Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
I spend the next day shut up in my rooms. Medora doesn’t question it, and Eryx doesn’t seek me out. Thank the gods, or devils, rather, since they’re the ones more likely responsible for Eryx’s appearance in my life.
He’s not the Shadow King’s bastard.
But what is he, then?
Is there another family line with powers? Who was Eryx’s father? I wonder if that is the line of research Mr. Tomaras wanted to explore. What will he find if he discovers the truth?
For the first time since Eryx moved into the manor, I’m faced with the true reality of my situation.
I’m not safe.
Eryx is inhuman. Inhuman hearing, for how else can he hear my breathing on the other side of doors? Inhuman healing. Inhuman eyes. Inhuman canines. He has some sort of shifting powers, as far as I can tell, for the physical aspects aren’t obvious all the time.
And then I think of my dream.
If that was somehow real, then there must be a mental component, too. Can he read my thoughts?
My body goes weak at the mere idea of it, but I reason against it. If that were the case, he would know it was me who poisoned him. Not that Sarkis fellow.
If I make one wrong move, Eryx could decide to be done with me. He has two physically intimidating men working for him. Men who would die for him, protect his secrets for him, kill for him.
I thought I knew the game we were playing, but it turns out to be far more deadly than I believed.
So what choices does that leave me?
I think through every possible option: I could abandon the estate and return to my father; marry again and move in with a new husband; or stay exactly where I am and pretend nothing is the matter with Eryx, hoping that he and his goons never think of me as too great a threat.
Those aren’t really options at all. They’re merely ways to stay safe. To remain subjected to the wills of men.
I would rather die first.
That means I need to keep playing the game to see where it leads.
Eryx worries I will go to the Shadow King and reveal what I think I know. He still has no idea that Kallias won’t care one whit what I have to say.
Tomaras couldn’t help me. The king won’t help me.
Which leaves me only one option.
I need to resort to my acting skills. If I can get closer to Eryx, convince him to trust me, and learn everything that’s really going on here, then one of two things will happen: I’ll either find the proof I need that he’s inhuman—proof that even the Shadow King can’t ignore—or I’ll learn his weakness and find out how to kill him.
Those are the only outcomes I can live with.
From this day forward, I need to play Eryx Demos as I would any other man. For the best way to get him to reveal his secrets is to convince him he’s helplessly in love with me. I wouldn’t even consider it, except I already know he finds me attractive. He’s lost himself in my looks before.
But this will be tricky. I can’t be too obvious or he’ll see through my charade in a heartbeat. I have to maintain my air of disdain around him, while convincing him to find it charming. I must continue to act like I hate him but make him see me as the thing he desires most because he can’t have me.
As my plan comes together, I go from frightened to excited.
I still have a chance to gain everything I’ve ever wanted.
I NEVER WANTED TO go to this blasted wedding. Alessandra is sure to be unbearable. My wedding was small, with only a handful of guests in attendance. It took place in this very estate, for the duke couldn’t travel far. Alessandra will no doubt make comparisons about not only the venue—a palace compared to an estate—but also her young, handsome husband, compared to my shriveled, old one, as she put it.
But the consequences of not attending far outweigh those of attending at this point. I will not receive another letter from my sister telling me how grand the event was, accusing me of jealousy being the reason I didn’t show up.
Besides, I’ve realized that putting in a good word for Eryx with the king will do two very important things for me. One, it upholds my end of the bargain with Eryx, so he’ll continue to think I’m playing nice. Two, anything I tell the king is likely to be disregarded, for Alessandra will probably encourage him to do the opposite of what I want. So if I express that it’s my dearest wish for Eryx to be officially recognized as the Duke of Pholios?
It will be interesting to see how this goes.
I wake early so as to have the entire morning to prepare. I haven’t been seen by society at large since before my own wedding. I have to look perfect for my reentry. I’ve heard it’s in poor taste to wear white to a wedding when one is not the bride, so naturally I commissioned an alabaster dress. It’s long-sleeved, though my shoulders are bare. Pearls trail down my bodice and over my skirts in swirling lines. A V-shaped neckline shows off my delicate collarbones, stopping just short of my breasts. I clip a sheen of fabric to the back of my head, subtle enough for anyone else who looks at me to pass it over, but enough for Alessandra to fixate on its intentional semblance of a veil.
I paint my lips a deep red. I don’t wear gloves, but diamonds drip from my ears and neck. Medora even threads some through my hair, which she’s styled in an intricate coiffure, little curling strands trailing down my neck.
I descend the steps into an empty receiving room. It would appear that I managed to prepare myself more quickly than the fake duke.
So I wait.
And wait. And wait.
Anxiety takes root in my belly. It’s bad enough that I’m nervous about seeing my sister again, especially since Sandros isn’t escorting me. I have no one to show off. Then there’s the fact that Argus wants me dead, Eryx is some sort of monster, and we might be late to the wedding I have zero desire to attend.
