Chapter 9
NINE
Crymson
It’s earlier today than yesterday, but I woke sometime in the middle of the night and haven’t been able to fall back to sleep.
The grand halls are empty and dimly lit in shadows in the hours just before the break of dawn.
I know there is staff everywhere within this castle of a home, but I don’t see a single one as I make my way through the empty kitchen and down the hall to the silent infirmary.
The golden harp sits alone in the far corner.
The pretty fae girl must not yet be on the clock for her daily show.
The curtains are drawn shut, and in the darkness of only a single candle do I see him.
The candlelight dances across healing bruises that line his arms. Teeth marks are permanently embedded across his flesh, and my fingers skim over the pink healing wounds on the back of his hand.
Three blankets cover his legs and chest, each one thicker than the last, so much so that his flesh isn’t cool to the touch like it normally is.
“Christ, you’re sweating,” I whisper as I lower down at the edge of his bed.
I didn’t even know vampires had the ability, but Seven isn’t just a vampire, I suppose.
I peel back the first layer of the blanket I know Thorn must have brought to him after my petty request that he have more.
I shove it haphazardly to the foot of the bed and then focus my gaze on his sleeping face.
Shadows ring his eyes, aging him when he’s only ever looked youthful and alive. Now he looks like he may very much be half dead.
“Seven, can you hear me?” I whisper with a touch of sorrow cutting through my words.
My fingers drift back and forth across the dips of his knuckles.
“I think I saw Rorrick yesterday. It was a raven. A squawky little bird that was much too hefty to truly catch the air like it did.” A half smile pulls at my lips, and I know he’d find just as much amusement in the idea of Rorrick shifting into such a strange and curious little creature. “Maybe I just wish it was him though.”
I do. I wish it with every creature I come across in this kingdom. A cat lives outside the kitchen windows every morning, waiting for the trash to be taken out by the King’s chefs. I admit I tried talking to it on more than one occasion, but it’s much too scrawny to be my brooding vampire.
The raven, that one’s well fed. Even if I’m being a bit dululu about it being Rorrick, at least it fits his profile.
I try to smile to myself, but the emotion turns on me, drowning in a wave of sadness I can’t escape.
How can I? How can I expect myself to just . . . forget about them?
“Please wake up,” I beg on a breath of a whisper. “Please.”
His lashes never flutter though. His breathing continues on. And still he remains.
We both do.
I swallow down my burning sorrow with every hard step I take through the castle. The King’s quarters are on the top floor. Of course, they fucking are.
I arrive on the upper floor slightly annoyed and even more slightly out of breath, but I try not to let it show as I knock on the large imposing double door. Not a single sound greets me. My hand lifts, and my knuckles rap across the wood a bit harder this time.
Nothing.
Finally, I grip the crystal knob on the righthand door and carefully push it open.
“Thorn?” I call out. “Are you–” and every single word that has ever existed in my brain falls out across the bedroom floor and lands at the very naked feet of the King of Thorns.
All seven feet of him stands before me, nude and impressive like a statue of Adonis or a painting of Icarus or a fucking dirty mortal porno that I’ve never been lucky enough to see.
“Yes?” he asks, shifting his long black hair over one shoulder to reveal even more skin than there was before.
Dark spikes kiss on his shoulders and run down the center of his spine like a weapon. Bronze skin highlights the lashes of old scars that only seem to accentuate the curves of his muscles and the panes of his chest.
Jesus fucking fae cock. Put it away, my dude, so my brain can function once again.
“Um . . .” Okay. Great start. Really good. Now just close your gaping mouth and maybe add a bit more to that fantastic thought, Crymson.
A pair of folded pants lay at his side on the foot of the bed, but instead of reaching for them, he folds his arms across his broad chest and only emphasizes how hard his muscles are in his upper body.
His head tilts to one side, and a shine of amusement twinkles in his eyes.
“You’re . . . attracted to me,” he says. He’s stunned and happy all at the same time, it seems.
He’s practically giving himself a round of applause right now.
“I–” I breathe out a sarcastic laugh. Then another one for good measure and force myself to look away from the shining dark thorns that pierce their way down the veering lines of his hard hips, but I truly can’t form a full fucking sentence to save my life here. “No!” I shout a bit too loudly.
