Chapter 27 The Honeymoon Suite
Daphne
The Honeymoon Suite
The train hissed and stopped in a cloud of steam. It was close to midnight, but the train station was crowded with porters, late travelers, beggars and ladies with cheeks painted with too much rouge.
“Where are we going?” I asked while trying to keep up with Emrys’s wide stride. He was splitting the crowd like a ship cutting through waves.
“To spend the night. We’ll get the first ferry to Calais in the morning,” he said over his shoulder and headed to a brightly lit building close by.
Electric letters over the golden entrance read: The Grand Hotel.
I straightened my skirt and plucked some leaves clinging to the fabric.
I frowned at my muddied hem, but the blood droplets all over Emrys’s shirt were far worse.
Elegant couples were talking in the luxurious lobby as we entered, and, to my surprise, nobody paid us any attention.
Well, at least my jewelry fit the grandeur of the hall.
I followed Emrys to the marble reception desk, where a small army of porters and receptionists waited.
Emrys strode to a man in a fashionable French suit behind the reception desk.
The man’s eyes flashed behind the golden frame of his monocle.
That was it, I thought. He had noticed the blood, our unusual appearances, my loose hair draping down my waist, and he’d call the police on us.
And they’d contact Arthur. Fear, raw and ice-cold, paralyzed me, and I had to remind myself to breathe.
Emrys stood straight, looking down at the receptionist. He waved his hand, and the eyes of the clerk glazed.
“Welcome, Mr. Ravencourt. It’s good to have you back.” The thin lips of the receptionist stretched into an unnatural grin, and I looked around, hoping that nobody had noticed what happened.
Emrys casually threw some banknotes and some papers on the marble bar and said, “Two rooms for the night, please. With bathrooms.”
I swallowed hard. At any moment, the man would snap out of it and start shouting. Instead, a deep, dissatisfied furrow appeared between his gray brows.
“I’m afraid we’re all booked tonight, Mr. Ravencourt. We have only the honeymoon suite vacant.” Emrys stiffened for a moment.
The honeymoon suite? Surely, he wouldn’t—
“Excellent. The honeymoon suite it is!”
My mouth fell open, but before I could protest, he leaned in close—far too close—and murmured in my ear, loud enough for the receptionist to hear,
“You’ll have to endure my dreadful snoring, darling.”
He winked. “I’m sure my lovely wife will enjoy it as much as I will.”
His arm slid smoothly around my waist, pulling me against his side. My pulse raced.
The older man behind the desk smiled knowingly and dipped his pen in the inkwell.
“Very well, Mr. and Mrs. Ravencourt. Billy,” he called. “Show Mr. and Mrs. Ravencourt to the honeymoon suit.”
Wife. The word echoed in my mind a bit too long. He told them we were married. I’d have some serious talk with this arrogant son of a bitch.
My feet refused to obey me when I trudged behind them through the winding corridors drenched in light and gilded plaster vines.
The honeymoon suite was a pompous affair of cherub murals, paintings of naked nymphs, a large porcelain tub standing on lion’s feet in the middle of the room, and the worst of it all—a single king-sized bed with a lush red canopy.
The porter closed the door with a bow; the sound of the coins Emrys dropped into his hand cut off. I stood at the threshold while he walked to the tub, whistling a tune, and let the water run. When steam curled around, he pulled his blood-stained shirt over his head.
Heat crawled up my neck and probably tinted my face raspberry pink when I saw him shirtless.
Unknown runes covered most of his muscled chest and chiseled stomach.
Our eyes met, and he chuckled. “Do you like what you see, little thief?” he teased, testing the water with a hand.
I turned away so fast I nearly knocked over the coat stand.
“You could’ve warned me,” I mumbled. My eyes fixed firmly on a painting of some windswept cliffs.
He caught me off-guard. That was it.
“Hard to be modest when one is… divinely sculpted,” he said, drawing out the last words with a grin I didn’t even have to see to sense.
I dared a sideways glance—and regretted it immediately. He was already at the waistband of his trousers.
“God, Emrys! Can’t you do that somewhere else?” I snapped, shielding my eyes with one hand.
“There is no ‘else,’ little thief. It’s the honeymoon suite, remember?” Water sloshed in the tub. “Get used to the view. We’re about to share a bed.”
I froze. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
Another splash echoed, followed by the clink of something being set down. “You’ll freeze by midnight and steal half the blankets, anyway. And you must admit it’s more practical this way.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re really enjoying this.”
“Unreasonably so,” he agreed from somewhere within the steam. “But don’t flatter yourself. I’ll be on the far edge of the bed, perfectly still, like a corpse. Unless, of course, you start wriggling closer—then I can’t be held responsible.”
“I’d sooner snuggle with a Hollowborn.”
A pause. “Well, I’m slightly less cursed. And better looking.”
My mouth twitched. Damn him.
When he emerged from the steam wrapped in only a towel and that smug grin, I was ready to launch a pillow at his head. Instead, I pointed at the bed like it had offended me.
“Fine. One bed. But touch me, and I’ll push you out the window.”
He arched a brow. “So violent. You sure we’re really not married?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned my back and began unbuttoning my blouse with angry, shaking fingers. Behind me, he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, “Best honeymoon ever.”
With a snap of his fingers, the candles snuffed out.
The electric light in the entrance still spilled its light into the room.
Only in my petticoat, I tiptoed to the bed.
Snuggled under the covers, I was lying on my back, eyes glued to the plaster medallions on the ceiling, not daring to blink.
He was at his end of the bed, keeping his promise not to invade my space, but his warmth brushed my skin.
I tried not to think about him shirtless—how the light had caught the sharp lines of his stomach, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath his belt.
