Chapter 4 The Kingdom of Hell #3
“Hell created you?” I arch a brow at him, my fingers steadily pushing back my crisp and dry blonde hair to really appraise the lean physique of the man still turned away from me.
Hard lines are all he’s made of. They slash across his ribs and clatter down his torso, his hips, his thighs.
His arms and even his lower back are sliced in pure violent strength.
I just can’t bring myself to think about his scars.
“The Prince of Hell made us. He makes all of us. We fight for him and his realm. We honor his name as tormentor and ruler of lands.”
“How does he make you?” The words fall from my lips as my mind flashes with too many images of what he could possibly be meaning.
Roman turns then, his hands bracing against the black tabletop behind him as he looks at me through slitted eyes and dark lined lashes. “He instills unyielding fight into our blood. He blesses simple wolves with unimaginable ruthlessness.”
“You mean cruelty,” I correct. But he ignores the statement.
“And he does it by showing us first-hand how it feels. Every day of our lives. Until we no longer cry to be saved. When our whimpers fade and our heads still rise to face his punishment, that’s when he knows we’re ready to carry his name across realms and lands.
He makes us, Cersia. And soon, he’ll make you his bride.
” That smile cuts across beautiful features in a haunting look of asinine pleasure.
A chill scratches across my flesh, and I can’t break his gaze. I couldn’t look away from this demented psycho if I wanted to.
I left a man who would protect me, for a man who will hurt me. And I did it without thinking twice.
Why? Why am I so blind when it comes to love? Mika loved me! He did.
I just didn’t deserve it. I deserve war. I deserve this.
And that’s why I’m here.
My spine straightens, and I sit up in the massive bed. “I can take it,” I say with nothing but confidence.
One of his dark eyebrows arches in an adorable way that I can’t ignore.
“Really?” With force, he shoves off from his leaning spot across the room, and he prowls toward me, one foot in front of the other, with perfect predatorial pride.
When he’s near enough, his knee lifts and he props himself there at the foot of the bed.
A safe space of four feet separates me from the arrogant Hell Cunt whose nose I’ve already bloodied once tonight.
Does he want to clean up his pretty boy face all over again?
Every move he makes is accounted for. I glare at him hard, but I note every single ticking muscle that tenses beneath that golden skin of his. His palms flatten against the smooth black blanket. One by one, his fingers dig in, fisting the fine cloth into his palms.
And then he pounces.
He shoves off from his perch so fast I don’t process it at all. It’s a blur of movement. And a slamming of hard body weight forces me down beneath him.
“You can take it?” he growls as his nails dig into my wrists above my head.
Power radiates off of him in heated waves, but I never move. I let him show me everything he’s harboring. Every inch of his body aligns with mine, his hips hard between my thighs as his lips graze along my jawline.
And still, I do nothing but watch him.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Confusion lines his brow, and he searches my face.
He embarrassed me, covered me in his bodily fluids, and now he forces me down to show me who’s in charge.
I see the role here. I do. And I know exactly what the point is he’s trying to make.
Will I break in this kingdom of hell?
“Where’s your fucking fight now?” He jerks against my wrists harder, stretching me out even more beneath him. I don’t so much as shift against his dominating frame. “Fight, Cersia!” he commands, but it isn’t like Zilo. It isn’t the sound of dominance.
It’s the sound of desperation.
How did his prince break him so hard for his tortured soul to be so hellbent on hurting everyone he meets?
My heart sinks at that thought.
He’s hurting. He’s pained. He’s broken.
But I’m not afraid.
“No,” I whisper so softly it hurts to say the simple word to him.
Why do I have this reaction to him? He hates me and yet, I’m not afraid of him. Is it the kindness he shows Avain that makes me think he wont hurt someone smaller or suffering?
I think he would, actually.
But he needs me. They already have one dead bride on their hands, they wont risk another.
“You have to fight here.” Big jewel-like eyes are soft as he studies the curves of my features. It’s a look I haven’t yet suffered from the cruel shifter: it’s a look of concern. “If you don’t fight—”
“They’ll break me,” I finish for him. Strong hands slip off of mine, and I catch his fingers in mine before he has a chance to slip away. I hold his hands the same way he was just holding me. But not to force violence from him. I do it to ensure he knows I’m here. I’m here because of him. With him…
We aren’t enemies. Even if we aren’t a pack either.
