chapter 24
Avira
Today I went on a long drive with Roxion, and I’m still feeling queasy, my stomach wants to come back out just thinking about it.
That was the longest I’ve ever been in a car: three hours straight.
I’ve decided I don’t like this mode of transport.
I used to think I loved high-speed cars and bikes based on that single ride Zoan gave me on his first bike.
I shut my laptop, rise from my chair, and walk out of the room. I stop by the railing and look down, the kitchen and living room are empty. Have they not come back yet? They left early this morning.
I return to my room, pick up my phone to call him, but then I see a message from Leo.
It’s an image.
A woman sitting on Zoan’s lap.
A surge of hurt and anger races through my veins, boiling my blood like molten iron. I call Zoan. He doesn’t pick up. My breathing quickens, my chest tightens. I call again. Still nothing.
I call Leo. He answers. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s the name of this club?”
“Vintage AZ, but you won’t be able to come here. The penthouse is locked.”
“What’s your problem?” I shout.
He chuckles. “I just wanted to thank you, dear sister, for letting me know about Iselyn’s wedding plans.”
“You fucking asshole. You’re taking revenge. Open the damn door of this penthouse or I will break every single thing here!” I scream like a madwoman.
“I can’t open the door. Zo locked it. And you can break whatever you want if that makes you feel better. See you.” He says with annoying calmness before cutting the call.
I call Zoan’s number again. This time he picks.
“Where are you?” I shout, my throat raw from shouting at Leo.
“What happened?” he asks urgently.
“Come home within ten minutes or you won’t find me here. Even if I have to kill myself to get out.” I cut the call and fling my phone onto the bed.
I pace the room. How could he do this? He kissed me yesterday, and now he’s with another woman. Oh, how could I forget, he’s the same man who said everyone can forget their love. So it doesn’t even take twenty-four hours for him to move on.
The hurt knots in my throat. I swallow it down. It rises again.
After ten minutes, there’s a knock on my door. I open it. He enters and takes me in from head to toe.
“What happened?” he asks with a frown.
I turn, go to the bed, grab my phone, open the image, and hold it up to him.
He exhales, the tension drains from his posture. “It’s not what it looks like. She sat on my lap, I told her to get up and get lost. She kept flirting, so I threw her away. She’s now in hospital with broken bones. If you don’t trust me, go and check.”
I will kill Leo.
I set my phone down. “Why weren’t you answering my calls?” My voice is hoarse from overusing my vocal cords.
“My phone was with Leo. I was in a deal.”
I’m going to kill him. Now.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“In his room.”
I walk past him, step out of my open door, and reach his room. I try the knob, it opens. I step inside.
He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, tapping on his phone. Relaxed, as always.
I stomp closer and glare at him, hands on my hips. I’m not killing him only because he’s my brother and, perhaps, because I honestly don’t know how.
“Why did you do that?” I demand.
He smirks. “Did you feel the burning inside you while imagining him with someone else?”
His smirk fades into something less humorous, and my thoughts of demanding answers retreat, tails tucked, from the room. My body wants to follow them as well.
“I’m still burning.” He says.
I glance around. “You’re feeling the wrong kind of jealousy. Think about it, now you know about her arranged marriage. It’s better than not knowing.”
“I already knew about that. I just don’t like it when people remind me and ask her what kind of man she wants.”
I grit my teeth. What kind of man is he if he can’t even forgive his sister?
“If you’re so crazy about her, why did you make her hate you?”
His face darkens further than it already was. He doesn’t like being reminded of this either.
I fake a chuckle. “You know what? I think she doesn’t hate you that much.” Now this is a pure lie, and he knows it.
I rub the back of my neck. “Good night. Now we’re even, right?” I give him a sweet smile.
His lips curl, the shape resembles a smile, but no one in their right mind could call it one. How do these men manage to look so frightening?
I turn around and dash out of his room at a speed far surpassing my entrance.
I reach Zoan’s room instead of mine, and the sight that greets me makes me forget all about the criminal edge of my brother.
Zoan is standing in the middle of his room, his phone in hand, a single towel wrapped around his waist, leaving the rest of his goddamn—no, God-made—body on full display.
I forget to inhale or exhale. My feet move on their own toward the manifestation of the world’s entire hotness condensed in human form. Every muscle is densely packed, sculpted in vivid detail. So many muscles, do humans really have so many distinct, awe-inspiring muscle groups?
I slide my fingers across his abs, tracing droplets of water and his scars.
“What are you doing?”
I look up at his face. Oh, he has a face too.
I don’t pull my hands back. Instead, I place the other one on his stomach, letting both my palms and fingers explore every inch. My own body heats up, a delicious tingling pulsing between my thighs.
He looks down at me, but I keep my gaze fixed on his face. He grabs both my wrists and presses them down. “Why are you so shameless, Dove?” His voice has thickened.
I smile. “I have the responsibility of being shameless for both of us.”
I return my hands to him, this time on his chest.
“Why aren’t you in your room?”
I let my fingers trace the line of his collarbone. “I’m afraid Leo will kill me in my sleep.”
“If he wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t be standing here.” His voice has grown hoarse.
