Lucille
Chapter
Thirty
If anyone ever asked me what home felt like, I could tell them.
I could tell them it started with the color of a coveted metal.
I could tell them how it snared me, then drew me into its brilliance until I surrendered to its unwavering hold.
I could tell them it surrounded me with the nostalgic scent of home on Earth among the Firs, then added an addictive layer of spice that left me wanting.
He filled the jagged cracks in my chest with his safety and warmth, soothing the pain, easing the weight, and wrapping around my restlessness until I melted and blended with him.
Nothing could or ever would touch me so long as he was here. I breathed fully again. I felt unquestionably cherished. One look. That was all it took to see, feel, and know home.
His lips were right there. An inch away.
I didn’t even remember moving.
What would it be like to taste them and make this real? To be his?
I pulled back and averted my gaze, breaking the connection.
My Infernus hissed while my Glory hummed with muted energy as if saddened.
And I… I ignored them.
“So, what are we making?”
I walked over to the table covered in utensils, baking sheets, and more ingredients than I thought anyone needed for chocolate truffles.
He came to my side, letting the moment slide away just like I wanted.
“Anything you want. But I seem to remember you enjoying my roasted marshmallow truffles. Unless the ones I gave you this morning changed your mind.”
I slowly turned my head.
He made those?
“You’re not talking about the time—”
“You so kindly ignored me, then undressed me with your eyes?”
He smirked with a cocky little tilt of his lips.
My mouth dropped open as heat flooded my cheeks.
“I did not!”
He quirked a brow. “No?”
“Who dresses in a white shirt before drying off after a shower?” I exclaimed. “You were practically naked, and my eyes just so happened to be too surprised to look away!”
His chest vibrated.
“Oh. Right. So that’s why they traveled down to my cock.”
“I—No—I didn’t—”
Ronen pressed a tingling finger to my lips, stopping any other sounds from escaping.
“It’s okay, Hellion. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve undressed you with my eyes. I wouldn’t even count us even.”
He took his time slowly looking me up and down before turning back toward the table.
Heavenly Hell, Ronen was flirting with me.
And despite the sweat warming my back, I thought I liked it.
“Wait, so do you make all the truffles?” I asked, realizing he was turning my world upside down with this revelation.
“Not all. But most.”
Ronen made my favorite chocolates.
He was the creator.
He—
I couldn’t wrap my brain around this.
“Prove it.”
He lit up at the challenge, then went to work.
Every step, every action, he carried out similarly to how he fought—with precision and confidence.
He honed in on each task, neatly lining up mini marshmallows on a greased baking sheet, lightly roasting them with a torch, finely chopping chocolate, and heating cream—all with a level of attention that almost made me jealous.
The anxiety I’d felt earlier today hummed so softly I could barely tell it was there.
“This calms you.”
He made a low sound of agreement.
“Why? I’d figure fighting or training would.”
“Training too. Fighting calms my shadows. But this doesn’t let me think about anything except my next step.”
I could feel that.
And as I continued watching him, I sensed something more.
His other emotions seeped into my mind, subtle and still a little muted, but there.
Was he doing it on purpose? Or did he not know?
I couldn’t tell as he invested himself in his work, and I didn’t want to say anything.
I was finally able to map each small movement of his body to an emotion.
I had the opportunity to know him in a way no one else did.
The tiny twitch in his eyebrow reflected his sudden irritation when a marshmallow stuck to his finger.
His narrowed eyes, which almost looked like a glare, might seem like frustration. Or like he was about to murder his morsels.
But I felt his focus, then his pride, as the cooled ganache formed perfectly around the marshmallow. It eased the lines near his eyes, removing the perceived glare.
But my favorite emotion was the tiny flutter of joy as he coated them in tempered chocolate.
The hard chocolate outside, he’d explained.
He didn’t just do this to calm his mind.
He enjoyed it.
He never asked for help, completely content to do it himself.
I didn’t mind one bit. I liked watching his process, seeing him relax and the stress lingering in his pursed lips fade away.
Plus, he made sure his pastry assistant tasted every step of his creations.
I reached out to grab one while he crushed graham crackers with a rolling pin, and even with his intense focus, he caught me and smacked my hand.
“Not yet, Hellion.”
I pouted, but it smoothed out when he carefully sprinkled the sweet cracker over the truffles.
I tried reaching again.
“Wait,” he warned, picking up wooden tweezers.
