11. Aldric
ALDRIC
Clara narrows those beautiful violet eyes at me, looking less afraid and more angry by the second. She’s a warrior in her own right.
“Because it would make you a decent human being?” she counters my rhetorical question.
I smirk at her. “But I’m not a human being. At least not anymore.”
She goes to push me away, but I catch her wrists before she can experience the unpleasant sensation of feeling no skin over my naked ribcage.
“You’re an asshole,” she hisses through her teeth. Her defiance is making me rock hard again. My cock seems to consider everything she does an invitation to fuck, and I’m finding it difficult to disagree with the appendage.
“And you, Clara… you would be a ravishing warrior princess. Boudica come to life once more.”
She furrows her pert nose. “The only warrior princess I know is Xena.”
It’s my turn to be confused. “Who is Xena? What part of Europe did she govern?”
My little intruder blinks at me. “She, ah… You know, never mind.” She tries to pull free from my hold, the struggle only making me harder.
I decide to use the rest of my body to keep her still and press her against the bookshelves.
When she makes a little sound at the contact, her mouth taking on the shape of a little ‘o’, I realize I’ve made a tactical miscalculation.
Now I’m back to thinking about bending her over my desk and seizing her.
“Can you at least try to be normal?” she says, her voice thin.
I grin at her. “As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to… to… rapey.”
My smile falters, and I curl my lip at the offending adjective.
“I have never had to force anyone,” I say indignantly. “Women of all stations would prostrate themselves before me and—”
“Blah blah blah,” she interrupts. I rear back in affront. “You’re a big bad warlord, I get it. But it’s the twenty-first century, mister, and women don’t just exist for men’s entertainment anymore.”
I’m so dazed by the brazen behavior that I allow her to slip away. Then more of her words register, and I open my mouth.
“Did you say the twenty-first century?”
She’s leaning against my desk. A careless observer might find her the picture of casualness. But I’m trained to look for weaknesses. Her heart is hammering, evidenced by the pulse at her neck. Her pupils are large, overshadowing the violet-blue of her eyes.
“Yeah? What century did you think it was?”
“I am… not sure,” I admit. “My last servants spoke of bicycles, trains, and cars. And the… telephone?”
Clara’s eyes widen, and I realize I absolutely loathe being put in a disadvantageous position. I am not accustomed to being in one.
“This doesn’t really narrow it down for me,” she muses. “Could be any time in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century. How about… planes? Flying transport?”
I nod. Clara nods.
“Come to think of it, I saw The Great Gatsby and Murder on the Orient Express in your bedroom. So it has to be the twentieth century.” She taps her fingertips against her lips, drawing my gaze to them. “Do you remember a big war?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Between whom? Roman Empire? Celts? The Turks?”
Clara purses her lips. “No, this would be bigger. Planes flying overhead, bombs falling.”
Even as I move to the window, I can’t help but observe my little intruder from the corner of my eye. I tilt my chin, indicating the outside world.
“As you can see, there is nothing but forest surrounding us. I have also had periods of… let us call it meditative contemplation.”
Another phrase would be catatonic detachment or some other charming diagnosis dear old Sigmund Freud might have invented.
“Fine. Vaguely twentieth century it is. Guess it would’ve been too much to hope for a cellphone charger.”
“Is that something to do with electricity?” I lean forward, curious about the world for the first time in a very long time. “Did Nikola Tesla achieve his goal of providing the world with free power?”
Clara looks at me like I’m some complex equation she doesn’t know how to solve.
“I, uh… no. Definitely no free power. Have you ever even seen something powered by electricity?”
Sighing, I shake my head. “It would be hard to install such things in a castle you can’t see.”
She snorts, then slaps her palm over her mouth, visibly forcing herself to sober.
“Speaking of,” she says. “Maybe we can work together? If we find out more about the curse, find out why I could just come in here when no one else can, maybe we can find a way to free you too?”
My heart might be a mangled, cold blue thing, but it still beats. And the prospect of leaving this estate has my pulse thundering in my ears. But hope is a dangerous thing. After all, my servants and I attempted to break the curse more times than I can count.
“Maybe… Maybe it is weakening,” I allow.
“Yes, exactly.” She tilts her head. “I suggest we go to the gate and see if I can—”
“No,” I interrupt with a growl. Clara flinches back, but I can’t find it in me to feel bad about it. “You cannot, will not leave me.”
My chest heaves as Clara’s lower lip shakes. Schmetterling yowls his displeasure at being disturbed, hops off the chair he was sleeping on, and saunters out of the library. Then Clara turns on her heel and follows him.
“Where are you going?” I ask, my voice sounding like rocks grinding together.
“Away from you,” she says quietly, not bothering to look back.
Once I hear the master bedroom door close, I kick the desk.
“Fuck!”
This is not how you woo a woman.