Chapter 41 #2
“You only say it’s quiet, Armature, because you’ve never left these rooms past sunset.” Signe leaned toward Matheo, her usual mischief sparkling in her violet eyes. “We are the people and followers of the God of Night. Do you really think we don’t come to life in the dark?”
Matheo narrowed his eyes. “Half of you call yourselves priests and priestesses.”
Signe nodded. “Yes. We do. But Callamus demands our loyalty, not for us to sacrifice our happiness.” She grinned. “The best of Leuxrith is found in his night.”
Matheo sat up in his chair. His expression changed, curiosity taking light in his eyes.
The younger Riqueti had never been able to resist a new adventure.
“What happens in Leuxrith after dark?”
Signe laughed, the sound light and breathy. “That’s the beauty of it. It’s the dark. No one sees, no one knows. We only sing and dance and feel and live.”
Matheo was silent as he searched the priestess’s expression. The younger warrior’s fingers drummed on his thighs, like he was itching to move and was fighting to keep himself still.
Signe stood, padding to Matheo with an outstretched hand. Mariah sat up, silky hair slipping through Andrian’s fingers. He clenched them into a fist to keep from dragging her back.
Dangerous.
“Why don’t I show you?” Signe said, mischief still dancing in her voice.
Matheo shot a glance at Mariah. Andrian almost laughed. Even with silent bonds, even with a woman inviting him out for a night in her city, the Armature still swung back to Mariah like a star in orbit.
Not that Andrian was one to talk.
Mariah grinned. “Go,” she said, chuckling. “We’ll be fine.”
Matheo lit up. He stood, taking Signe’s offered hand. “Lead the way, Priestess.”
Signe raced for the door, tugging Matheo behind her. Their laughs and footsteps faded as the door closed, plunging the room into still silence.
Mariah sighed, placing her feet on the ground. She tilted her head toward Andrian, dark hair curtaining her face.
Gods, she was so fucking beautiful. It was slightly embarrassing how he could stare at her every day and never grow tired of the view.
She jostled his shoulder, and he realized she was talking. He cleared his throat, heat crawling up his neck. “Sorry, nio. What was that?”
Mariah rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “I was saying,” she drawled, “that I’m happy for him. These past few weeks have been lonely. He needs someone.” She paused, a soft hesitation entering her eyes. “We all need someone.”
Of course, she had to tack on that last bit. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it—he definitely deserved all her subtle jabs. But he was hiding his darkness from her for her own good. And, selfishly, maybe a little bit of his.
If she knew what Kol could do, how even with his connection burned out he could still infect Andrian’s mind, how Andrian could never be sure if that seed of evil would ever leave him…
He could feel it sometimes. Kol’s presence, lingering behind his eyes. The way it bled across his vision, masking his world in a blinding shadow of hate and rage.
Fuck, he wanted to tell her. If for no other reason than to get rid of that look in her eyes. It was bliss to be back with her, to touch her and hold her, but every fiber of his being was beginning to cry out for something more.
As if in answer, in confirmation, his shadows pressed against his skin. Lurking, watching, hungry.
He was minutes—seconds—from cracking, from telling her everything, when she let loose a heavy sigh.
She dropped her chin to her chest, shaking her head.
With a final glance at him, she rose from the couch and walked to their small kitchenette, pulling out a decanter of amber liquid and a glass and pouring herself a drink.
Andrian wanted to stay there. To let it all out.
But he couldn’t.
He stood from the couch, striding through a pair of doors and into the bathing chamber. Like the rest of the apartment, it was open and spacious, lined with glass windows overlooking the lake below. A claw-foot tub was set against the windows and tall mirrors arched above the vanities.
Andrian leaned heavily on the counter, meeting his gaze in the mirror. This had to stop. Something had to give. He was being bent too far, so close to breaking, he knew he was bound to snap.
Snapping would mean losing something. It always did.
His hand drifted to his pocket. To a small, bundled parcel he kept there, something he was careful to make sure never left his person.
Andrian drew it out, folding the cloth back. The delicate silver band glinted in the lamplight, the two small diamonds and one slightly larger cut of polished and gleaming tanzanite sparkling.
Lisabel Salis’s ring.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t given it to Mariah yet. He knew she would want it back. It belonged to her mother, and though she refused to open that little silver journal, it was clear that she battled her grief every single day.
