Chapter 31
Abyss
THE MAESTRO | Past
Ican’t sleep alone.”
I stare at her. The fork in my hand stays halfway to my plate.
“You what?” I ask. My voice drops into the patient cadence I’ve been forcing myself to use with her for weeks.
She looks up at me, her eyes glassy, wide, and beautifully terrified. Her hands are resting on the edge of the table, and her fingers tremble unmistakably before she pulls them back, hiding them beneath the linen cloth on her lap.
“The winter is coming,” she says. “The room gets colder. It’s too large.”
My gaze tracks the frantic pulse point at the base of her throat, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven intervals.
Colder. The heating in this fortress is state-of-the-art; the radiators are humming right now, throwing off enough warmth to bake the skin.
We both know it isn’t the temperature of the air that’s freezing her out. It’s the dead space. It’s the silence.
She still loves me, no matter the hatred she bears. My Selene can never hate anyone.
Or at least, that’s what my mind wants to believe.
A dark, predatory instinct rears its head in the back of my mind, growling in disbelief, pushing every reason aside.
After weeks of freezing me out, weeks of treating me like an executioner, she’s sitting across from me at dinner, practically begging to crawl into my bed.
I press my lips into a hard line, saying nothing.
I want to believe her. Fuck, more than anything on this earth, I want to believe the ice is finally melting.
But a man in my position doesn’t survive by ignoring a sudden shift in the wind.
“Your Mother’s room is right down the hall,” I say, my tone deliberately neutral, testing the waters as I lower my fork to the plate.
I lean back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other, keeping my eyes locked on her face.
“You’ve spent every night this month tucked into her bed, Dolcezza. Why the sudden change?”
Her lips part slightly. She swallows hard, and her shoulders tense under the delicate silk of her nightgown, the same fabric that had nearly slipped entirely off her skin in my study a few days ago.
It’s red, lace, and something she’d never willingly wear in my presence, knowing how much it entices me.
“Mama is… she is still grieving,” she whispers, her gaze dropping to her lap for a fraction of a second before she forces herself to look back at me, holding mine. “Her grief is heavy, Zagreus. It makes the room feel… heavier. I need sleep. Real sleep. Without the nightmares.”
Without the nightmares.
She thinks I can chase her demons away. She thinks the monster who tore her world apart is the only shield powerful enough to protect her from the dark.
I let out a low, rough exhale, standing up from the head of the table and walking toward her, keeping my steps slow, giving her every opportunity to flinch, to retract the invitation, to run back to her Mother’s suffocating embrace.
She stays frozen as I stop right beside her chair, shadowing her.
I lean down, placing my hands on the armrests of her chair, trapping her between my body and the wood. The scent of her—that intoxicating mix of jasmine and clean skin—hits me like a drug. Tiny shivers run down her pale arms.
“You know what you’re asking for, don’t you?” I murmur, my lips inches from her ear. “If you come into my room, you don’t get to ask for a separate bed. You don’t get to pull away when I reach for you in the dark. If you sleep with me, you are giving up the distance you fought so hard for.”
I reach out, the back of my hand brushing slowly down the cool skin of her cheek, tracking the line of her jaw until my thumb rests firmly against her full, parted lower lip.
She catches her breath, her fingers clutching tightly at the fabric of her skirt beneath the table, but she doesn’t pull away.
“I know,” she whispers against my thumb, her eyes dark, bottomless, and entirely unreadable.
I stare down at her, my mind screaming at me that something is different, that the little bird is acting far too brave.
But looking at her swollen lips, feeling the heavy reality of her submission, I don’t give a fuck what her reasons are. Let her play whatever game she thinks she’s playing.
Once she is in my bed, I will make her forget every other name but mine.
“Finish your dinner,” I command softly, my thumb pressing firmly into her bottom lip one last time before I pull away. “Then Elena will help move your things into my room.”
I turn on my heel and walk away from the table before the sheer intensity of my hunger makes me do something neither of us is ready for.
By the time I reach my room, the heat under my skin is a raging, suffocating fire. I storm into the bathroom, ripping my shirt open, the buttons tearing and hitting the marble floor with sharp, frantic clicks. I need to clear my fucking head.
I step into the shower, turning the handle straight to cold, but the icy water does nothing to kill the image burned into my retinas.
The red lace gown. She chose it on purpose. She knew exactly what that colour, that fabric, did to my sanity. And her full, parted lips against my thumb—fuck.
My breath comes in ragged gasps against the tile wall as my hand grips my cock.
I stroke hard, fast, my eyes closed as I picture her pinned beneath me on that massive dining table, the red lace pushed up around her waist, her glassy eyes finally looking at me with something resembling desire instead of grief. I curse out loud.
She is driving me completely out of my mind. I am the king of this city; I command empires of blood and stone, and yet I am reduced to jerking off in a cold shower like a starving beggar because my wife offered me a crumb of her presence.
When I finally release, a harsh groan tears from my throat, my forehead pressing against the wet stone until my breathing slows down.
I step out of the bathroom with nothing but a dark slate towel slung low around my hips. Strands of wet hair cling to my forehead, and water drips steadily down the planes of my chest and abdomen.
Elena is there, quietly hanging a silk robe in the wardrobe.
I had emptied that entire half of the closet the day we got married. I knew it would take time, but I also knew with absolute certainty that one day or another she would be sleeping in my room. My patience is an investment, and tonight, the dividends are arriving.
My little wife is standing near the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting around one another. She is deliberately avoiding my eyes—or more precisely, the rest of me. But she fails.
