Chapter 23 #2
“Are you going to let me, Darling?” The question is low and taunting; a challenge that laces through me just as surely as his presence.
“No.”
I don’t know whether I mean it, or whether I only say it to piss Niko off.
But instead of anger, something like relief flashes over his expression, gone as quickly as it appears.
He takes two more steps toward me, running a suggestive finger along the sleek surface of the piano.
His eyes devour every bit of light in the room, and as he watches me, it feels like they’ll devour me too.
His reply is a seductive whisper. “And why not?”
“Because it’s mine,” I grit out, shadowed claws slashing suddenly through my chest, eliciting a gasp.
Niko’s eyes flicker to where the shadow looms, only for a moment, his gaze entirely unreadable. He has always been so enigmatic—always so adept at hiding his true thoughts beneath the smooth and ruthless exterior of the Carrion King—but it has never felt as unbearable as it does now.
Is he seeing the true horror of me and realizing I am far more terrible than he thought? Is he finally understanding I deserve nothing good?
He makes a humming noise in the back of his throat, and in another step, his chest is nearly touching mine.
The movement is so familiar—the dance, the magnetic push and pull between us—that I almost fall into him reflexively.
I clench my fists, as with each breath, I’m inundated by the scent of winter; the scent of him.
It dizzies my thoughts, scatters the rhythm of my heart.
“You once asked me who I truly am, Willa, and now I challenge you to the same.”
His voice is silk as it wraps around me as surely as his death. This close, the beauty of Niko rends straight through my resolve. The dark shadow of stubble against his snow-white skin; the lush curve of his wicked mouth; the sharply carved angles of his face.
“You will not give Letum up to me, but you have allowed him to take pieces of what belongs to you.” Niko’s face is as cruelly edged as his words.
His death spirals out from him, sending three stone branches shattering to the floor, but I cannot seem to tear my gaze away from his.
“You have allowed him to destroy what you’ve built, brick by brick. ”
The air rushes from my lungs as Niko’s words hit me square in the chest. I haven’t built anything, I want to say. I’ve only ruined it. But the plea sticks in my throat, as Niko raises a hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“You will not allow me the decency of a conversation and yet, you allow him the power to make you question your right to the throne.” Niko lets out a ruthless laug.
“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered that you consider me more of a threat to your kingdom than that ageless fiend of misery. ”
“You are the most dangerous threat, Niko.” The words are out of my mouth before I can temper them, breathless, like merely the act of allowing them space is impossibly exerting. “And it has nothing to do with the kingdom.”
It’s the most honest thing I’ve said to him since he returned; maybe the most honest thing I’ve said to anyone.
His obsidian eyes glitter, and his tongue darts out to run over his lower lip like he’s tasting the way my words have landed. “How so?”
My shadow presses down against my shoulders as the heat of regret washes over my face.
I know better than to show Niko a weakness—know exactly how dangerous, exactly how addicting, it is—and here I am, laying down and exposing my throat.
I thought my want of death ended when I achieved the power I’ve always craved, but in the Carrion King’s presence, it seems to be less of a want and more of a primal need.
And I know far too well what happens when I give into it.
I wrench out of his touch, like if I put enough space between us to breathe something that isn’t him, I’ll somehow regain hold of my senses.
But Niko is faster. His fingers and ribbons alike wind around my wrists, pulling me to his chest.
“Running so soon, Darling?” he tsks. “I thought you abandoned your cowardly ways.”
His chest caresses mine with each of his ragged breaths, the fathomless depths of his eyes sparking with that mad obsession I feel in my blood.
His fingers are a hot brand around my wrist, warring with the ice of his death as one of his ribbons slides up my arm.
Something between a moan and a whimper escapes me, and unbidden, my lashes flutter in pleasure.
My fingers curl into the silk of his shirt as newfound panic envelops me, and I don’t know whether I mean to draw him closer or push him away. “Niko,” I say in a low voice, both a warning and a plea.
The corner of his mouth slides into a cruel grin as his fingers loosen on my wrist. They trail up my arms alongside his ribbons, both of his elegant hands coming to rest on the delicate arches of my collarbones.
“Tell me what you meant by that, Willa.” A whispered demand that has my body arcing toward him.
I want to tell him everything—my worry, and loneliness, and failure. I want to lay it all at his feet as I once would have, and take comfort in the knowledge that of everyone in the universe, Niko would understand my burden.
