CHAPTER 19 AILEEN
CHAPTER 19
AILEEN
When I returned to my room that night, I felt the awful powerlessness spreading over me, making me feel so weak and useless.
It was even worse, because Eleanor was waiting for me in the living room, excited for news—any news—about Isora.
And seeing her eyes sparkling so hopefully, innocently, blissfully ignorant of what Isora’s slave status truly entailed, I was almost envious.
If only I could unsee what I saw.
And now, with Atalon’s subtle threat ringing in my ears, I lied.
“Yes, Isora’s great.”
“Yeah, she met a few friends, and she’s in charge of cleaning the gallery.”
“Don’t worry, I gave her your letter, and she read it and told me to send you her love.”
“She’s fine, Eleanor. I bet you’ll be able to see her soon.”
When she finally finished the inquisition, she went to her bedroom to catch a much-needed good night’s sleep, worry-free.
And I went back to my room and had the sudden urge to trash it. To take all this useless, helpless anger out on something. Anything.
But before I could, there was a knock on the main door. And I had an idea who it was at this late hour.
I opened the door and stared at Ragnor. He was still wearing his suit, just like I was still in my supposedly formal attire. Before he could speak, I said, “Can we not do this right now?”
Ragnor’s midnight blues locked mine in an unbreakable hold, and his face grew serious. “Something happened. Talk to me.”
Talk to him? To another Lord who probably had his own bloodletting brothel beneath his League’s kitchens? What a fucking joke. “I’d rather not,” I said flatly. “So leave.” I sucked in a breath before I added in a tight voice, “Please.”
He gently turned me aside and walked into the suite, ignoring my words. After gritting my teeth, I said, “I can’t do this right now, Ragnor. We can fight all you want tomorrow for all I care—”
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” he said quietly, and I clamped my lips together. He turned to me with an inscrutable look. “I planned on staying a few more days, but an urgent matter arose, and I need to go back.”
I tensed. “You don’t need to explain yourself,” I said, an ugly feeling crawling into my stomach. “It’s not like we have a special relationship or anything.”
His face darkened, but he took a deep breath and walked deeper into the suite. “Let’s talk inside.”
“I told you to leave.”
“And I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell happened in the few hours since I last saw you,” he responded in a low growl.
I was exhausted. I was absolutely, utterly drained. Everything that happened today was so emotionally taxing, I didn’t have any fight left in me anymore.
“Fine,” I said wearily, leading the way into my bedroom. He closed the door after him, and I turned to face him. “Now what?”
“Talk to me,” he repeated, taking a step too close.
I put up my hand, motioning for him to stop. “Nothing happened,” I lied. It was easy now that I’d practiced on Eleanor. “My date with Atalon was a flop, thanks to someone, and now I’m tired.”
A flop was an understatement. I would never, ever let that bastard touch me even with a fucking stick.
Though Isora becoming a blood slave wasn’t the only reason. His words, his story about why he wanted to get back at Ragnor, were enough to turn off any sort of interest I might’ve had in him.
Ragnor’s eyes narrowed. “Your lies don’t work on me,” he informed me flatly. “So if you really want me gone, just tell me what I want to hear, and I’ll leave.”
“Yeah?” I said, glowering at him. “Have it your way, then. Tell me, Ragnor, do you own blood slaves?”
If he was surprised at what I said, he didn’t show it. “No,” he replied curtly.
“Don’t lie to me,” I snarled, closing the gap between us of my own accord now.
“I’m not,” he growled back, eyes not leaving mine. “I never owned blood slaves, and I never will.”
“Oh really?” I laughed maniacally. “Then how are you getting the supplemental Lifeblood you Sacred and Gifted bastards require? Do you seduce them like you did me to gain access to their blood?”
Ragnor really tried to hide it, but I could see the anger flaring in his eyes. “By volunteers,” he grated out. “I never forced or seduced anyone to give me, or the Gifteds, their blood. Never.” He scoffed then. “And you didn’t seem to hate it when I sucked your blood.”
We locked gazes for a few loaded, silent moments before I turned around and walked to the adjoining washroom. I heard him come after me, but I didn’t care. I felt suffocated. Angry. Caged to this existence I never asked for and was forced to live through anyway.
I took off the hair band and let my hair fall down. I shook off the dress and kicked away the heels. As I turned, I could see Ragnor’s eyes flying back to my face. I almost laughed. “Are you seriously checking me out right now?”
His lips tightened. “I’m not a monk, Aileen.”
I snorted, and an impulse made me want to push him further. Eyes on his face, I unclasped my bra and let it drop, my tits falling out, unrestrained. His eyes were drawn to their movement, and the anger in his eyes was suddenly sevenfold. “What are you doing?” he gritted out.
In my mind, logic screamed at me to stop, that this was Ragnor, the man who’d thrown me away after giving me the Imprint against my fucking will. But this, whatever this was, proved to be such a beautiful distraction from the despair eating me inside that I desperately clung on to this, everything else be fucking damned.