I stand completely still, letting the water drops track slowly down my torso, rolling over my ribs.
Her eyes track a single droplet as it slides down my stomach and disappears beneath the low edge of the towel.
A dark amusement curls in my chest, and I almost smile.
She isn’t nearly as indifferent as she pretends to be.
Elena lowers her head, sensing the suffocating shift in the room’s atmosphere.
“Do the rest in the morning,” I say, my voice cutting through the quiet.
“Yes, sir.” Elena bows quickly and exits, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind her, sealing us into the silence.
I take a single, heavy step toward Selene.
She jumps, clutching at the front of her flimsy red dress, trying to pull the low neckline higher. Her eyes finally lock onto mine.
“I… I will sleep on the couch,” she stammers, nodding toward the leather sofa near the fireplace.
“No,” I murmur as I close the distance between us until I am standing right over her. “You’re sleeping on that bed.”
“Undress,” I command softly.
She looks at me, her wide eyes reflecting the low, amber glow of the fire crackling in the hearth, searching for any sign of hesitation on my face. She finds none.
“Zagreus, please…” she whispers, her voice trembling as she takes a half-step back, her heels hitting the edge of the plush mattress.
“You came to my room, Dolcezza,” I remind her, my voice a low, gravelly rumble. I don’t move an inch closer, letting the sheer weight of my presence trap her against the bed. “You said you wanted to sleep where it’s warm. I don’t sleep with clothes on, and neither do you. Take it off.”
She hesitates for three agonizing seconds, her jaw tensing as she swallows. Then, with shaking fingers, she reaches for the delicate zipper at the side of her red dress.
She lets the fabric pool around her ankles, stepping out of it until she is standing before me in nothing but her bare skin.
Christ.
My jaw tightens so hard that it aches. Her body is a masterpiece of soft curves and pale, flawless skin, completely enticing me beyond any semblance of sanity.
The cold water of the shower and the release from minutes ago are instantly rendered useless; the heavy heat in my gut flares back to life.
I want to throw her onto the mattress and bury myself in her until neither of us remembers our own names.
Instead, I force my expression to remain neutral. I back up a step and sit down on the edge of the mattress, resting my forearms on my knees, my eyes never leaving her face.
“Now,” I murmur. “Please your husband.”
She blinks, completely caught off guard, a flush spreading from her cheeks down to her chest.
I am testing her. I’ll never lay a hand on her unless she wants me to. But I know the game she’s playing.
Gathering what little courage she has left, she takes a step forward, kneeling on the carpet between my thighs. Her small, trembling hands rest tentatively against my damp knees, her touch sending a jolt of pure electricity straight up my spine.
Awkwardly, she leans forward, her full lips parting as she attempts to press a soft, deliberate kiss to the inside of my thigh, trying to play the part of the temptress.
It lasts less than a second.
The sensation of her mouth against my skin snaps the final thread of my restraint.
Before she can even register the shift, my hand shoots out, my fingers tangling firmly in the silk of her hair.
With a tug, I overpower her, pulling her upward until she is splayed across my lap, her gasping mouth inches from mine.
“Stop,” I growl against her lips, my chest heaving against her bare breasts.
“Don’t play games you aren’t equipped to win, Selene Vitale.
Do not awaken the animal in me tonight. Because I promise you, if I lose control right now, I won’t hold back.
I will tear you apart, and you won’t leave this bed for a week. ”
She whimpers, her body trembling violently against mine, subdued by the dominance radiating from my frame.
For a long, agonizing moment, I just hold her there, letting her feel the rigid length of my cock pressing against her thigh, letting her realize exactly how close she is to the edge of the cliff.
Then, with a harsh exhale, I release her hair.
I shift her off my lap, rolling onto the mattress and pulling the heavy velvet duvet over both our bodies.
“Sleep,” I command roughly, turning my back to her. “And do not try to poke or touch me.” I lie completely rigid, staring at the dark wall, every muscle in my body coiled tight as I fight the urge to turn around and claim what is mine.
“Zagreus…” she whispers. I feel the mattress shift as she edges closer, her small hand reaching out in the dark, her fingertips brushing tentatively against the heavy ink on my shoulder blade.
“Please… touch me. Just… under different circumstances. If things were different… would you have still taken me?”
The raw vulnerability in her question hits me harder than any bullet ever could. It slices through my anger, leaving nothing but a fierce, devotional ache in my chest.
I turn around slowly and, in the dim light of the dying fire, I look down at her tear-stained face. I reach out, cupping her jaw, my thumb wiping away a stray tear with agonizing tenderness.
“I would have hunted you to the ends of the earth under any circumstances, Dolcezza,” I swear, my voice dropping into a deep, reverent whisper.
I lean down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to her forehead, sealing the vow against her skin.
“Listen to me. I know what you think of me. But I am giving you my word right now—I will never hurt your Mother, and I will never hurt you. If you are deciding to sleep in my bed to make sure I keep your Mother alive, I assure you I am not a man who will go back on his word. You do not have to please me; take your time; I am giving you enough of that. This is my promise to you, Dolcezza. You are safe here.”
She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes searching mine in the dark, the confusion and intensity of the moment holding her captive. She doesn’t pull away from my hand. Slowly, her eyelids flutter shut, the exhaustion of the day finally pulling her under.
I keep my hand against her cheek, watching her fall asleep in my bed, knowing that tomorrow the war continues—but tonight, she belongs to me.
One step at a time.