Chapter 25
I sat on the edge of the mattress looking through the ensuite door as Dig ran the bath. There was something about the deep powerful gush of bath water that drowned out worries, the appetiser for what would come: relaxation. Steam fogged the bathroom, the balmy sweet heat already reaching my cheeks.
My brows sprung up with delight as Dig poured in bath oils and brought out a loofa.
“Where did you find all these beauty products from?”
“The stores.” He pulled out shampoo and conditioner.
“You looted them.”
“No, I bought them at the supermarket. Of course, I looted them.”
“That’s stealing.”
“It’s survival.”
“How did you know to tempt me to your trap with beauty products?”
“I put out traps with survival necessities like flint and water purifiers and edible herbs too, but you walked right past those until you found the fucking sunscreen.”
I pursed my lips. “I must have not seen them.”
He held up two different bottles of shampoo. “Which one do you want?”
“The Diante,” I said. “The other has SLS, that causes cancer.”
He threw the other outside the window. “Why’d you choose the sunscreen when you came into the Battle? I could have gotten some for you.”
“The same reason you chose a book.” He showed me a frown and waited for me to continue. “What’s the point of choosing a weapon?” I smiled at him. “There are thousands left over from previous battles. It’s better to choose something else that wouldn’t be in the arena.”
He nodded to that.
“I’m guessing Pride and Prejudice wasn’t in the city?”
“I looked for it.”
“You’re a Jane Austen fan?”
“You are.”
“What?”
“It was on your bookshelf.”
I paused, skipping over the memory of him in my bedroom years and years before. “You’re reading it because… it was on my bookshelf?”
He decided the bath suddenly needed his attention.
“That wasn’t Jane Austen on my bookshelf,” I said.
“They weren’t the actual books, just the book dust covers to conceal over different books.
I did that so people thought I was reading Jane Austen instead of seeing the actual books I read.
I have to go out into public a lot so I can’t have people thinking Delphine De Astor prefers reading monster smut. ”
He ripped his head back to me, mouth parting. “What?”
I yawned. “I read monster smut.”
“You don’t read Jane Austen?”
“I’ve never read Jane Austen.”
“Fuck.”
He spent a moment hitching with irritation and seemingly contemplating life. Afterwards, he grabbed his Pride and Prejudice book and threw that out of the window too just as he had done with the cancer shampoo.
“Oh, but I do actually want to read it,” I said. “It’s on my ‘to be read,’ list.”
He looked outside of the window, cussing.
Because I was not permitted to walk around or stand up, I waited for him to come over to the bed and pick me up and carry me into the bathroom.
While he scooped me up in his arms I flipped his hood down, uncovering his tousled black hair.
He jerked as I did, showing me a grimace that promised violence.
I was about to remove his sunglasses next when he acted hastily, setting me down on the edge of the bathtub and lurched back quick enough to escape my hand coming for his sunglasses.
“Why do you wear sunglasses?” I asked.
No answer.
“Can you undress me?” I asked. “My arm hurts.”
He fingered the hem of the black t-shirt I wore and tugged it up and over me. I stayed looking at his sunglasses, searching the black glass for the shape of his eyes.
“Is there something different with your eyes?” I asked.
He bent and pulled off my underwear.
“All eyes are beautiful. You don’t have to hide them. Oh! Are you blind? Is that why you wear sunglasses? You don’t want people to think you’re blind? Do you use smell and sound to see? You’re blind, aren’t you? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Thirteen.”
“Ha! It was four!”
I got into the bathtub, snuggling into the warm water, sighing from the relief of it. Steam licked against my cheeks, and I rested my head at the edge of the tub, blanketed in thick bubbles.
Dig sat on the tiled floor alongside the bathtub facing me. He bunched up the sleeve on his jumper and rested his forearm on the lip of the tub, his fingers tapped soundlessly on the porcelain as he stared at me through his sunglasses.
“Is this what you do during the Execution Battle?” I asked him. “Murder. Dinner. Murder. Hot bath. Murder. Good night’s sleep?”
“Before I sleep, I fuck my hand while thinking about you.”
I looked him over. “You can touch me if you want.”
He dipped his hand into the water, his fingers teased against my leg. They did not search for a sexual purpose, at least I did not think so, as they remained there, brushing over my leg.
The lush filtration of his fingers had my inner thighs burning.
His black hair slipped over his forehead as he leaned his head to better view me. “How often do you touch yourself while thinking about me?”
An uncountable number of times. “Never.”
“Lie.”
My face tattooed on his naked bicep looked back at me. I was certain every inch of this man was chiselled. I looked further down, finding an impressive bulge in his grey sweatpants. “Do I make you hard?”
“You make everything difficult, yes.”
The bubbles tickled just under my chin. “You like wearing those sunglasses.”
“You like me wearing these sunglasses.”
I popped a bubble with a laugh. “You know the past few years my brother has built a growing sunglasses collection, though, nothing silly like yours.”
I realised after I had spoken the words I had not yet grieved the discovery of my brother.
A stinging pain shot through my bones. I should not care about Magnus, nor tie any happy memory to him.
My brother did not love me. My brother betrayed me.
I was yet to let this sink in, yet to mourn it.
A hollow sadness wrapped its fingers over my heart.
“I’m going to kill your brother,” Dig said casually, scooping up a bubble, playing with it. “I dream about that shit every night. Helps me sleep. It’s a God damn good bedtime story.”
I leaned my head back on the edge of the bathtub, watching him and his bubble. “How would you do it?”
“Keep him alive for as long as possible and then…” He squashed the bubble in his hand. “I don’t know. Probably burn him alive. I’ve heard it’s the fuckiest way to die.”
I fingered my arm where my brother’s betrayal had lived for too many years.
I thought of all the times he had hugged me and when his arm had brushed up against mine. Could he feel the implant in there? How many times had he hugged me and touched that horrible lie and smiled through it?
Dig stopped hunting for another bubble and directed his full attention to me, catching whiffs of my severity and anguish. Confusion was clear on him. He looked better without his hood. The candlelight gave his dark hair highlights. His jaw arched sharply, his nose sloped to a curved tip.
He pressed his hand to my chest.
My nipples hardened. However, he focused only on my heartbeat.
“Is it that astounding that I’m Soulless?” I flicked a bubble away. “Honestly, I feel nothing about most things.”
I had probably been Soulless regardless of Magnus poisoning me.
When satisfied that my heart was still a Soulless heart, Dig did not take his hand away, instead his fingers coasted to my nipple, his thumb brushed over my hardened tip.
Pure bliss sparked through me from that single stroke. His thumb brushed over my nipple again, until it was fully erect and he did the same to the other before gliding his hand down my sternum, over my waist, past my belly button and cupped my pussy.
A sigh left me.
My legs opened as if he had pressed a button.
Pretty ecstasy itched through my body, forcing me to lay there, open and vulnerable to that single hand, wanting it to explore.
Dig smirked. “Do you want me to?”