“Really?” he asks with far too much mischief shining in his pale eyes.
Prowling steps bring him closer and closer to me. My throat catches, and I have to swallow down the nerves that are building in my chest. It’s all useless, though, because the Thorn King peers down on me with shifting curious attention.
“You’re blushing,” he whispers, and the warmth of his big hand slips up my neck ever so slowly, caressing my face and lingering there at the base of my jawline so he can better admire my reddening face.
“You can’t look me in the eye, but you can’t look where you truly want either, can you, little fighter? ” he murmurs on a gravelly tone.
Every struggling breath presses against his chest. I’m fighting for my fucking life here, and I can’t bring myself to back away from him either. I do, however, peer up into those hauntingly beautiful eyes of his.
I swallow hard when I feel the pounding of his heart beating in time with mine.
The words to a single snarky remark finally find their way back into my mind, and I lift my chin a little higher.
“Don’t flatter yourself, My King,” I say with a taunting smile that feels far too confident for how much of a puddle I am in this gorgeous man’s hands right now.
“I’ve never been one to flatter myself, Crymson. I have a full court for that. And now, one pretty human woman as well, it seems.”
His head dips low, and my heart stumbles right out of my chest. He’s going to kiss me. The warmth of his breath washes over my parted lips. My head tilts higher for him. My lashes flutter closed.
But the kiss never comes.
“Next time, please knock,” he whispers across my lips.
He takes a full step back, and his gaze takes me in as I fully stumble forward without the steadiness of his body to support me.
“Always knock, Crymson. I’d hate for you to catch me in an embarrassing situation.
” He smirks and begins tugging on his pants one leg at a time, clearly dismissing me with the broad span of his wings.
“I–I had a question!” I blurt, unable to remember exactly what that question was at the moment.
“Oh?” he asks, turning toward me as he ties the top of his pants in the most ridiculously sexy way.
Like why did his forearms have to flex that hard? Calm down.
“Um . . . Seven!” I shout, and yeah, it’s all coming back to me now. “Why hasn’t he woken?”
His eyes narrow on me as if he’s forgotten who I am even talking about.
“He’s healing. He wasn’t in a horse-riding accident. He was bitten, Crymson. It takes time.”
“It’s been almost a week!”
He shakes his head this way and that as he sits down and pulls on a massive black boot.
“He’s not fully fae, and those things that bit him aren’t fully vampires. It’ll take him longer for his body to accept our elixir. It’ll just take time.”
Elixir?
“How much time?” My arms fold hard across my chest, and I’m really here to fight for Seven now that there are no distractions in sight.
But when he’s fully dressed—or as close to fully dressed as I’ll ever get from him—the King stands, and his stomach hardens with an unnecessary flex that pulls me right back into being a stupefied idiot again. Dammit!
He strides the span of the room, and once more, he pauses just in front of me, peering down with a look of pure concern across his hard features. Warm hands slip into mine.
“He’s going to make it, Crymson,” he whispers in a tone so soft, I didn’t know he was capable of such gentleness. “Give him time. He’ll be okay. I promise.”
I can’t stop the breath that exits my lungs as I look up into the kindest eyes that have ever looked upon me. I’m haloed in his affection. I feel the warmth of his promise down to the very tips of my toes.
I find myself rising up, my hands skimming up the hard muscle of his abdomen to rest across his chest as I lean into him.
And he dips his head low once more, his dark lashes closing just as mine do.
The heat of his body melds into mine. The feel of his palms against my lower back swirls demanding energy straight to my core.
Then a knock scurries across the door, wrecking through the cocoon of warmth I was just settling into. I pull back on stumbling steps.
He never moves.
We both look toward the door where a small maid stands with a broom still in hand, and I can’t help but notice how much frustration lines Thorn’s features as he waits for her to deliver whatever epic news she thought was so urgent in this moment.
“My lord, there’s a visitor.”
“Okay?” he practically grinds out. “Can you see them in?”
“Um, no, My King. It’s–it’s one of them,” she says in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.
One of them? I repeat in the back of my mind, but Thorn answers for me with a growl of rage.
“Fucking vampires.”