14 #2
His look of derision is cutting. “What do you mean, how? I’m a grown man.
Even evil knows how to make a fucking piece of toast.” That wry tone shifts to impatience.
“I trust you can find your way to the kitchen. I, meanwhile, will be showering for the second time this morning. When I’m done, you and I need to have a conversation about my brother. Leave your weapons in the bedroom.”
“Absolutely n—”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he warns, and then he’s gone once more.
* * *
I take a brief shower, slip yesterday’s clothes back on with no small amount of disgust, then make my way down to the main floor.
The Warden was wrong if he thought I would be able to find the kitchen without any trouble.
The size of this place borders on absurd, which explains why I didn’t hear him moving around last night.
The house is less gloomy during the day, but it backs up against a stretch of forest, so the windows capture little sunlight.
I haven’t been this far from Valestadt’s city center in over three years.
Rather than being a nice reprieve, the stench of foliage nauseates me.
It smells the way my second childhood home did—like pine and persistent damp.
Like my sister’s dress the day I pressed my face against her eyelet sleeve, begging her to love me despite the mottled purple blooming on my forearm.
It smells like the way she recoiled from my touch, interlacing her fingers in the Savior’s symbol.
The single word she hissed severed whatever thin cord of affection remained between us.
It was a word that would come to define the rest of my life.
Sinner.
I come to a halt by the front entrance. I have to admit, I like the way the house seems a breath away from crumbling.
I like the creaking floorboards and their partially polished, partially scuffed appearance.
I like the air of otherworldliness, and how dark it is, as if time has trapped it between cupped palms and refuses to let go.
Intuitively, the kitchen ought to be fairly close to the entrance, but all I see are under-furnished sitting rooms. Irritation prickles my skin as I continue down the hallway, attempting to open doors as I go.
Most are locked—did the Warden truly give me the only room in this godforsaken place that doesn’t have any privacy?
—but two are accessible. The first is the office from which I called Gabriel.
The second is a bedroom, the door partially ajar, a narrow beam of light illuminating a stretch of weathered floorboard.
A gold-rimmed mirror is visible on what I can see of the wall, and the room it reflects is quite clearly not the kitchen.
I’m about to carry on when a figure appears in the mirror.
It has to be the Warden, though I can’t see his face.
Fearing he’ll hear me if I move, I remain where I am, a hand sliding to my waistband.
Despite his orders, l didn’t leave my knife or gun behind.
I won’t use either on him again unless the situation warrants it, but I’m also not stupid enough to walk around a diabolist’s home unarmed.
When he moves more fully into the light, my breath catches.
He’s dressed only in trousers, his hair damp, though that isn’t the cause of my shock. The way he’s positioned against the light, I can tell that his shoulders and spine are scarred, the skin oddly ridged beneath dark ink.
So he isn’t indestructible. He can be hurt badly enough to scar. How though? If blades and bullets aren’t enough, what is?
I wondered if Gabriel has the answer.
Eyes narrowed against the light, I map the lines of the Warden’s sinewy arms and narrow waist. He’s more muscular than I’d thought, but slight in a way that doesn’t immediately mark him as threatening.
Tattoos cover what I can see of his body, though I’m not close enough to make out the details.
He’s absurdly appealing. It’s easy to admit that, knowing he’s designed to be desirable.
Besides, attraction and affection can, I’ve learned, be mutually exclusive.
“You can just come in, you know.”
He speaks without turning around. I freeze, casting about as if I might see someone else loitering in the hallway, then give myself a shake. Damn it all. If he thinks I’ll apologize, if he thinks I’ll show an ounce of embarrassment, he’s sorely mistaken. “I couldn’t—”
He materializes at my side before I can finish speaking, now wearing a white button-down shirt. His lips twitch as he takes in my face, and I know he doesn’t miss the flash of unease there. Can tell that he likes it.
“I couldn’t find the kitchen,” I bite out, determined to see the end of my sentence through.
“If you were that desperate to see me naked, you could have just asked.”
“You don’t seem to understand what naked means. But don’t worry—someday, if you’re nice, a woman might be willing to help you with the concept.”
“It doesn’t have to be a woman. I’m not particularly finicky.”
I narrow my eyes. We’re alike in that respect, but I’m not about to admit it, lest he think I’m trying to establish some sort of kinship. “How did you know I was here?”
“I sensed you,” he says, a wicked tilt to his mouth. “Like I said before, you make my blood rush.”
“Because I’m a sinner.”
“We’re all sinners, technically.”
“Then—”
“You’re a killer.” He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. The ring through his nose glints as his smile widens. “You’re flushed. Once again, I’m not making you attracted to me. Your desire is all your own.”
My laugh is harsh, but I can play his little game. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? The idea that you might not have as much control as you believe?”
“I assure you, my control is impeccable.”
I step closer to him, lifting my hand to his face. Pressing my thumb against his lower lip the way he did to mine earlier. He feels like satin. Absurdly, my muscles tense, and I realize it’s from the proximity to his incisors.
“Is it?” I ask, brushing the pad of my thumb over the shape of his mouth. His gaze is penetrative, his tone saccharine when he speaks next.
“Watch yourself.”
“Or what?”
“You taunt an animal, and it’ll bite.”
“Bite me and I’ll shoot you again.” But I withdraw my hand, glowering. How did he know I was wary of his teeth?
The Warden flashes those teeth again now. Too bright. Too sharp. “Ah, little sinner. You know, I like you best when you’re violent.”
I glower at his back as he slips past me and down the hall.
The strange part, though, is that I don’t think he’s lying.