But with my shadow pressing down upon me, suddenly, I can’t bear it. The weight of my longing, the heat of his obsession. I have already shattered beneath it once—I cannot do it again.
Niko tilts his head, seeming to read my sudden fear. His mouth pulls into a disdainful grimace. Shame burns in my stomach, and bile rises in my throat as I put my hands flat against his chest to push him away.
I don’t get far.
A breathy gasp escapes me, as Niko wraps his fingers around my throat and drags my gaze back to his.
His expression should be terrifying, but instead, it sends a new heat that has nothing to do with shame cascading through me.
His grip is firm enough that when he gives me a gentle push, I cede a step.
Another, and then another, until my back hits the glass wall of the atrium and a small squeak of shock escapes me. Niko’s gaze snaps to my mouth, like the sound has only further incensed him; like he’ll devour it whole.
“What has happened to you?” he snarls, searching my face. He is close enough now to trace the small scar dissecting his upper lip with my eyes and remember the way it felt to trace it with my tongue.
When I don’t answer, Niko makes a noise of frustration in the back of his throat and tightens his fingers.
“Where is that beautiful violence coursing through your veins? Where is the woman who held the King of Carrion at her mercy with a dinner fork? The woman who would never cede an inch to anyone?”
He pins his knee between my legs, wedging them open and pressing his body into the cradle of my hips. “Where is my queen?”
“I’m not yours,” I mutter, but the rasped words aren’t convincing as my lashes flutter, and my head swims with his nearness. Sandalwood and winter swirl in my nose, in my lungs, as he grinds his hips into my mine, trapping me between the glass and the unforgiving hardness of his body.
He doesn’t bother to correct me, his mouth twisting in disdain once more, as his gaze rakes over my shadow. “You’re right.” His fingers loosen at my throat. “The queen I knew would never allow the darkness control. She would use it as she was meant to.”
Abandonment and rage expand in the hollow of my chest. “You don’t get to come in here and judge how I’ve handled the past year, Corpse King,” I snarl, each of my words accentuated with a small fist to Niko’s chest. “You don’t get to have an opinion on anything about me, or this kingdom, when you left us both…
when you laid down and died instead of rising to fight. ”
I expect Niko to flinch. I am as familiar with his wounds as he is mine—know which ones to press my fingers into, which ones he can bear and which ones he cannot.
But when he tips his head back to let out a peal of wild laughter, I’m struck dumb by the sound.
I stare at the bob of his throat as he laughs and laughs, each ring of his amusement furthering my rage until I swear it flames at the surface of my skin; until I’m certain I’ll combust with it and burn us both.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now, Willa?” Niko’s laughter may be irreverent, but his expression isn’t. “You may not be able to die, but you’re certainly acting as if you’re already dead. Moping around the kingdom, like we’re all at your funeral instead of your coronation.”
“Are you the only royal allowed to mope for centuries?” I bite back, my voice dripping with acid. I press my throat into his palm defiantly. “What’s wrong, Corpsey? Was the mainland not everything you dreamed it would be? Regretting playing hero and dumping your kingdom into my lap?”
“Who’s the true hero here, Willa?” His fingers tighten, and his gaze sparks with familiar madness—the kind that consumes not only him, but everything he sets it on. “Because it seems to me there’s only one of us too scared of causing a little ruin to protect what’s theirs…”
His words are bitter and harsh in contrast to the gentleness of his fingers as he drags them from my throat to caress the arches of my collarbones.
Down over my shoulders and across the dips of my spine.
Heat sparks at my core as they trail down my back to cradle my ass; as Niko angles my hips closer to his, until every soft part of my body pressed against every hard part of his.
“You misunderstand me, Willa.” He presses his forehead to mine, until I’m drowning in the void of his eyes. Darker than night; darker than the shadow at my back. “I have never once played the sniveling hero. Not then, and not now. My saving the kingdom…my dying…every bit of it was selfish.”
I can hardly hear his words beyond the delicious heat of his touch; can hardly gather any of my thoughts from where he’s scattered them.
“My wants and desires have not changed, nor wavered.” His next words are a breath over my lips.
“And now…I will take back every—” His fingers tighten on my ass.
“—single—” He lifts me against the wall, pressing his hard length into the cradle of my thighs.
“—thing that’s mine. Even if I have to tear it out with my fucking teeth. ”
His mouth is so close to mine, my lips brush his when I tell him, “None if it belongs to you. Not anymore.”
But it doesn’t matter, because Niko devours my words before they ever make it across my lips.