Chapter 11
ERYX
The next day, I sat on the patio with a bottle of whisky, while Rhiannon searched the house for more clues.
Thick heat gathered around me, sticky and wet.
The crystal glass I’d swiped from the bar in the sitting room was slippery with condensation.
From inside the house, the sound of Rhiannon’s sword meeting wood was an erratic drumbeat of fury and frustration.
I swallowed another gulp of whisky, trying not to wince as she let out a cry of rage.
Too many doors were still locked, and though she’d tried breaking them down, it seemed Oleander Cottage was impervious to harm.
Listening to her fight the house was confusing.
A part of me wanted to help her, to step in and find a way to calm her down.
But somewhere deep within me, a wiser voice said to leave well enough alone. Whatever was happening inside her, she needed to work it out on her own right now. Last night, I’d helped her loosen the ties she had knotted up inside her enough that she’d let go a little.
The trouble was, I’d undone myself in the process, and woken up alone in bed. When I’d come downstairs, she was already hard at work trying to figure the house out, and I was moody about waking up alone, but also about what we’d learned the day before.
Something about knowing that Magnus had hurt Cassandra had sent me into a morning tailspin.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t believe it. My uncle was a terrible man.
It was an open secret in Roman’s organization.
Not that any of us bound to the Trinity of Dynasties were allowed to be good people.
Being good was for rich humans, not for parapsychs of any persuasion.
We had people to protect, and as much as I railed against the way the dynasties and the Consulate had fallen short of my own ideals, I knew exactly how we’d gotten backed into these corners.
But Magnus wasn’t bad for a cause, or in the face of injustice; he was simply a bad man.
And unfortunately, he’d been a useful tool for my father. For Roman.
I couldn’t remember my real father’s face anymore.
My head hung as emotion rose in my throat, a ghost of ancient grief that I wasn’t sure I recognized anymore.
When I thought of my biological father all I saw was a blank space.
My mom was the scent of lily of the valley, but not a face.
They’d been gone too long, taken too early in my life to remember.
Soft footsteps approached. For half a second I tensed, and then I smelled her. Jasmine, roses, and something else, something warm and sensual. Like the smell of skin after a bath. I’d smelled it on her every time I got near her, but I’d had that scent on me all day after sleeping next to her.
After having her come all over me. But I couldn’t think about that now, the feeling of her sweaty skin against mine.
The taste of her. The smell of her as she’d soaked through my boxer briefs getting off.
It was more than I’d ever expected to do with her, though of course I’d hoped.
I didn’t want to push my luck by talking about it now.
She slumped into the other wrought-iron chair, her jaw tight with dissatisfaction.
Her feet were bare and she wore a pair of tight leggings and a soft white t-shirt with a wide neck that slipped off her shoulders.
It took everything I had not to stare at her.
Every time I got a chance to look at her it took effort not to drink her in.
“What’s vexing you so?” I asked, keeping my voice low and even.
“The house is impervious to damage,” she explained, taking the bottle off the table. She uncorked it, then took a powerfully long swig from it, her lips closing around the shaft of the bottle like… no.
I cleared my throat, desperate to banish those thoughts before I tried to act on them. “Sure. But what’s actually bothering you?”
Rhiannon sighed. “Nothing.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “Everything.”
“That sounds more like the truth.”
A wry smile lit up her face. “What’s eating at you?”
She had me there. “Everything.”
Her bottom lip stuck out a little, barely a pout, as she nodded. “I guess I deserve that after the answer I gave you.”
It was my turn to shrug. We were both playing it so cool, but it was all a sham. I saw the way she crossed her legs, her thighs flexing. She was thinking the same thing I was—how good it would feel to work out some of this pent up agitation on one another. What else did we have to do, after all?
One of us was going to have to broach the subject, but it wasn’t going to be me.
Or, at least that’s what I told myself as she leaned forward to squint at the cat coming around the corner of the house.
It gave me a look down her shirt that I wasn’t expecting, and the sight of her bare breasts was enough to make my cock jump.
“Look, should we talk about last night?” I asked without thinking.
