Chapter 22
Twenty-two
Corabeth
Corabeth moved around the house, stoking the fires in the library, dining room, kitchen, and her own room. Then she set about preparing her dinner. She sipped on a cup of chamomile tea while she waited for the food to cook, enjoying the glow of the fire and the aromas wafting in the kitchen.
Somewhere in the frosty forest, a man was stumbling and running and stumbling again. In the darkness behind him, a shadow lurked, taking its pleasure in the thrill of the hunt, relishing the stench of pure fear in the crisp winter air.
One by one, the fires died down, leaving the rooms pleasantly warm. Corabeth drifted from room to room, but no book or activity could hold her attention. Her entire self was focused on the moment of Rooke’s return.
She was sitting on the steps of the grand staircase when Rooke finally let himself in. He stomped the snow from his boots, brushed the frozen flakes from his cloak, and hung it up. Then he turned his gaze to the waiting Corabeth.
“Is it done?” she asked, not getting up.
“Yes,” Rooke replied. The answer sent a jolt of satisfaction through Corabeth.
She stood and walked down the remaining steps to meet Rooke at the bottom of the stairs, stopping on the last step to be of height with the man before her.
Rooke eyed her curiously, tilting his head as he was wont to do. “Are you alright?” he asked and placed a tentative hand on her waist.
The breath of winter still lingered around Rooke as Corabeth took him in. His long, black hair was loose, his complexion pale, eyes dark and beady. Seemingly, nothing had changed. He was still perfectly Rooke. Nothing gave away what had happened.
Almost nothing.
In the corners of his lips were flakes of dried blood.
“I thought I’d feel something,” Corabeth admitted and wiped the corners of Rooke’s mouth with her thumb absentmindedly. “Regret or horror. Shame, maybe.”
“And do you?” Rooke asked, watching her carefully.
Corabeth shook her head and looked into the bottomless pits of Rooke’s eyes. “I just feel relief that it’s done. That there’s one less Fabel in the world. That you won’t have to starve and we’re one step closer to breaking your curse.”
Rooke released a breath, his shoulders relaxing noticeably. He snaked his arms around Corabeth’s waist and buried his face into her hair, breathing in her scent.
“I half expected you to be hysterical on my return. From grief or…”
“Remorse?” Corabeth offered. “It’s odd. I can name all of the emotions I should be feeling, but I can’t bring myself to feel them.”
Corabeth wrapped her arms around Rooke, the mistress holding her weapon, with a tenderness she hadn’t felt for anybody. Slowly, winter released its grip on Rooke, and he became warmer in Corabeth’s arms.
After a long moment, he released her and grabbed hold of her hand instead as they walked up the stairs. The day had been a long and taxing one for both of them—Corabeth felt the exhaustion emotionally, while Rooke had been in the forest for hours.
They halted in the hall above the stairs where the second floor split off into the left and right wings. Corabeth’s room was in the left wing, and although she had never been to Rooke’s room, she knew it was somewhere in the right wing.
They faced each other, and Rooke looked down at their still joined hands.
“We should rest,” he said, running his thumb over Corabeth’s hand, but did not release it.
“Yes,” agreed Corabeth, without making an effort to pull away.
Rooke took a single step closer to her and lifted his eyes to hers, a thousand questions swimming in the depths.
Is this okay? Have I gone too far? May I go further?
But he would find no objections, no resistance, in Corabeth’s gaze.
Her parted lips, rapidly falling and rising chest, were answers enough.
When Rooke pressed his lips against hers, she breathed in the scent that was entirely him. She thought she could taste something metallic.
Rooke pulled back, whispering, “It’s very late,” somewhat breathlessly, and continued kissing Corabeth. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.
“Yes,” she agreed again between kisses.
Neither of them moved, instead losing themselves in each other.
Rooke’s lips grazed her jaw and moved down her neck, peppering her with small kisses, each one sending a chill down her body, until he found the spot where her pulse was strongest. There he licked and sucked until Corabeth had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound.
It was only for a moment that Corabeth considered he might bite her.
But that thought was quickly buried beneath the way Rooke’s hands roamed her body, the feel of him against her.