I look down, noticing the pronounced bulge beneath his towel. That day, the pants must have restrained it. He tilts my face upward by the chin, his grip firm. “Don’t look,” he groans.
The tingling deepens into ache. I press my thighs together tightly.
Zloban
I feel everything all the time, the subtle fluctuations in temperature around me, the exact speed of the moving air, the precise level of humidity, the number of people in the vicinity, their posture, microexpressions, breathing patterns, and the intention behind each movement.
I note the rhythm of footsteps, the angle of heads, and even the minute shifts in body weight that reveal attention and intent.
Every sound, every scent, every tiny vibration is cataloged in my mind.
But when I’m near her, all of that disappears.
Every ounce of my focus narrows to the warmth of her hands on my skin, the way her gaze consumes me, satisfying the parts of me that belong to her more than to myself.
My brain ignites with a burning, unrelenting need—an ache of my soul demanding to strip her clothes, to feel all of her pressed against all of me, and yet knowing I cannot, refusing to cross the line.
When I’m with her, the existence of the world fades. Only she can dispel the constant shadow of danger, replace the darkness that follows me everywhere, no matter where I go.
I rub my thumb along the smooth skin beneath her lower lip. “Go to your room and sleep like a good girl.” Every fiber of my body strains, audible in my voice.
“I’m not a good girl,” she mutters, licking her lips, her eyes fixed on mine.
A shine flashes in the amber of her eyes, making them look like molten gold when she lifts her gaze to meet mine. “I will go to my room if you kiss me.”
I’m not born with the strength to refuse this woman, nor have I managed to gain it.
Even if she asked me to take my heart out and place it in her palm, I wouldn’t be able to say no.
Yet, I promised myself I wouldn’t kiss her again, and I intend to keep that promise, despite the relentless protest of my own will.
I step back, leaving her face, putting distance between us. “Sleep here.”
She narrows her eyes, determination blazing in them, the resolve to shatter my restraint shining brighter than the sun in her molten orbs.
I place my phone on the side table and step into the closet. With the hardness I’m carrying, I should head to the bathroom, but I’ve learned to control myself, to resist giving in.
I remove the towel, place it on the rack, and get into my underwear, then a t-shirt and sweatpants.
I walk back into the room and see her lying on the bed with my phone, her finger scrolling the screen, lips slightly parted.
“What are you doing on my phone?” I stride quickly toward the bed.
She glances at me, rolling away when I try to grab the phone. I sit on the bed, propping myself on my elbow, and snatch her waist. She giggles, trying to squirm free, but I pull her closer, taking the phone from her grip. The folder I keep for her photos is open.
She wrenches herself from my hold, pushes my upper body onto the bed, and straddles me, sitting right atop my still-hard dick, grinning the entire time.
“You have 8,798 images of me on your phone.” She rolls her ass against my dick and bends over me. “Were you stalking me, Zoan?” she whispers near my mouth.
Her lips graze mine, but before she can lure me into her mind-numbing seduction, I grip the back of her head with one hand and her ass with the other, placing her back on the bed, hovering above her.
After giving her plump flesh a firm squeeze, I pull my hands away from under her head and butt and pin both of her hands above her head.
“I will tie you up here if you keep messing with me,” I warn.
She grins wickedly. “I’ve read about a few things you could do to me after tying me up here.”
The dirty images she’s planting in my mind are doing their work below my waist. I lean down and bite her lips. She winces, licking them in response.
“You are nothing but a problematic little demon.”
“A problematic little demon you stalk. Tell me about it.”
I release her wrists and roll away, lying beside her and staring at the ceiling. “There’s nothing to tell. Go to sleep.”
She moves closer, resting her head on my chest, hugging me with both an arm and a leg. “There are photos to prove it. So tell me, how long have you been stalking me?”
“I started watching you when you went to Pa’s house.”
“You’ve been stalking me since I was fourteen?” Her eyes widen in shock.
“That wasn’t stalking. It was to watch your security… and to see your face.”
She nods slowly. “Nice, sophisticated way of calling yourself creepy.” She narrows her eyes. “Do you also watch me in the bathroom?”
I shake my head firmly. “I’m not a pervert, Dove.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You were watching an 14-year-old girl, and now you are saying you are not a pervert?”
“I didn’t watch you to jerk off. I watched you because it used to keep me calm, and then it became a need. I can’t even breathe when I can’t see you for long,” I confess, revealing something I had always intended to keep secret.
She moves on top of me, lying across my chest. I hold her waist to keep her there. Her weight on me feels perfect, as if she were made to stay here. Everything feels so right, so complete, that I don’t even want to breathe too loudly for fear of disturbing it.
She cups my face in her hands. “What happens when you don’t watch me for long?”
“I start panicking, fearing something might happen to you, that someone might take you away from me,” I whisper.
She presses a soft kiss to my lips. “And still you think you could watch me marrying someone else?”
I hold her tighter. “I won’t.”
I know I can’t. How could I bear to watch her become someone else’s?
“Don’t force me to do this, Zoan. We could stay like this. No one needs to know about us.”
“I can’t let you live with your face hidden, Dove, when you could walk proudly, head high, like a queen.”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “I don’t want to live like a queen.”