Chapter 7
SEVEN
Crymson
The next morning, Thorn appears at my door with his usual air of arrogance and lack of shirt to ask me to go on a walk with him.
As strange as that request is to me when I’m essentially a prisoner in this place, I accept, if only because I’m curious about my cage and the man that holds the key.
My acceptance doesn’t come without a bit of grumpiness, however.
I’m still annoyed, and he knocked on my door early.
I’d gotten used to being up later in the evening in the Blood Court, but here, the days are early.
Painfully early. So, I’m a little disheveled, a little tired from a night of restless sleep, and Thorn is the easiest one to take my annoyance out on.
“Are your accommodations to your liking?” he asks as we walk at a leisurely pace through what I can only call the gardens.
There are flowers, but they’re not any sort of flowers I’ve ever seen before.
Black petals that drip with stardust, red flowers that seem to open wider as we draw near, purple flowers that close up and hide when they sense our movement.
It’s alien to me but still somehow devastatingly beautiful. Just like the man walking at my side.
“It’s a pretty cage,” I admit, staring at the red flowers that seem to breathe. “The bed is soft.”
“You’re not my prisoner, Crymson,” he reminds me.
“You keep saying that,” I growl, glancing at him. “And yet I can’t leave.”
He stops and turns toward me, his eyes bright with challenge. “And where would you go?” he demands. “If you were to leave?”
I bite my lip. He’s calling my bluff. I know that. I also know he knows that I have nowhere to go. The human world isn’t exactly a home for me. And with Boris still alive and well, the Blood Court isn’t safe either. I really am trapped here, and not just by his own hand.
Still, I’m a stubborn bitch when I wanna be. “Hawaii,” I say. “I’ve never been, and it seems nice.”
He blinks. “Hawaii?”
I realize he probably doesn’t know what that is, but I don’t care to explain. Instead, I just shrug and continue walking, taking note of a patch of vines that seem to undulate beneath the sunshine.
He sighs. “I’d appreciate it if we were able to come to an understanding.”
“An understanding of what?” I ask seriously. “That you’re not really related to me? That you lied to Christian? To the Blood King? To me?”
“And what if I did?” Thorn growls a rumbling of possessiveness, his careful poise breaking. “You’re safe now, are you not?”
I swirl and meet his eyes. “But you’re still making decisions for me!” I spit. “Everyone is making decisions for me!”
He pauses, his eyes tracing my face, and just when I think he’s going to snap back at me, his shoulders settle again. “I understand.”
“You do?” I ask, blinking in surprise.
His chin tips down into a nod. “I am King, Crymson. You think princes are given much choice in the matter?” He reaches down to one of the pulsating flowers and strokes a finger against a petal.
It closes up at his touch. “Regardless, right now, I’m unable to change the outcome.
I’d appreciate it if we could . . . get along for the time being. ”
I purse my lips, considering his words. “Seven needs more blankets. It’s freezing in that room he’s in.”
His lips tick up in amusement, as if the thought of a vampire being cold is the silliest thing he’s ever heard. Which, I suppose, it might be. “Done,” he says despite his amusement. “I’ll have more blankets brought in.”
It throws me off guard how accommodating he is. It really makes it difficult to hate the bastard.
Sighing, we continue our stroll through the gardens and past the castle.
We walk through scenery that takes my breath away but that I can’t really fully enjoy when it all feels temporary.
I don’t know where we go from here, where I go.
I definitely don’t know where I belong anymore.
Glittering waterfalls trail along a pathway built right through the middle of the water, making the atmosphere feel downright romantic.
It’s like a fairy tale. I’m walking through a beautiful river beside a Fae King with wings like midnight and eyes like icy fire.
That same Fae King keeps looking at me as if he’s really interested in what I’m thinking about, as if he cares how I feel.
My annoyance with him eases just a little. Not enough for me not to act out, but enough for me not to snap at every sentence he blesses me with.
Eventually, we find ourselves back in the training grounds.
They’re empty today, all the soldiers off doing whatever it is that soldiers do when there’s no actual battle going on.
It’s strange to be standing in a place meant to be full of busy people while it’s empty.
It’s even stranger to be standing here with a man like Thorn.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, looking around.
“Have you trained?” he asks curiously, reaching for a staff against the wall.
“Trained for what? CPR? Cake decorating? Accounting?” I ask, gesturing down at myself. “Anything I might have trained for in my world would be useless here against the likes of you or the vampires.”
He tosses the staff to me through the air, and I only barely catch it before it conks me in the head. “Then you should train.”
“Against you?” I ask when he grabs another staff from a rack of well-organized little sticks on the wall. “No, thanks. I’m not looking to die.”
