Chapter 20
During the night, Innominatus had tried to sit still as he waited for her to arrive again.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t.
Staying away from her and watching her leave became more painful every time she left, and it was growing unbearable.
He tried to remain patient, but it hurt.
Every time her eyes left his, it stung like a punishment.
Did she not understand how hard it was for him to remain in the laboratory when he knew she was only boards and stone away?
It had begun to wear on him, the knife twisting slowly, as he realized that she might not ever let herself love him, because of what he was…what she had made him to be.
Innominatus was a patient man, and he would continue to be patient for her. He just had to give her a little more time with him, and she would stop fighting their connection, he knew it.
She liked it when he obeyed her, and he wanted to please her, to show her that he was not a problem. That, though he would never be worthy of her, there would never be another soul that adored her more than he did.
But he was bored, painfully so.
Over the last several weeks he’d managed to read every journal, notebook, and letter in the laboratory—he didn’t care for the medical books, but he read them too in the hopes of keeping his dark, obsessive mind from going where it shouldn’t.
He liked her notes the most. He read them repeatedly, over and over, every time absorbing the smell of them, trying to weed out the lingering scent of sandalwood and rose that she sometimes smelled like.
The thought of her holding the same book and looking at the same pages gave him a sad thrill.
Some of the leather corners had begun to wear from how much he had read them, over and over, taking in Victoria’s words and feminine, curled handwriting.
Sometimes, when he was especially lonely, he would pretend as if she were there talking to him, saying the words as he read them.
He’d run out of things to do between the few too-short times when he got to see her.
Victoria’s appearance at the bottom of the stairs with a plate of food three times a day was the only thing that gave him any excitement or hope.
It certainly wasn’t the food, which was typically cold and sloppily thrown together like an afterthought—lately she’d stopped bringing breakfast or lunch.
He hated feeling like she was forgetting about him, but it made the excitement all that much greater when he heard the door creak open at dinnertime when he got to see her again.
She was like a star shining brightly in the night’s sky, a beacon of holy hope reminding him that he had been given a second chance at life… by her.
“You’ve rearranged everything—the tables? Those are hundreds of pounds,” Victoria guffawed.
“You said I could do anything as long as I remained in the lab?” He watched the muscles of her face, dissecting them to see if she was pleased or angry.
“You—you moved my tools?” she asked.
His ears clung to her words, examining every irritated syllable, not fully understanding why she was displeased. He would do anything to please her, anything. All she had to do was let him.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat, hating how desperate it sounded, but he had become a mess. Someone he didn’t recognize, in the aching, desperate pursuit of her returned affection. “It will be easier for you.” She didn’t look pleased. His adrenaline spiked. Had he disappointed her?
“How are they arranged?” she asked with a soft smile that instantly calmed him.
Quickly, he moved around to the table to show her, barely able to stop looking at her beautiful brown eyes long enough to focus on the table. How could she stand to fight this…this perfect bond that linked and pulled them together? He was dying, trying to fight it off and failing miserably.
“This table is for your tools only; this one is for your patient.” He pointed to the tables he had arranged near one another.
“I’ve laid them out by watching which tools you reach for the most and replicating your movements for the greatest precision.
The ones you are most comfortable with or use the most are closest to your reach, de-escalating in rank of importance and use.
In your notes, you mention favoritism to several. Those are at the top.”
His ears strained to hear her breath. Faster by a fraction than a few minutes ago.
It sounded like a seductive symphony against the daunting silence of the dark laboratory.
He’d be thinking about the sound for the rest of the night and into tomorrow, where his imagination would take over and he would hear her panting, crying out for him.
And he would pretend he were there, answering her pleas as he took his time, worshipping her body.
“What about these?” she asked as she moved to the area where the lancets and bistoury laid in perfect symmetry.
A chill ran over his body. He was hard at just the thought of being allowed to touch her body. He adjusted his trousers, wishing he had put his shirt on to cover his suddenly pounding, aching cock.