But the memory clung, and I hated how it made my breath hitch.
It meant something I wasn’t ready to name.
Arthur was right. I was rotten. Completely corrupted, down to the bone.
Whatever Emrys was, he was sinfully…intriguing.
The way he was holding me close on the horse, the way he pinned me to the ground when I tried to escape—it should have been frightening.
Instead, it awakened some dark curiosity, and now I wondered how it would have felt if he had kissed me while we were lying tangled and panting on the forest floor.
I bit my lip and threw him a cautious sidelong glance…
My breath hitched. My fingers curled in the bedsheets.
Heat pooled low in my belly, that dangerous kind of heat.
My body stilled, torn between guilt and fascination.
Every breath I took smelled of midnight herbs and dark promises.
Every inch between us felt like a test I was not sure I wanted to pass.
His bare chest rose and fell, the runes on his skin catching the faint light like whispers of power.
It was forbidden, indecent, wrong, but I couldn’t help myself.
My eyes drank him in—the curve of his throat, the lashes brushing his cheek, the ripple of muscle where his arm bent.
I hated how my body remembered his hands on my waist.
The bastard was sleeping soundly.
I huffed. To sleep like this after all that had happened!
Turning my flushed face away, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore that maddening scent of clove and secret gardens around him.
If he was comfortable enough to sleep when I was only a few inches away, I could ignore him, too!
Stubbornly, I kept my eyes shut, crooning a song Mother used to sing.
The weight of the last hours pulled me to the pillow and softened my anger.
The warmth of the bed lulled me into sleep.
Like any other night, the nightmare pulled me into a deep well lined with claws and razor blades.
Mother was thrashing in the water, calling Father’s name, while a cold, petrifying presence in my mind forced me to watch.
“You’re mine now, Daphne. Not theirs. I’ll get what I’m owed.
Starlight flashed over the inky water. Someone waited beneath the glassy surface, down in the deep.
Calling me. Beckoning me with a smile—blue lips and rows of sharp teeth.
Pain and terror followed when I saw the black water closing over my mother’s curly head.
And something inside me, reached out from the silence, from the deep pit of fear.
Something needy, powerful. The lake was even and silent in the blink of an eye. The thing in its depths was gone.
“What have you done, silly girl?” something snarled in my head.
“Daphne! What have you done?” Arthur came running, the lantern in his hand shaking. “Where are they? What have you done, you monster?” He shrieked, lights springing to life in our old stone house.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You killed them, you monster. You killed Mom and Dad!” Arthur screamed in my face.
“I am not a monster,” I shouted back when he extended his hand to strike me. This time, something was different.
“Daphne.” Another voice. Soft, but insistent.
My hand froze mid-air, caught by someone. Warm, firm fingers around my wrist. “Wake up, Daphne. You’re having a nightmare.”
“I’m not a monster,” I repeated, unsure whether I was trying to convince myself or the world. Tears wetted my face.
“Of course you’re not.”
I blinked, struggling to catch my breath. A heartbeat of confusion. The world gained shape again. That cursed lake was gone.
Gray eyes, shimmering like sunlight over the morning frost, dark brows drawn together.
Emrys’s face hovered just inches above mine, his fingers still locked around my wrist. “It’s over,” he said, his thumb wiping a tear off my cheek.
A shadow passed over his features. He hesitated for a heartbeat. “You’re safe with me,” he said.
These words broke something in me. Safe was nothing but an empty word to me. I’d forgotten what safety was long ago—when the monsters under my nursery bed became real.
“You’re not a monster, Miss Daphne.”
Slight disappointment stung my heart when the formality in his voice crept in again, though his fingers remained around my wrist, warm and searching, as if he was taking my pulse. “Trust me, I’m an expert on the topic.” He laughed softly, his mask up immediately.
However deadly Emrys Ravenborn was, he was afraid of something—of caring. All the scars left behind by his centuries-long life had left him cold and guarded.
Silence settled between us, deep and full of unspoken things.
“We are bound now. I sense your pain, Miss Daphne. It’s so sharp and overwhelming that I cannot sleep,” he whispered so close to my cheek that his hot breath brushed my face. “How can I soothe it so we can go back to sleep?”
Heat rippled down to my core. What was he even suggesting?
Too late. The memory of his body against mine on the forest floor flooded me. Chaotic, like a monsoon.
Would kissing him help? Damned it all. It was so tempting to try. I had only to bring my lips an inch higher. His gaze flicked down. Stopped. Lingered on my mouth. I could hear his heartbeat in the silence echoing mine. Desperate, wild. About to do something reckless.
Madness.
And a terrible idea.
I quickly pulled my hand and looked away to hide my struggle. “You sense my pain?” I asked, my throat tight.
He froze for a moment, then flinched back as if he had touched an open flame.
The chilly air settled between us. “Through that unfortunate bond you created between us, Miss Daphne. The one we’re going to disband in Paris.
” His eyes scanned my face, glowing like snow in the moonlight.
Cold and otherworldly beautiful. “I have a very… heightened sensibility of your presence.” His voice trembled, and he slipped off the bed.
Shadows rippled behind him, like the train of some magical cloak, while he paced the room, dragging fingers through his inky hair. Had I made him nervous?
“It’s causing me great discomfort,” he said and walked to the window. He opened it in one brisk move and let the salty night breeze in, along with the sound of the waves. For a moment, he stood there, panting.
My thoughts were racing. Could he also feel the heat in my chest, the sweet ache between my thighs?
“Try to get some rest, Miss Daphne,” he rasped, his back still turned. Emrys murmured some strange words, and his magic washed over me, gentle as dusk. Sleep claimed me, velvety and dreamless.