I begin to pace, while Damasus stands silently nearby. I consult the grandfather clock against the far wall.
“Damasus, could you check on what is taking so long?” I ask the butler.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
He takes the stairs nimbly, and I check the clock once again.
I wish I could take my own carriage, but arriving separately runs the risk of Eryx making a fool out of the two of us. I don’t trust him out of my sight for a moment at a public event. Not to mention, a private carriage ride is the perfect time to work my charms on him.
I tap my foot impatiently. Just then, Kyros walks by, holding a bouquet of flowers from the garden. He pauses when he sees me.
His gaze travels from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. Then our eyes lock.
I wait for a flutter of butterflies to take root in my stomach at the connection, like they have countless times with Sandros.
Only, there are none.
“The wedding is today,” Kyros finally says, as though remembering why I’m dressed so exquisitely.
“I thought it was your day off?” I ask.
“It is.”
“Then why are you picking flowers?”
He looks embarrassed, before saying, “I was going to leave them for you to find later…”
“Oh.”
Kyros is as handsome and kind as ever, but when I look at him, I don’t feel anything at all. How can that be? I thought my mind and body needed time to adjust to the prospect of seeing him as more than a friend. But… I feel nothing amorous when I look at him.
I need to say something. I need to do something, yet nothing comes to mind.
“I hope you have a wonderful time, Chrysantha. May the reunion with your sister be painless, and I hope you’re able to dance. Everyone needs a chance to see you in that dress.”
Then he continues on through the manor. I’m too confused by my body’s lack of reaction to respond.
What the devils is wrong with me?
Damasus descends the steps and takes the spot at my side. “They are coming, Your Grace. The holdup was merely an issue of learning how to tie the cravat.”
It takes some effort not to frown. “The cravat?”
“Yes, it would seem neither His Grace nor his valets have ever done one before. After a brief lesson from myself—and a considerable amount of time spent untangling their previous efforts—they are now ready to go.”
Leave it to Eryx not to know how to put on his own clothes. The man is hopeless.
Really, he can never expect to live this one dow—
I lose every thought in my head at the sight of the figure that appears at the top of the stairs. Strong brow, wide neck, fierce features. He descends with all the grace I’ve been forcing upon him during our lessons. Upright, unslouching.
He looks so very tall when at the top of the stairs, and it’s incredible what an outfit that actually fits does for the man’s physique. The vest and jacket spread across a broad chest. The pants stretch tight over muscle- clad thighs. The cravat puts more focus on his facial features. Those full lips and sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes. In his workman’s clothing, he looks scary and intimidating. But put on clean formal attire and he looks deadly . Dangerous in and of himself, and then wealthy enough to thoroughly destroy anyone.
And his hair .
It’s been cut much shorter, just barely reaching past his ears. Whatever pomade the hairdresser put in has held overnight, slicking the locks back and exposing his smooth forehead for once.
“Eryx,” I blurt.
He takes a cautious step toward me, as though he’s expecting me to bolt at any second. At first, I’m confused, but then I realize he thinks I’m afraid of him . Because I know he has powers. Because he tried to lunge for me when last I saw him.
I really ought to be afraid. I was when Argus suggested killing me. But right now, looking at him like this, I don’t feel fear at all.
I feel… butterflies.
I raise myself as tall as I can, maintaining a look of superiority and ignoring the sensation in my stomach. “Are you quite finished making me late for the event of the century? Or does someone need to teach you how to open a door for a lady as well?”
After his initial look of shock, he steps forward to open the front door while I stare at his back. The ensemble I’ve chosen looks remarkable. Black pants, red vest and jacket with swirling white designs that match my dress without being obvious. The black cravat ties the whole outfit together. He turns toward me as the door opens, and I survey the front of him. It’s spectacular, really. Combine the clothes with his figure and features, and he looks—
“I know,” Eryx says, looking down at where I’m staring. “I’ve become a peacock.” He pulls at the cravat as though it’s preventing him from breathing.
Right. That’s why I’m staring. The clothes. It has absolutely nothing to do with him. The butterflies flutter all the more fiercely.
Stop that , I order them.
“I think you look rather dashing, Your Grace,” Damasus says.
“Did she pay you to say that?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
“Certainly not,” I put in, finding my voice. “As if you need anyone giving you a bigger head than you already possess.”
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look— Well, who knew you were hiding all of that under that wild hair of yours?” I gesture to his face.
Eryx grunts. It’s as though he has no idea how handsome he is.
Thank goodness.
“Shall we?” he asks before striding for the carriage.
“Wait,” I say. “You must take my hand.”
He turns and stares at my proffered hand as though it is a snake. “I must?”
“Yes, when escorting a lady to an event, you must take her hand.”
“We’re not at the event yet.”
