Chapter 10 Heroes and Villains
HEROES AND VILLAINS
For a moment after he said it, I simply stared at him.
Not because I hadn’t heard the words properly, but because my brain seemed determined to rearrange them into something far more rational than what he’d actually said, as I was still adamant, he wasn’t being serious.
I mean, yes, we had kissed, and holy Goddess, they had been some kisses!
The best in my life so far, but I must have missed the part where that had translated into sharing a bed and sleeping together.
Like bam! We had suddenly hit relationship status apparently.
Which, under any other circumstances, might have been great…
perfect, even. But I knew barely a thing about him, and technically, I was still his prisoner.
Which wasn’t exactly what I would call the ideal foundation for a love match. I could just imagine the future now,
‘So, Mom, how did you and Dad meet?’ Okay, so now who was getting way ahead of themselves?
Either way, I was most definitely not ready to jump into bed with him.
Not when I knew it could potentially end up getting into some serious trouble, seeing as there was no guarantee I was the lost Siren he thought I was.
As for the current, hot and handsome bane of my life, he simply stood there watching me.
Doing so with that same steady focus he had perfected over the course of the evening.
The kind that made it impossible to tell whether he was amused, curious, or simply waiting to see what I would do next.
And when several seconds passed without him volunteering any helpful clarification, I cleared my throat and decided to supply one myself.
“Well then,” I continued carefully, gesturing vaguely toward the rest of the club beyond the door as though the solution were perfectly obvious,
“I’m sure there are plenty of other rooms available.”
“There are,” he agreed easily, making me sigh in relief. One that was, unfortunately, short-lived and something I discovered only after I had walked towards the door.
“Excellent,” I replied at once with renewed confidence as my hand reached for the handle.
“Then you should probably go and find one then.” Behind me, there was the faintest shift of movement, the subtle sound of fabric adjusting as he repositioned himself within the room.
I expected footsteps approaching the door, perhaps even some mild protest at being so efficiently dismissed from his own bedchamber.
What I didn’t expect was silence. And when none of those footsteps came, a small knot of suspicion began forming somewhere near the base of my spine.
Still, I pulled the door open.
“There you are,” I said brightly, stepping aside and gesturing out into the corridor beyond.
“Problem solved.” For a moment, there was no response. Then Wye’s voice drifted across the room behind me, annoyingly calm and entirely unbothered.
“And you appear to be under the misconception that there is a problem that needs solving. Just like you appear to be under the impression that I will be leaving.” My mouth dropped open at this, before arguing,
“I am not under that impression, but I am operating under that expectation that you will do the right thing,” I snapped back, folding my arms and nodding to the door, hoping it was stern enough that he knew I was being serious.
However, when his expression shifted almost subtly, with the faintest hint of amusement gracing his lips, I didn’t exactly take this as a good sign.
“I’m a demon, Eliza, in case you missed that part,” he replied arrogantly, as if this explained everything.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I have no intention of leaving, as our ideas of what the right thing is differ greatly,” he said evenly, and a strangled breath escaped me.
“I… you…” I stammered, trying to find the right words. When really, had I found them, they would have just consisted of so much cursing, it would have likely made half the demons in his club blush.
Instead, what actually came out was far less satisfying.
“Well, that’s just… just ridiculous!”
Wye didn’t look particularly troubled by that assessment. If anything, the faint curve lingering at the corner of his mouth suggested he found my reaction far more entertaining than he had any right to.
“You may believe that to be the case, but it does not change facts, Eliza,” he stated, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“And that is?” I snapped again.
“That I will be remaining here tonight, and the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you will relax,” he replied, and my eyes widened at the nerve of him! Because the audacity of that statement was almost impressive… almost.
“Okay, fine…” I said at last, folding my arms tightly across my chest as I turned toward the still-open doorway. My voice carried just enough sweetness to make it obvious that it absolutely was not sweet at all, and this was as far from fine as you could get.
“I hope you enjoy your bedchamber… alone!” I continued, already stepping toward the door and with the full intent of walking through it. At least I would have, had I not barely taken two steps when the door was suddenly slammed shut.
The sound cracked sharply through the room behind me. The heavy wood struck the frame with a quiet but unmistakable force before the lock turned with a resounding click.
I stopped dead before slowly turning back to face him.
“So that’s it, you kiss me, and yet, I am still your prisoner!?” I asked in outrage.
“If the pretty shoes fit.” Was his infuriatingly smooth reply, one that continued,
“Now stop wasting all your energy on being angry and relax.”
“Relax! Are you serious, right now?” I shouted, making him grin, before he turned his back to me.
“I could kiss you again, if you think that would help?” he replied, granting me a wink over his shoulder.
I swear my huff of annoyance was so loud I was surprised that smoke hadn’t blown out of my nostrils.
But before I could swear at him and start calling him every name under the Goddess sun, I realized what he was now doing.
Which meant every insult in my vocabulary swiftly left me in sight of him now undressing.
“Wh… what are… you… you doing?” I stuttered embarrassingly, but he didn’t look back. No, instead he continued to free himself of his shirt, letting it slip down from one of his shoulders as his torso twisted.
“I believe that should be obvious,” he said calmly as more of his muscular body came into view.
The fabric slid lower.
And that was when I saw it.
At first, I thought the shifting light in the room was playing tricks on me. That the faint patterns moving across his back were nothing more than shadows caught along the contours of muscle as he moved. But the longer I stared, the more I realized that wasn’t the case at all.
They were markings.
Not ink.
Not scars.
Something else entirely.
They traced across his skin in intricate lines that seemed far too precise to be accidental.
The markings curled and branched in elegant, unfamiliar shapes that ran along the powerful span of his shoulders and down the center of his back.
Some of them were sharp and angular, almost harsh in their geometry.
Whilst others curved in flowing patterns that looked strangely beautiful.
As though someone had woven two entirely different languages together and etched them beneath his skin.
And that was the unsettling part.
Because they weren’t on his skin.
They were beneath it.
The faint lines were only just darker than his natural pale skin tone.
Subtle enough that I might have missed them entirely if he hadn’t moved.
But now that I had seen them, I couldn’t unsee them.
They pulsed softly with the movement of his muscles, appearing almost like dormant veins of power that had chosen that exact moment to reveal themselves.
They looked ancient.
Alive.
My irritation evaporated somewhere between one breath and the next as my gaze followed the patterns down the length of his back.
I now noticed how they shifted and caught the light differently depending on how he moved.
The effect was strangely hypnotic. As though something far older than either of us had been written across his body in a language I had no hope of understanding.
“You’re staring,” he observed mildly, making me jump. My eyes jerked upward just in time to catch him glancing at me over his shoulder. And right there was that same, infuriatingly sexy smirk as usual. Which only made it worse that he had caught me staring.
“I am not,” I said far too quickly, which prompted him to raise a single brow at me.
“You are,” he stated, his amusement growing when I seemed to flounder like a fish out of water. My mouth opening and closing as if I had forgotten how to breathe normally, let alone speak!
Then, against my better judgment, my gaze flicked briefly toward his back again before snapping upward once more. Because now that I knew they were there, ignoring them felt almost impossible.
Wye finished removing his shirt, and he turned slightly toward me.
“As beautiful as that dress is,” he said instead, his eyes drifting slowly over me now,
“It doesn’t look particularly comfortable to sleep in.” My entire train of thought derailed instantly. And just like that, my attention was no longer on the strange markings across his back. Because the man had just very casually suggested that I start undressing.
I stared at him for one beat too long, my thoughts tangling somewhere between irritation and something far more dangerous. Then I turned sharply on my heel, deciding distance was the only sensible option left to me.