26. It’s like ten thousand Cinders, when all you need is a straw
Chapter 26
It’s like ten thousand Cinders, when all you need is a straw
CHARMING
M y muscles tremble with the effort of restraining myself, my jaw clenched so tightly I can feel my teeth grinding. Sweat beads on my forehead, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I fight the urge to sink my fangs into Cinder’s soft, inviting flesh.
It would be so easy to give in, to let the monster inside me take control. But I can't. I won't. Even as my body screams for release, I cling to the last shreds of my humanity, desperate to prove that I'm more than just a slave to my thirst.
I jolt back to reality. I untangle my fingers from Cinder’s hair and wrench myself away from her.
Even as the hunger howls its protest, I know I've made the right choice. I am more than my thirst, more than the sum of my darkest desires. And I will not let them define me, no matter how loudly they roar.
What the hell was I thinking? Not once but twice of late, I almost gave into my thirst for my human bride. I'm losing my fucking mind.
Cinder stares at me, her eyes wide with a mix of pure terror and something else, something darker. Her hand flies to her throat, fingers trembling as they trace the spot where my fangs nearly pierced her skin.
“I'm sorry,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “I don't know what came over me. I wouldn’t bite you without your consent.” I give her a hard, searching look. My voice is hoarse with self-disgust. “I would never. . .”
Cinder narrows her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Really? Because it sure as hell seemed like you were about to.”
I flinch at the accusation in her tone. She's right. I was seconds away from sinking my teeth into her, from taking what I so desperately craved.
Shame washes over me, hot and sticky.
“I thought I was. . .” she starts with uncertainty.
“What?” I ask, urging her to go on. Remorse and shame are drowning me. I’m desperate to know what she’s thinking. I prefer she gives me the brunt of her judgment just so I can see what goes on behind those inscrutable violet eyes.
“I thought I was disgusting to you. What you said to the other boys that day.” Then she shakes her head before looking away. Arms crossing over her body, she shrinks in on herself until she becomes even smaller. “Never mind, you probably don’t remember.”
“I remember.” I’m deathly sober now, my body healing enough that my hands don’t scream in agony, and I can see out of my left eye again. The muddled bloodlust has abated and I’m thinking clearly. And I know exactly what she’s talking about. “Those boys were going to. . .” I didn’t want to finish the sentence. It’s what I almost did just now. Take. Bite. Claim. “...play with you,” I finish grimly.
She swallows hard and nods. “Why would you want to bite me? You acted like—you said I was disgusting.” Cinder pauses. “I spent most of my life thinking you despised me.”
I take a step back, needing to distance myself from her words. It takes a moment to pull myself together. “No. No, Cinder. I don’t think you’re disgusting. I’ve never hated you. I’ve—I was trying to protect you.”
Cinder sways a little on her feet before reaching out to grasp the counter edge. As if she’s been so rocked, she can barely stand.
“I always thought we were kind of the same, you and I,” I explain. “Children of the important figures of Midnight, separate from the rest. Now that I say it out loud, I realize how ridiculous that sounds.”
She shakes her head slightly and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s assuring me I’m not ridiculous, or because she rejects the idea of what I’m saying.
Nausea burns through me.
“But even though I don’t find you disgusting,” even saying it is strange and so counter to the truth, it pains me, “I would never bite you without consent. And if those kids had tried anything with you, I would have ripped their heads clean off.” The rage still pulsates under my skin, now transferred from the past.
It’s transferred to the idea of anyone hurting the woman in front of me.
“I don’t want you to protect me.” She takes a step forward, her gaze flicking to the blood staining my shirt. “What I want is the truth. What really happened to you?”
My shoulders tense for a fraction of a second before I fall back into the persona of Prince Charming. “It’s like I told you. Jealous lovers from the past.”
The truth burns on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back. I've learned the hard way that revealing my father's abuse only leads to more pain. Not just for me, but for anyone who tries to intervene.
But it's more than that. I don't want her to see me as a victim, to look at me with pity, or worse, to see me as weak. The role of the carefree, self-indulgent prince is a mask I've worn for so long it's become a part of me. It’s my armor, protecting me from making reckless decisions driven by my pain. If I let that mask slip, even for a moment, I might give the old man a true reason to kill me.