“I’ve laid these out by threat assessment,” he stated as he moved behind a stack of books.
Something in his chest fluttered lightly when she laughed at his words.
Despite his best efforts, his eyes flicked closed as he savored the sound for a second before opening them again.
“The sharpest, most dangerous blades are closest to where I always stand and watch. The probing tools are farthest away, and the suturing tools are in the center. I based it on which tools can heal and which can kill.”
Victoria’s large brown eyes widened slightly. “I see.” She bristled a little.
“You don’t like it,” he stated, feeling his heart sink. His hand curled around the small wooden figure in his pocket.
“I—I just had my own system,” she said with a smile that might have convinced someone else, but not him.
It filled his stomach with acid. He had hoped she would be so happy with what he’d done that she would start to come down more frequently, that she would see he wasn’t all that bad…that he would be good for her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His thumb ran up and down over the smooth wooden piece concealed in his pocket repeatedly. “I’ll fix it after you leave.”
She must’ve seen the sadness in his face, because she shrugged off her annoyance and moved to her father’s desk. She grabbed a hold of the deck of cards and began to shuffle.
“You don’t need to fix it. I like it, I think. I just—I guess it surprised me how much you paid attention to me. I truly appreciate you…and…” Her face flashed red as she flustered. “Inno, would you like to—”
“Yes,” he said with more enthusiasm than he had meant to project. This was quickly turning into the best day he’d had all week. So far, she’d already stayed with him an extra seven minutes.
“—play piquet?” she finished with an amused look.
He grinned, biting at his lower lip when he felt foolish. He hurried to the chair nearest hers as he always did. He slowed his feet. If he went slower, he could keep her here in the laboratory longer with him.
“How is—” She lifted her brows and chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, prompting him to finish the sentence when the word refused to come.
“Дружочек,” he supplied with a small, pleased smile. Tiny little friend.
“Droo-zhoh-chik?” she repeated, watching his face closely as she tested the sound.
He grinned and settled back into his chair. “Droo-ZHOH-chik is good. I brought her a fly today—and nearly a centipede. My hunt for the centipede will take place tomorrow morning. After I see you.”
Victoria’s smile softened, then faltered, her gaze drifting toward the shadowed corner where his spider friend lived.
The web still clung there, unchanged. In his loneliness, Inno had made friends with a spider that lived in the basement, a fact she had discovered when she had brought a meal down to him one day and found him lurking in the corner talking to a spider that crawled across his shoulder.
He had expected her to tell him to kill it and was surprised when she only smiled and asked what the words he was saying meant.
They played in silence for a few moments more, the soft shuffle of cards filling the space.
And then she seemed to feel it—his attention shifting.
Inno’s eyes were on her now more than the game.
Everything about the woman was beautiful.
He was a moth to her flame, and all he wanted to do was be set on fire by her.
“Is your mattress comfortable?” she asked at last, glancing toward the heap of straw tucked neatly against the wall, carefully arranged and kept out of the way. A blush crept over her, realizing what she’d asked. “For sleeping. Your sleeping.”
He smiled at her a moment before answering, memorizing her face. “I told you I don’t sleep.”
“Why are you grinning like that? You’ve just lost,” Victoria said as she pulled the stray cards on the table into a stack.
He attempted to wipe the smile from his face, but gave up. It felt too nice to feel this way; he didn’t want to cut it short by even a second.
Her fingers looked impossibly long as they worked, deft and unhurried, drawing the streaked, flat-washed blue cards into a single pile. She tapped them against the table once, twice, and the edges surrendered and fell evenly together, aligned with surgical precision.
“I don’t mind losing…some things,” Innominatus said, unable to look away from her as his gaze grew intense.
His voice never rose. It never needed to. The sound lived deep in his chest, held there deliberately, a smooth, controlled rumble that suggested power kept on a short leash. It was the kind of voice that did not beg, did not plead—only waited.