Corabeth let her fingers sink into Rooke’s hair, holding him precisely where she wanted him. That happened to be everywhere all at once, she discovered. In turn, Rooke showered her with kisses, his grasp on her becoming more and more desperate.
Being so wanted, so desired, made Corabeth feel weightless. Like she was perpetually falling without the fear of ever hitting the ground.
“Take me to your room,” she whispered against his lips.
Rooke froze, their breaths mingling for a moment until he regained his bearings. The fire with which he was staring at Corabeth was undeniable, yet he still had some self-imposed restraints that made him hesitate.
Corabeth let her slick lips brush against his, encouraging him further. She didn’t need him to hold back for her sake.
Rooke sank into the kiss. The way his hand found its way to the back of Corabeth’s head made it clear just how much he wanted her. It was as if he could not be close enough to her.
When he broke away, he gave Corabeth a long look, perhaps giving her a chance to back away. When she stood her ground, he took her hand and led her down the right wing to the third door on the left.
The tall wooden door opened and revealed a room much like the one Corabeth had come to consider her own. Larger than her own house in the village had been with a four-poster bed, a large wardrobe, and a fireplace. Rooke rushed there now to get a fire going.
“I don’t use this very much,” he said, throwing in some logs, “The cold doesn’t really bother me.”
As the first flames flickered to light, they illuminated the room, and Corabeth was able to take in more details. Like the bookshelves that covered the walls even here, the desk that was covered in papers, trinkets here and there.
Corabeth took a slow tour around the room, noticing more and more: the skull of some small animal on a shelf, a windchime made entirely out of bones, a lamp, its stand some animal’s spine. Or was it human? She turned and looked at Rooke, raising her eyebrows in question.
“I have to admit,” he said somewhat apologetically, “There was a time when I slightly lost my mind and took up some rather strange hobbies.”
Corabeth laughed as she continued, making her way towards the shelves that were on either side of the balcony doors.
She took her time, admiring the books, although she wasn’t really paying attention to them.
Instead, she was focused on the weight of Rooke’s gaze upon her.
He was keeping his distance, and yet, when she took a step, so did he.
When Corabeth glanced over her shoulder, he was watching her from the shadows, that familiar animalistic glint in his eyes.
But this was different. A distinct kind of hunger that was echoed in Corabeth.
They continued this dance—Corabeth walking from shelf to desk to shelf, Rooke staying just out of arm's reach. She felt herself hunted. But she doubted Rooke’s prey took as much pleasure in his predatory gaze as she did.
When there was little left in the room to look at, she turned and all at once, Rooke was right there, staring down at her.
“I like your room,” she said, peering up into his black eyes, and felt herself quite foolish for it.
A lazy smile tugged at the left corner of Rooke’s mouth. He leaned down, bringing his lips to Corabeth’s neck. “I like the way your pulse quickens when I am close to you.”
The small kisses that followed, leading him to Corabeth’s lips, were torturous, covering her body in goosebumps. She sighed into the kiss as she wrapped her arms around him, welcoming him in.
Rooke’s arms folded around her to pull her closer, if such a thing was even possible. His mouth explored hers, first soft and slow, then firm and demanding. Distantly, Corabeth realized they were moving backwards when she felt the backs of her thighs hit something.
“I crave all of you, Corabeth,” Rooke murmured against her skin.
“You have me, you have me,” Corabeth whispered back, half-delirious. She wanted to wrap her entire self around Rooke, feel him with her whole being. If only there weren’t so many layers of pesky clothing separating them.
Corabeth’s hands slid under the lapels of Rooke’s jacket and easily pushed it off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor in a whisper.
The buttons of his waistcoat and shirt proved more difficult.
With just the top buttons undone, Corabeth let her hands glide under the fabric of his shirt to feel his skin.
With an impatient groan, Rooke gave Corabeth a gentle shove, sending her backwards onto his bed.
He no longer had the composure to take his time unlacing her dress properly.
The predator had caught its prey and demanded its hard-earned feast. So instead, he fisted the fabric on her chest and ripped the blue of her dress in half down the middle.
Corabeth let out a surprised yelp that quickly turned into laughter as Rooke descended upon her once more.
“I liked that dress!” she exclaimed and gasped as Rooke’s hand found its way in through the rip that extended down to her hips.