Rhiannon sat back in her chair, her eyes relaxing from the squinting she’d been doing. I couldn’t help but wonder if she needed glasses. She’d look adorable in glasses. Fuck.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you at Triomphe,” she said after a long moment.
I nearly snorted. “That wasn’t what I was talking about. And you barely screeched.”
Her mouth fell open, giving me a glimpse of that soft tongue of hers.
Shit, shit, shit. I closed my eyes before I could think more about her mouth and what it would feel like—really, I could not think about that.
I had to cross my own damn legs. I’d made the poor choice of a pair of cotton pajama pants, and my erection was about to pop out and say hello.
“I did not screech,” she said as I opened my eyes again. “I don’t screech.”
“You do a little.” I smiled, grinned really. She was flirting, so I could too. “I like the noises you make. Even the screechy ones.”
Those pretty cheeks of hers flushed pink and I’d had enough torture. “Let me take care of you while we’re here.” I leaned forward, adding, “Let me make you make every sound known to man.” She flushed deeper, and I couldn’t help myself. “Give me all your screams, Rhiannon.”
Those long legs of hers flexed again as she crossed her legs tighter.
I needed to slide a hand between them. I needed to lick her sweaty skin clean, and taste every bit of her that was heating with my words.
I’d wanted inside her, and now she was in me, coursing through my veins like a drug I couldn’t get enough of.
“What happens when we leave?” she asked, her voice and bottom lip both quivering a little.
“You made it clear that you don’t do relationships, and I don’t really do casual.
Especially with people in my life. And with…
” she waved a hand towards Hemlock House, and I assumed she meant Ares and Ember.
“With everything Ember and Ares are trying to do, you and I are bound together, no matter what.”
Her words were like a cold douse of water. I sat back, frowning. That wasn’t what I expected her to say, and I was stunned into silence.
She shook her head. “Yesterday was…” she paused, her eyes falling closed for half a second as her cheeks flushed again.
“So good. But that’s all I can manage without getting my heart all twisted up.
And I don’t think you want that with me.
Maybe not with anyone, but especially not with me. I’m a messy lover.”
Her words cut me to the core. I hated that something had left her with that impression of herself. Her mess was beautiful, and I’d gladly take it on, and more, if it meant getting to be near her. But that just wasn’t possible. Not with me.
At the very least, I owed her the truth. Too many people had lied to her. “I can’t be the man you deserve, Rhiannon.”
Her arms crossed as her eyes narrowed, bitterness etched in the line of her mouth. The woman was mad-mad. “That’s smooth, Eryx. Have you used that one before?”
She thought I was letting her down easy. I was fucking this up. I stood up, took one step to get closer to her, and then knelt at her feet. “You’re not understanding.”
Her chin tipped down, her glare imperious. Saints, I would lick the bottoms of her feet if it would please her. “Explain then.”
Explain? How? I stared at her hands, then slowly reached for them.
She tensed, her fingers curling into fists.
I pried them apart, and she relaxed, those big blue eyes so sorrowful.
All I wanted was to erase that look, forever.
But a man like me couldn’t do more than be a good time.
I only brought pain to the people who made the mistake of loving me back.
I swallowed hard, looking up at her. I brought each of her hands to my lips, kissing them so gently it nearly brought tears to my eyes. It would be so easy to love her. She was everything I wanted. Hell, everything I needed.
And I would make things worse for her. Worse at a time when she needed to heal.
Bitterness flooded me. I set her hands back in her lap.
“I am not a good man, Rhiannon. I tried to explain this to you yesterday, and I appreciate what you said, but I am not like you. The things I do get the people I love hurt.”
A shuddering breath went through me as I exhaled. I couldn’t think about Frannie. Not now.
But apparently I couldn’t hide from Rhiannon. Her fingers grazed my chin. “Tell me what happened.”
“No,” I growled, standing up. Thinking about Frannie was bad enough. Talking about her wasn’t an option. “I can’t. You have to trust me. I am no good for anyone—and much as I want you, Rhiannon, I cannot be what you need.”
Her expression flickered from analytical to something open and vulnerable. “And what is that? What kind of partner do you think I need?”