“What makes you think I’m a good fighter?” he asks.
“Seriously?” I deadpan. “You’re the King. There’re muscles on your abs I didn’t even know existed in men. What makes you think I’m a good fighter?” I mock in a little annoying girl voice. “Fucking look at you!”
His eyes simmer with something I can’t quite make out before he releases a slow smirk and comes forward, his staff cradled in his hands. “Hit me, Crymson.”
Wow. I probably shouldn’t have felt a pang of excitement at that request, should I?
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “If I wanted to be humiliated, I’d do something less silly.”
His staff snaps out and smacks across my right thigh. A spreading burn of pain sears through my flesh. I leap back, howling at the sharp sting of it. “What the fuck!?” I snarl.
“Hit me,” he commands again casually.
“Anyone ever told you that you’re a fucking prick?” I spit, gripping my staff tighter.
He grins, and it lights up his entire features. It’s fucking beautiful, and that only pisses me off more. “Not to my face.”
“Fucking shame,” I snarl as he swings the staff again.
I only barely block it with my own and mostly on accident.
When I said what did training matter, I meant I haven’t done anything at all.
Self-defense classes cost money, money I never had growing up.
Any training I had was learned the hard way on the streets with only my bloody fists and my teeth.
“Hit me,” he repeats like a broken fucking record.
“You want me to hit you?” I snarl.
“That’s what I said,” he chuckles.
“Fine!” I growl and swing the staff. One second, he’s there about to be hit square in his pretty face. The next, he’s three steps away, out of reach. “You fucking cheater!” I say.
“You think a vampire will play fair?” he asks seriously, and I hate that he’s right.
I swing again and again, but he’s never fucking there.
He’s always gone before I can connect, and my anger gets the best of me.
I know without a doubt that being angry in a fight is a weakness.
I’ve watched people get their asses whooped because their anger made them sloppy.
As my own anger swells and my chest tightens, I can’t control it.
Frustrated by Thorn’s ability to avoid my every hit, I launch myself at him.
Something explodes out of my chest when I lunge, and when Thorn would have danced away, he suddenly freezes, his eyes widening in surprise just before I slam into him.
We tumble to the ground, his hands coming up to wrap around me as if that’ll keep me safe.
He slams against the cobblestones with an oomph and flying dust, his wings flattening out to avoid being crushed.
I land on top of him, straddling his waist. When I realize I’ve finally gotten the upper hand, I immediately press my staff under his chin.
“I win,” I snarl, pressing it against his throat. “Say it.”
His eyes glitter dangerously. “Just because you hit me once doesn’t mean you won, little fighter.” His hands tighten on my hips with a flex of fingers, and I suddenly realize the compromising position we’re in. “If I wanted to move you, I could.”
I press the wood tighter against his throat. “You’re a real dickhead. You know that?”
He flashes sharp teeth at me in what I suspect is stifled laughter. “If it’ll get you on top of me like this, you can call me whatever you like.”
I scowl and go to move off him, but his hands stop me, strong fingers curled into my hips, careful that his sharp nails don’t prick me. “I’m going to hit you again,” I warn.
“Your magic requires emotion,” he comments. “That’s a weakness. You must learn how to wield it without resorting to anger.”
His words breathe across my lips, and I’m stunned by his reasoning about what abilities I may or may not possess.
“I still don’t even believe it’s my magic,” I counter.
“Oh, it’s yours,” he reassures me.
“How do you know?” I ask. “How do you know it’s not something else?”
The mating bond I share with a certain three brooding vampires slinks through my mind, and I don’t know why I associate my magic with them, but I do. It can’t be me making these things happen. I’m just not . . . magical. In any way, shape, or form.
His hands slide up along my hips, tracing my skin, pushing my shirt up gently as he traces my ribs. Goosebumps follow their wake, and I’m suddenly so much more aware of the way I straddle him.
“Because the magic bites like you,” he whispers. “Sharp teeth and all.”
I narrow my eyes, and this time when I move to stand, he lets me. I stare down at him, sprawled across the ground like a sexy fae trickster, and sniff. “Well . . . maybe I’ll work on it then,” I reason. I’m not stupid even if I’m stubborn.
I stare at him for a second longer before I offer him my hand to help him to his feet. The corner of his lips ticks up, and he accepts my help, even if he doesn’t actually put his enormous weight on me as he stands. This time, when he towers over me, I don’t feel as small as I did before.
I also don’t hate him in this moment, but hey, a bitch has priorities, and right now, I have a Fae King I can ogle. Even if he’s an insufferable arrogant prick sometimes. Even cactuses can be pretty.