Confident my face is healed enough, I cast a sardonic smile at her. “And shouldn’t you be learning the latest dances right about now? There are only two hundred and twenty of them to memorize to be proficient at any Midnight ball.”
She doesn’t soften, only studies me with a serious, unrelenting gaze.
Under Cinder's scrutiny, my skin warms several degrees.
That must be the blood I just consumed.
“I told you,” I exclaim with an exaggerated sigh. “We aren’t even really together and now you are going to make a fuss about my past trysts? That will make the next couple of months quite difficult,” I say airily.
I want Cinder to call me Prince Slut Muffin and think of me like everyone else does. A self-indulgent troublemaker who doesn’t carry his pain like a brand. Better she think me a promiscuous ass than learn the truth. I’m a promiscuous ass who takes regular beatings from his father.
The lie goes down easier than the truth and my throat is raw.
Cinder's eyes flash with annoyance. “Bullshit. You expect me to believe some jealous husband did this to you?”
She gestures to my face, only moments ago covered in bruises and cuts. “I'm not an idiot, Charming. Someone beat the living hell out of you, and I want to know who.”
Her gaze drops to where bright red spots mar my white shirt. I reflexively grip the crude color in a fist, covering it from her gaze before I know what I’ve done.
Cinder’s violet eyes swing back up to meet mine. Something crackles in them. I expect it to be anger and disgust at drinking blood.
She pierces into me with invisible needles, searching for the truth. For a moment I almost wonder if she has the power of thrall herself.
You want to know what happened? I was punished because of you, my gorgeous demoness.
I can’t ignore the anger still running rampant through me. It takes all my power to push my smile up into my eyes, and the effort leaves me exhausted.
I swallow hard and break eye contact with her to look down at the hand that still grips the spot that’s likely already stained my shirt.
I need to distract her before she forces me to spill everything in a landslide of tar and sludge.
There are two main tactics of diversion I often resort to. One is lighthearted joking. Since that hasn’t worked, I move on to number two. Sex appeal.
I yank the shirt off over my head. My muscles flex in a way that I know draws the eye.
Exposing flesh usually distracts, and even Cinder can’t help but take a quick tour of my exposed body.
Wait. She isn’t ogling.
Her eyes roam my body like she’s checking for more injuries.
The idea she cares sends a powerful emotion swirling underneath my rage. It feels like a small seed being watered after years of drought.
No one knows who I am outside the persona. No one truly cares what I am when I’m not giving them pleasure or amusement. I’m not a person. I’m a thing. A performance to be enjoyed.
But that's not how Cinder looks at me. That’s never how she’s looked at me.
Even through the lace obscuring her eyes that first night I pulled her to the dance floor, I found myself entranced by her serious, probing gaze.
Suddenly I’m as vulnerable and wanting as a teenage boy again, watching the little human girl enjoying her own little world. The old pangs of longing to touch her solitude and peace shoot through me.
Good fucking witchtits. I’ve got to get out of here, I have to regain my equilibrium so I can be the Prince Charming that everyone knows and loves at tonight’s engagement ball.
“Time for laundry,” I say with a cheeky grin as I sweep past her, though I simply plan to throw the shirt out and have never done a bit of laundry in my entire life.
Instead, I stride out to the courtyard and begin a familiar sequence of martial arts moves.
Each strike is filled with pent-up anger and determination. As I twist and kick, I can feel the darkness pulsing through my body, but instead of succumbing to it, I use it as fuel to drive me forward.
With each move, I take control of the pain that doesn’t heal with blood, and I make it my own. My focus sharpens on what must be done. On why I've coerced Cinder into this engagement.
If only the Mice would come through and see this is the perfect time to put an end to an old fairy’s tyranny. Because if they don’t agree to help, I’m not sure what I’ll do.
And that thought scares me, not because I’m afraid of what must be done. But because if I have to bring King Valdor Charming down myself, it may be the very act that transforms me into him.