“They’ll break me either way, Roman. How I react to their torment is what will earn me insight into who they are.
And what their weaknesses are.” At that, his brows lift high.
He suddenly seems aware of how intimately he’s pressed against me.
My thin gown is cold against my body but his warmth is all I know.
My fingers are intertwined with his, our chests are melded perfectly together, and…
and his cock is very hard against my center.
Who would have thought kindness was this bastard’s weakness?
His long fingers fling out, and he pulls his hands as well as every single part of him swiftly away from me. He’s striding across the room in less than half a second.
It’s my turn to smile smugly.
“You need to get changed. Clean up. You look disgusting.” He lifts a hand, gesturing toward a bathtub in the corner, and I note there are several ivory gowns hanging on a hook just to the left of the shining black tub.
For the next several minutes, he does a fine job pretending his thick cock isn’t still jutting out as he pulls out a pair of black jeans and starts carelessly pulling them on. He struggles to cover the aggressively hard thing but after a few fighting seconds he does succeed.
While I watch him like he’s my new favorite hobby.
I will understand him. I will learn everything about him. And then…yeah, then I might do him.
Because that’s what hobbies are for, filling the hole in our life and such.
A frustrated sigh parts my lips, and I mimic him as I too pretend he isn’t just a few yards from me. I consider the massive bath filling the corner with strange but mesmerizing glittering black water practically inviting me in. It all feels sort of unreal in a way.
The last twenty-four hours are a chaotic mess in my mind.
I really changed my life.
I might actually change theirs…
I shake the thoughts away as I pull the string of the gown at the base of my neck and let the thin material fall away. Cold air bites at my skin, but the steam of the bathwater licks at my flesh invitingly when I step in.
When I look up, deep eyes lock with mine. Only a second does he hold my gaze. Because then his attention falls. He traces the curves of my body with big, hungry attention that I feel against my flesh. I can physically feel his gaze brushing along my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach, my—
“I didn’t leer at your cock when you were naked.” My hands meet my hips hard, and I tilt my head at him accusingly.
“The fuck you didn’t. You looked, measured, and scrapbooked my cock the first moment we met.”
My lips part with outrage, but I can usually conceal my smile with years of practiced articulate anger. But a small smile creases my features anyway. Maybe I did have a peek…or two…or nine. Inches… Literally who needs that much cock?
Me?
What were we talking about?
There’s a heated moment, like the flint of spark just before the blaze, where we’re both staring at one another with something other than hate in our eyes as I sink all the way down into the bath.
My head dips below the enchanting waters, and it rejuvenates me in an electric way before I push back to the surface.
I lift my hand to find every speck of dirt washed away and my skin glowing with a warm touch of magic that I don’t understand in the slightest. The water isn’t heavily fumed with a rose or lilac scent but it cleans me perfectly all the same.
The intensity of Roman’s stare is now alight with a near smirk. His heavy gaze drops down to the inky line of water drifting against my chest, just above the slick curve of my breasts. I feel that look everywhere across my flesh and especially just between my now shifting thighs.
“You act as if you’ve never seen a woman naked before,” I whisper, watching the glittering water as it rains down from my fingertips with every restless lift of my hand.
“Not in years, actually.” He casually puts one leg over the other and carelessly leans back against the dresser on the opposite wall.
My brows lift. I appraise his steely features but he doesn’t so much as blink at his confession.
“That’s … a long time,” I finally manage.
“It’s not allowed. Punishable by the King. High Hell aren’t meant for breeding. We’re meant for killing.” He shrugs indifferently but he still hasn’t taken his eyes off of me.
Why do I fucking feel bad for him? Like it’s real pity this man hasn’t glimpsed a titty in years or something? Goddess, what is wrong with me?
“Sounds like the King’s a real glutton for punishment,” I tell him with a small smirk.
“You have no idea,” he says quietly with far too much seriousness and far too much heaviness in his watchful eyes.
And then…and then the fucking door opens with a jarring slam that rattles the pale chandelier light above the bed.
The moment’s lost. Along with any emotion I might have been stupid enough to imagine that man possessed for me.
“Punishment,” a familiar commanding voice growls.