doesn't budge. Almost restricting the flow of blood to my fingers without him even knowing.
My jaw locks in a rigid frame, teeth grinding together and almost cutting my own tongue off-but I finally free my hand. Looking pale and soaked in his sweat.
Sweat? Right.
I can mourn my crushed nerves later in the day. Currently, I have to pay him back and then we'll be square.
I walk around the bed frame, until I reach his side.
Four seconds in.
Seven seconds hold.
And, now release slowly.
How hard can it even be right?
I pull the duvet on top of him down, until half of his torso is exposed. The collar of his jet black shirt is half-tucked on each side. The top three buttons are open, making it fall on his shoulder. Baring his defined collarbone and relaxed traps.
My lips part and then close in a thin line of renewed self-control. I walk right towards the burning epicenter of heat like nothing affects me.
Because nothing does.
This loose button is about to snap off of his shirt before I stop those running thoughts in my brain.
It's okay, I'm okay.
With another deep breath, I unhook this button and then unbutton its contemporaries.
Now that the drenched shirt is open, there isn't a single sheet of fabric covering him. But there's nothing new, though. The same old muscles and tattoos. Who cares about those?
I soak the towel in the bowl and then squeeze the excess water back. Ensuring it wouldn't drip on the carpet, I fold it in a four-layered rectangle. Then place it on top of his forehead, pushing the hair in the way back.
I press it gently, and then trail it on the side of his stubbled face. Especially where a single drop of sweat shines on top of his bed lines.
I trail down, only stopping on his neck. At the area where I can feel his pulse beating heavily below my fingertips.
His neck is wide enough that even with both of my hands I wouldn't be able to cover more than half of it. It's veiny and there's an unusually fat nerve popping up on the side.
I can't stop myself from trailing the bluish-green of that nerve with my fingertip as it serpents around his neck.
Focus, William.
I wipe the damp skin on the hollow of his neck, where the wide chords of muscles branch down towards the centre of his collarbone.
My hand traces down the point heads of hair sprouting on his defined pecs. I have seen him shirtless before, but that was just at passing or when I was overwhelmed because of him-because of his annoying personality, his piercing gaze and put together persona.
Now, in the dim lighting of the bedside lamp, the flushed heat coming out of his chest paints it on a different canvas.
An unseen one.
On his right pectoral, there are tattoos sprawled on it and so do his arms. Like this one which has a detailed rose with an ombre of red and black getting lit up with fire from an invisible source.
Apart from that burning group of petals the rest of the flower is red and blooming beautifully.
Instead of fumes, it looks like it has tiny petals coming out.
Floating on the sky of his chest.
Not burnt.
Just pretty.
But it is his left pectoral which takes my breath away and clenches my heart to stop. There are no tattoos inked on that area, just smooth blemishless skin on top of cut muscles. And all of that makes the mark there stand out the most.
It isn't a loud artistic piece. It is compact, perhaps the size of a wrist watch, but the damage caused to create this cannot be hidden. The skin there is unmistakably different-puckered, shiny and drained out of the sun-kissed glow the rest of his body has into an ominous silvery-white.
I gulp hard as I lean closer to take a closer look and all the tiny shapes become clearer.
It's a brand.
A fucking brand.
A long sword drives down his ribs, capped with the weight of a heavy looking, jagged crown. Wrapped tightly around both is a serpent, its coiled body is choking the steel and gold and its two-faced tongue is showing no mercy while flicking up.
The last time, when he moved with his usual fluid grace and untamed aura, it must have looked like one of his battle-scars or a shadow.
But with him now resting without consciousness, the scar tissue flexes and ripples with every feverish rise and fall of his chest.
The snake appears to be constricting the movements, as if suffocating his heart from there with a tag of its ownership.
My stomach fills up with a feeling of unease and an urge to throw up the sandwich I ate downstairs.
I don't know what it stands for-or who did this-but anyone capable of branding another human being like livestock isn't sane.
It's disgusting. Horrifying.
I mean who can they even be? Like who in their right minds would do something this maddening?
Whoever they are... They clearly have more power on him than his demeanor lets us think one could on a man like that.
'I'd ask him about it later...'
