Chapter 23 Small Rebellions #3
She searched his face, trying to memorize what he looked like with green eyes.
“I’m sorry for your hurts, but revenge is never the right answer,” she insisted.
Seized by a desire to have a moment with this new version of Caspian, she brought her lips to his face. She cupped his face, and kissed his bearded cheek tenderly. She gazed into his eyes, trying to convey that she understood and that she was sorry he had endured so much.
He closed his eyes and brought her hands away from his face, as if her touch pained him.
A furrow appeared in his brow, and when he opened his eyes, they were pupilless pools of silver flame once more. “Do not ask me to be human for you.” His words were edged in anger, hitting her like shards of ice.
Or perhaps, she had been so fooled by a moment of genuineness that she forgot the rest of his abrasive traits. Her warmth towards him evaporated on the spot.
“I will never forget what you are,” she said acidly.
“Good,” he said, scowling. “Good.”
She glared. He couldn’t let her enjoy his company for a single moment before ruining it.
“And I am not hurt,” he snarled. “I am not a weak mortal man who needs a woman to coddle him. I have slaughtered the men who have wronged me and mine. I am done now. There is no hurt left, only satisfaction.”
She chuckled before she could stop herself. “If you say so.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” he snarled.
“Nothing.” She chuckled. “You’re just … you’re not as bad as I thought you were. You have a conscience and enough feelings to have gotten them hurt. I’m reassured to hear it, believe it or not.”
“Do not be fooled,” he said, his voice lowered an octave that sent shivers down her spine. “My heart is black.” The ruthless conviction behind his words made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
She leaned forward. “I insist that there is a shred of goodness buried under there. To miss, to love, to have lost. Whether you like it or not, Caspian.”
His nostrils flared. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a foolish dreamer, with her head stuck in the clouds. A simple-minded, silly, mortal girl who believes everyone is good inside.”
Her lips thinned. “Sometimes I think you want me to hate you.”
Silence stretched between them, and his gaze fell to her lips. He could not possibly be looking at her with attraction, not right after he had called her simple-minded.
His eyes raked down her frame, filling with heat.
Flushing, she looked away, resolutely staring at the terrace. Looking anywhere but at him.
She cleared her throat loudly. “A lovely night.”
Caspian stood and walked away, moving to stand at the railing of the terrace. He stood, broad-shouldered and tall, framed by a dark sky as the last rays of orange slipped below the horizon.
“It is.” He paused. “You must give me blood tonight,” he said without looking at her. His fingers came to rest on the railing.
She wrinkled her nose. “Must I?”
He turned towards her slightly, his eyes shaded. “I’ll not forget our bargain, Elizabeth.”
Rising, she slowly moved to his side.
He scowled at her, and she forced herself to hold his gaze. She itched to smooth back the lock of hair that fell across his forehead, but she kept her hands anchored to her sides.
Her heart raced like a jackrabbit as he kissed her cheek, the barest whisper of his lips against her skin. Warmth bloomed in her at the feeling of his breath upon her neck.
Nuzzling his face in the crook of her shoulder, he inhaled deeply. The soft skin of his lips grazed her throat.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered.
He cradled her head in his hands and kissed her throat. Suddenly, two sharp pricks pierced her, and she gasped.
She struggled for a moment, and he gripped her head tighter in his hands, holding her to his face.
Panic seized her, and she struggled against him.
He steadied her, a thumb stroking her hair.
As quickly as the pain and the terror came, a warm, fuzzy feeling unspooled, coursing through her entire body.
Waves of pleasure radiated from his bite, heating her blood. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, holding her as he fed.
She wanted him. He was good to her and would never harm her.
Then, he licked the wounds and held a hand against her neck. The words were barely audible as he whispered, “Leknar.”
Carefully, as if it were the most important mission of all, he replaced the cuff of her gown on her shoulder and gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
She felt the two small punctures had already crusted over.
Caspian stood and took her hand, helping her to her feet.
Wordlessly, he walked her back to her chambers.
Reaching her door, she looked up at him, feeling a strange rush of affection for the demon standing before her.
He was so at odds with himself that half of the time, he seemed like he had a shred of a heart left, and the other half of the time, he was utterly terrifying.
Still, her gaze softened as she remembered the horrors he had endured.
Perhaps his anger was one born of grief too deep to bear.
Caspian stilled, frowning. “And your little speech tonight? The one about marriage being a set of shackles? A thing of torment and misery?” He paused. “It reeks of bitterness.”
Her face fell.
She gaped at his retreating figure and spluttered, “That’s just—the silliest—absolutely have no idea what you’re talking about—”
But Caspian didn’t turn back, and she was left standing there, talking to nothing but empty air.
That night, she nestled in a chair by the window. Rain sluiced down the windowpane, and fog shrouded the landscape. The gloominess mirrored her mood.
She thought of what she had said tonight and grimaced.
Did she really sound that bitter?