Andrian knew how that felt. He hated how much he was able to relate to her pain.
He should give it to her and tell her everything—
“What’s that?”
Andrian’s gaze shot to the mirror. Mariah was striding toward the bathing chamber’s open door, head tilted slightly in question.
He quickly wrapped the ring in the cloth, stuffing it back in his pocket. “Nothing.”
More secrets. He swore to himself he would give it back to her.
Just not tonight. Not yet.
Mariah padded up beside him, holding his stare in the mirror. She scrutinized him for a long moment, as if she could see all his lies, but she only shrugged and turned away.
Andrian tried his best to hide his whooshing sigh of relief and the way he almost sagged into the counter.
The tap to the bath started. Any relief he felt vanished, his spine rigid.
In the mirror’s reflection, Mariah adjusted the taps, testing the water pouring into the sparkling porcelain. Steam rose as she straightened, keeping her back to him and peeling her dark sweater from her body. She discarded the material on the ground then slipped out of her leggings.
Andrian’s pulse hammered in his throat, his grip on the counter tightening at the sweeping expanse of smooth skin, the toned muscle, those seven long scars on her back.
She was taunting him. Teasing him. She’d already bathed that day, after they’d trained. She stepped over the edge of the tub, settling into the water. She finally met his gaze in the mirror, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips before she dunked her head below the surface.
His body was on fire. Every instinct, every bit of his focus had narrowed on her, the rest of the world fading away.
Mariah reemerged, running her hands over her face and down the length of her hair, the top of those fucking tits visible above the surface.
She gathered soap in her hands, working it in the lengths of her hair.
Every movement sent a dagger to his cock.
Why couldn’t he have this? Why couldn’t he have her?
Somewhere, in the sane part of his mind, he knew why: it would just offer one more path for Kol to reach her.
Whatever influence he still had over Andrian was obviously more easily exploited when he was exposed and vulnerable.
Not to mention all Andrian’s lingering worries about the ease of his escape.
He’d never been more vulnerable than he was at this moment. All walls and barriers gone, reduced to nothing more than instinct and hunger.
The weaker part of his mind, the louder part, argued back. Was there really a difference? Between sharing her bed—between kissing her and fucking her?
Gods, he wanted her. He needed her. As much as he needed the air he breathed. His shadows writhed beneath his skin in agreement.
He turned slowly, pulling his gaze from the reflection to reality. He crossed his arms, resting his hip against the counter, feigning nonchalance.
Mariah finished her bath, her smile widening.
She pulled the stopper from the tub and let the water drain.
She stood, water dripping and gleaming on all that skin, tugging his attention to places he was tired of denying himself.
His cocked ached, and by the way her nipples were peaked and that gods-damned flush crept up her neck, she fucking knew.
Mariah pulled a towel from a nearby rack, stepping out of the bath and wrapping it around herself.
Andrian pounced.
He reached her in two long strides, hands gripping soft, damning flesh. He backed her into the opposite wall, steam still swirling around them. Her smirk finally fell away with a soft gasp, and her hands and the towel caught between them when his mouth found hers.
Gods, he devoured her. Her soft, clean scent wrapped around him, soaked into him, wove itself into his very essence.
The soap she’d used was scented with mountain lavender, but the eucalyptus and cedarwood and jasmine was still there, and he swallowed it down with greedy gulps.
His fingers dug into the base of her damp skull, tipping her further up to him, and she released another sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan.
“Please,” he murmured into her lips. He pressed against her, knowing she could feel his aching cock between them. “I need you. Please.”
She stilled. So did he, chest heaving. Her fingers slowly unfurled, palms flat on his chest. His heart raced under her touch, galloping in his ribs. Shadows spilled down his arms and brushed softly against her skin. A thrill raced through him at the way her skin pebbled beneath their touch.
He was about to lean back in, to finally, finally lose himself in her, when her palms on his chest went firm.
Andrian froze, reeling back a little. He let her push him away, hands and shadows slipping from her skin, though it killed him a little to do so. She rewrapped her towel, that fucking smirk back on her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
No, the sadness and hurt and disappointment that looked back at him through the forest green was enough to dump cold water through his veins.
“Not until you talk to me.” She turned away, sauntering back into the main chamber of their apartments.
When she had disappeared into the next room, Andrian sagged against the wall, hanging his head.
He would truly never learn, would he? He would always be so fucking weak.