Slowly, I lowered my panties, and Ragnor’s eyes followed their descent as if he couldn’t help himself. When the panties were off, his breaths turned shallow, and his eyes were glowing neon blue with unhidden lust. A tent appeared in his trousers. “I thought you said you hated me,” he said, voice like gravel.
Unabashed in my nakedness, I stepped toward him, watching him watching me with a feeling of euphoria so strong, my exhaustion became nonexistent. “I still hate you,” I told him, my own voice husky as lust pooled in the pit of my stomach, anticipating what was to come. “I hate you so much I can’t bear it.”
His face contorted in what I would’ve thought was pain before he raised his eyes back to my face. “Then don’t come any closer, Aileen,” he said, voice so rough it was almost unintelligible. “I’m not that good of a man.”
His words reminded me of Atalon’s, but unlike then, Ragnor’s words set me on fire. My nipples tightened, and his eyes sharpened at the sight. I felt the slick wetness dripping down my inner thighs. Seeing Ragnor struggling to hold in his lust, seeing him slowly losing every semblance of control, gave me a heady feeling unlike anything else.
For the first time in our turbulent relationship, I was in charge.
And I loved every moment of it.
I paused only an inch away from him, my eyes on his face. “I’m done talking,” I told him, sucking in a breath as his hands went to my waist as if they had a mind of their own. “Now you have two choices.”
He tore his eyes away from my body to look into mine. Desperate need flared in their brilliant pupils, making me gasp in unbidden excitement. “Choices?” he growled as his hands slid up my waist, as if itching to reach my swollen breasts.
“Yes,” I said breathily, then bit my lip as his palms caressed the sides of my breasts. “First one is that you stay for the night.”
He let out a shuddered breath. “And the second?” he murmured, pressing his front against mine as his hands were now on my back, stroking my shoulder blades and roaming down to my ass. I could feel his erection near my thigh, throbbing.
I sucked in a breath when he grabbed my ass cheeks so hard, his hands would definitely leave a print. “Second choice,” I somehow said, almost mindless with need, “is you walk away.”
“What kind of bullshit is that?” he growled again as he leaned his forehead against mine, eyes blazing as he nudged my thighs open, pressing his trousers-clad cock against my crotch. “Of course I choose option one.”
Knowing that he was so mindless with lust for me that he wasn’t able to think clearly made me feel even more euphorically giddy than before. Because the normal Ragnor would’ve known this couldn’t be that easy. He would’ve known there was a catch.
I let him into my little catch. “There’s a condition, though,” I whispered against his mouth, pushing my crotch against his erection, causing him to thrust back. “If you choose option one, this will be the last night we’ll ever spend together.”
He froze.
“But if you take the second choice,” I murmured, feeling so powerful, it was almost orgasmic all on its own. “If you walk away, I’ll give you that one month.”
He leaned his head back to stare at me, and suddenly, his face was a riddle. That made the sense of power I’d felt waver, so I thrust against his cock, and while he pushed me against him even harder, his face remained just as sealed, his eyes, back to their soulful midnight blue, utterly unreadable.
After a few silent moments, he finally spoke. “Which of these choices will make you happy?”
His question made me jolt and reel back, as if he’d just slapped me. Because that’s what it felt like; one moment, I was on cloud nine, heady with power and control over the one man who never let go of his, and the next, he took all the air out of my sails, retaking that power and control as if I’d never had them in the first place.
I stepped away from him, eyes dropping to the floor, and hugged myself, my mind slowly coming back from its distracted haze and blasting me with a cold dose of reality.
I’d almost had sex with Ragnor.
After he’d thrown me away.
After what I’d just learned and seen about the dark side of the vampiric society he had forced me into.
After I’d seen Isora looking like a fucking corpse.
What the hell was I doing?
From the corner of my eye, I saw Ragnor moving to grab a towel. He then put that towel over my shoulders, helping me cover myself. “I’m going to leave,” he said quietly, gently.
But I couldn’t look at his face. Not after what had just happened.
“Aileen,” he said softly, and his hand gently took my chin and raised my head, forcing my eyes back up. His face was cautious and serious, not a trace of lust left, but the need was still bright in his eyes. “You’ve obviously had a rough night, and I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
“You almost did,” I blurted out, blinked, and looked away, jaw locked.
He pulled at my chin, forcing me to face him again. His eyes showed more candidness than ever before. “Because I thought that’s what you wanted,” he said quietly. “But I know now that it’s not.”
He cupped my face fully with his palms and pressed his lips against my forehead, the act so gentle and true, affectionate and loving, that I had to close my eyes to keep the tears in. “Go to sleep,” he murmured when he took his lips away, “and I will see you soon.”
Before I could speak, he left. And despite it being what I wanted, I felt the loss of his presence, his touch, his warmth so vividly, I fell to the floor and wept.