I pick the cloth back up with trembling hands and go back to wiping. Drawing the towel on the outskirts of the valley of his right pec is much easier than doing that on his left one.
With my brain running fast on a treadmill, I finally move onto the lower half of his torso-his abs.
Honestly...at this point, these should be called freaking biscuits.
Literally a pack of ten, not even six.
Somehow they don't even look blocky or way too bulky.
They look lean as they taper down his narrow waist. A crisscrossing terrain of a happy trail begins at the bottom of his navel and disappears deep under the waistline of his navy blue jeans.
I dunk the cloth in the bowl to wipe the rest of his body.
Now that I am done with his torso, it's just his arms which are left.
His shoulders are wild and wide. I mean it makes sense why his waist looks that narrow...
but still. Then there are those hulk of a biceps which can crush a fucking watermelon without straining.
I flip his arm with his hand, exposing the vein bulging on the front and outer edges of his biceps.
Seeing my little to no experience related to gym-I didn't get the appeal of this specific feature popping out when Ryan was spider curling his ass off to get it. But now... I don't know, there's something exceptionally appealing about seeing it on him.
Is it because I want to have it on me? I...I have no idea.
There's a neatly trimmed bush of armpit hair beneath his arm. Shocking? Nope.
What's actually confusing is, usually I don't like body hair, like regardless of your gender, they are just disgusting, in my opinion.
But with him...I don't feel that instant 'eww' feeling.
Instead, I kinda like how neat his armpit is.
Hollow on the corners and rigid in the centre.
But as neat as they are, this part feels the hottest beneath the towel.
And with the amount of sweat coming out, you would expect it to stink like a rotten rat, but here it is...
God is definitely unfair.
Fuck. Now, this is just the last part that I gotta wipe. The forearm. I start wiping down there, just for it to pin me down on the unforgettable evening of 19th of December.
'BOOM!' A single roar of a gun which has put a brutal pause on everything I ever wanted. The rose in my hand fell on her as I looked down to see her.
Who could have known that it would be the last time I ever will.
Blood. There was too much blood coming out of her wound. I had tried applying some pressure on it, but she didn't stay back. I couldn't save her.
"Failure." Dad's slap made goosebumps rise on my cheeks with embarrassment. "You are just a huge sack of bullshit."
"HELP!" But not a single person came forward when I had screamed on the road.
"Sorry, sir..." The light on top had flickered when he...when he..."She had already passed away."
Snake.
Ring.
Blue...Green.
All of it flashes rapidly in front of my eyes and repeats in a head aching mess of a cycle. Every pungent memory of that poisonous day exposing every broken part beneath me that I buried deep inside to function.
I cannot do this.
I am here to kill him. To take my revenge from him. To get Romie justice. And not for whatever nonsense I am doing currently.
Zane is the fucking monster.
Who took her away from me.
So now he gotta pay the price. And not get served from me like that!
I stand up to turn around before a hand grasps my wrist. The hold isn't as rigid as he has when he's awake, but it's definitely strong.
I don't look back until I hear a subtle, almost inaudible pronunciation of my name, "William...
" It's weak, it's painful. Not the kinda one you feel when you are conscious, but the one that blinds you in your dreams.
I won't let it bother me.
I pull my hand back as I turn around, but he holds my finger with his whole fist. "Stay..." His voice comes out more like a request than a command.
My head slowly turns in his direction just to check if he's really asleep. "Please."
A/N??
???: Sorry guys Zephyr is dead ??
???: I am not!
???: You are! You took weeks to update us! Boooo!
???: Aww...but my nani died, so I wasn't able to write guys...
???: oh?
???: yeah...
???: Well sorry for your loss, but try to update us sooner:)
???: I will, hehe.
Wow. I am sure you haven't tried this one ?
But it's true guys, she died on the day I uploaded the last chapter, and since then we were at her house only.
Okay, I'll stop with the trauma dumping and start writing them faster, pinky promise!
But you gotta engage with them too ??
As for this chapter...a hard read was it? Especially the brand scene...who could it be?
Alsoooo, William is taking care of his "biggest enemy." Thoughts on that? ??
Comment? ??
Votes? ??