He pinched a small piece of gold leaf and crumbled it over the graham cracker.
A beautiful masterpiece I would’ve never thought could come from Hell’s general.
No one would believe it.
Did MJ and Alexei know?
Doubtful.
Impatient, I made another grab for the sweet confection, and he intercepted me again.
“I’m going to take those tweezers and shove them in your beautiful eyes,” I grumbled.
He laughed softly, the sound wrapping around me in a melody more powerful than my Infernus.
Finally, he picked up the truffle and held it in front of my lips.
“Open up,” he ordered.
I took a small bite while staring at him.
Delectable creamy chocolate melted on my tongue while a gooey vanilla center added to the sweetness.
I moaned.
It tasted even better than the ones I’d had when I first came to Hell—even the ones from this morning.
A deep masculine satisfaction swelled inside him at the sound, along with desire that had me swallowing much too quickly.
I coughed into my arm.
“So when did you realize you’re better in the kitchen than as a military general?” I teased.
Fear flitted through the bond, and his eyes widened before his block thickened.
He didn’t know his walls had thinned.
I tensed, waiting for the pain as he cut me off completely.
But he never did.
He continued letting me feel his skyrocketing anxiety.
He kept his word.
He moved to the sink, quietly rinsing his hands.
“Ronen?”
Silence.
His jaw ticked as he dried them. The awkward tension built as he moved around the kitchen, turning off the burner and placing the leftover ganache he planned to use for caramel truffles in the fridge.
Was it my question?
Or was it knowing I’d felt him that made him so anxious?
He removed his apron and placed it in a laundry basket.
Was he going to leave?
Releasing a heavy breath, he walked back and suddenly lifted me from the stool, placing me on the counter while he stole my seat and settled between my legs.
I almost protested at the position, but held my tongue as the single emotion he allowed me to feel spiraled out of control.
He glanced away, shadows weaving around his neck as if protecting him.
“I’m sorry, Lucille.”
“For?”
“I want to give you more. I really do.”
I gestured around the kitchen.
“You have. You showed me this part of you I could tease you endlessly for.”
My words missed their mark.
The dark cloud dragged him further into his thoughts.
I tilted my head.
“Ronen,” I said gently. “Look at me.”
It took a second, but he eventually did.
“Are you scared I’m going to judge you? I’ve already seen what Etan made you do. I’m still here.”
He closed his eyes and took a long inhale.
Then he stood and turned.
Confused, I waited for an explanation.
Slowly, his button-up loosened and he removed his shirt, exposing his torso.
“These are all the names I remember killing. Give or take a couple thousand. I lost track over the years.”
Hauntingly beautiful black wings inked his entire back.
There had to be at least a thousand detailed feathers making up the shaded design. And inside each feather was a combination of unfamiliar scrolling letters.
The artist had done a good job incorporating them so they didn’t stand out. Instead, they hid within the rest of the lines.
So many lives.
He’d killed more than I could wrap my mind around.
Maybe I should’ve been outraged.
Maybe I should’ve been disgusted.
Even fearful.
But like I said, I’d seen what Etan forced him to do.
I’d felt how the Hell Rune erased him.
And this—right here—was proof Ronen wasn’t a vicious, evil killer.
He was only a male who’d been through unimaginable pain.
With each passing second, Ronen’s muscles tightened.
He had no idea what I was thinking, only what I was feeling. I bet he assumed I was one second away from hating him.
I slowly reached out, a little nervous, and grazed his back. He flinched. I didn’t stop. I grabbed his side, the vibration of his skin sending warmth through my body, and pulled him backward between my legs.
My anxiety wiggled in my stomach, demanding to know what I thought I was doing.
My invasive thoughts intruded, telling me we weren’t bold, we weren’t at this stage yet, this wasn’t what we did.
But dammit! I could feel, be, and do anything I desired, and if it helped ease his fears, then I’d run boldly into the unknown. For him.
Filling my mind with warmth and light, I leaned forward. Hesitated. My breath skated across his tattoo, raising little bumps. I smiled.
“This doesn’t count,” I whispered. Then I kissed the names within reach, accepting his past—accepting him.
His muscles melted beneath my touch, but his anxiety barely lightened.
“After Gabriel’s death, I was able to eliminate the Hell Rune’s influence and escape Etan’s service,” he said quietly. “For a while, I was on the run, hiding from Etan and his followers.”
I slowed my light pecks, listening intently.