“Then consider this practice. Honestly, do you think I’m any happier about this than you are?” I’m certainly not, but I need to give him reasons to touch me.
After an exaggerated sigh, he takes my hand in his gloved one. He stares at me, as though looking for a reaction. After all, the last time he touched me he got into trouble.
And at that, that look, while touching him—
An electric heat passes through my fingertips and floods my entire body.
For gods’ sake!
“Let’s go,” I say, tugging him along after me. I retreat into tutor mode. “You may tuck my hand into the crook of your arm or hold it upright, like so.” I demonstrate. “When we reach the carriage, you’re to hand me up into it. When we exit, you will do so first, before reaching to help me do the same.”
He scowls as we walk. “I didn’t realize ladies were in need of such help.”
“We’re not. Think of it as an opportunity for men to think about someone other than themselves.”
One of the footmen lowers the hidden steps to the carriage, and Eryx hands me up into the seating area before following within. I note that Argus and Dyson join the coachman in the driver’s seat, both dressed in the livery of footmen to blend in. Just a quick shout away.
I take one cushioned bench, Eryx the opposite, our bodies facing each other, but our faces looking pointedly away. When the carriage lurches into movement, I feel Eryx’s eyes on me.
With nothing else for it, I turn.
“What?” I ask.
He looks as though he’s unsure of what to say, but he settles on “I thought it was rude to wear white to a wedding?”
I smile but say nothing else. Eryx has no idea of the relationship between me and my sister. He wouldn’t understand, and I have no desire to explain it.
“At least it’s not pink,” he mutters.
“What did the color ever do to you?”
“It’s distasteful—and you can close your mouth right now. I don’t wish to hear your comment about me being just as distasteful to match.”
I close my mouth, almost embarrassed that he predicted my comment perfectly.
“Remind me how long of a ride it is to the palace,” he says.
“A few hours.”
He massages his temples. “I don’t think I’ll survive it.”
That’s rich, considering he’s the one who is inhuman and can kill me with those sharpened canines. Though his teeth look perfectly normal at the moment.
His eyes snap open, and he catches me staring at his mouth.
Again.
“Something you wanted?” he asks, his voice lowering.
He keeps looking for a reaction from me. What does he think? That I’ll scream? I suppose I’ve led him to believe that I’ve been hiding in my room because I fear him, rather than plotting his demise.
Perhaps I should fear him, but so far, the only thing that I’ve found terrifying is Argus’s suggestion of killing me. Eryx’s monstrous shape doesn’t concern me.
And why the hell is that?
“I want answers,” I say.
“Not going to happen.”
“Oh, come now, Eryx. How does answering a few questions do any harm? I’ll start with something simple. Does it hurt when your canines lengthen?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Do you normally keep your hair long to hide your ears sharpening into points when you lose control?”
Still nothing.
“Is there fur on your tail?”
His eyes phase to amber, and he crosses his arms over his chest, as though that will keep the truth contained within him.
I reach out and poke his knee.
“Stop that,” he says.
“Or what?” I poke him again.
He captures my wrist in one hand. So I use my free hand, this time jabbing him in the chest. His other hand shoots out, immobilizing my arms.
I kick him.
When he lets out a grunt, I see the flash of his elongated canines. He steps atop my feet, pushing his knees into my own so I cannot rile him any further.
Or so he thinks.
I blow a stream of air into his eyes, puffing up a strand of hair that’s fallen onto his forehead.
And then out come his horns. They sprout from the top of his forehead, just like in the dream. He snarls at me.
“There you are,” I say, taking in every detail I can see, as though it is wondrous. On some level, I suppose it is.
“What is the matter with you?” he asks, his voice going deadly. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He leans forward and pins my arms above my head on the wall of the carriage.
“You’re not going to kill me.”
“You overestimate my control.”
He’s so close, those teeth so close, and yet, I don’t feel afraid. Quite the opposite. I feel… in control. Because I brought out exactly what I meant to. The proof of what he is. I can bring this monster out as easily as breathing.
And it is terribly exciting.
“You’re not going to kill me,” I say again, this time sharper.
“So sure of yourself?” He smiles. It is a wicked smile. A seductive smile. A deadly smile.
And then he strikes.
He goes right for my throat, and I brace myself as my stomach sinks. I’m certain that I’ve miscalculated him, and I might very well be about to die.
But pain doesn’t come. There’s a pressure, oh yes, but nothing more. Two points of contact, his lower canines, I realize a moment later, touch the base of my throat. The pressure isn’t gentle, but neither is it bruising.
I don’t have time to blink before he starts raking his teeth up the side of my throat. Something like a whimper comes out of me when he finally gets to the edge of my jaw, and that is what makes him pull back.
Glowing eyes fix on me before he finally releases me and returns to his side of the carriage.
Only then does a true sense of horror set in.
Because that sound I made, that whimper?
It wasn’t one of fear. And that is more terrifying than anything else.