33. Slick Bastard # 2
Chapter thirty-three
Ione
Wiping my eyes, I get up from my bed, my feet touch the floor, and I can actually walk.
It hurts, like a bad bruise, but the pain is only there when I move too fast. There's a bathroom connected to my room, and I shower, and dress.
Ambrose only has dresses for me, in a variety of purples, his favorite color, I've learned.
As I exit the bathroom, dressed, because I've learned that he comes in when he wants to and he will not turn away if I'm naked, he's there. Of course, he's there.
"Good morning, pretty Ione, I have some good things for breakfast." He sings, setting the tray on a table he's placed in here.
"I want to leave this room."
"At what cost?" He asks, turning around to face me. Today, he's wearing beige linen pants and a fitted lavender shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. "Oh, we match."
Rubbing my forehead, I sigh and ignore my growling stomach. "Ambrose, we nearly match everyday. Please."
He chuckles. "We do. It's so cute. We're like a couple or something."
"No, now, I will say it again."
"I heard you the first time, cutie," He smiles. Hard to believe this guy is a mage, thousands of years old, capable of binding primordials. "You want to leave the room, it'll cost you."
"Never mind." I sit down, and he pushes in my chair, sitting across from me. "Thank you."
"Anytime," He watches me eat. I have quickly learned, he will watch me eat if there's nothing in my food, and he won't if there is. It's how I keep myself from being drugged. I have a feeling he's either doing it on purpose, or he's catching on. "Are you sure you don't want to hear my price?"
The porridge tastes like cream of wheat but more texture and slightly more butter. "You're going to tell me anyway."
"Come on now, pretty Ione, are you so bored of me?"
"Yes."
"Rude," He sighs. "I'll tell you and let you decide." He waits for me to look at him. "A kiss."
"Sure," I stand up and place one on his forehead. "You never said what kind, now let me out." I'm going stir crazy in here. There's also a delusional side of me that thinks I can start hatching a plan to getaway.
"You didn't let me finish." Sometimes, I can tell when he's getting upset. His voice lowers, his eyes go from bright and happy to dark and brooding. he starts 'playing' with his magic more, as if summoning small birds made of ice, or leaves made of fire will help him calm down. "A real one."
He's been playing this game. I don't care for it.Especially because I know who makes me feel good and I'm willing to bet this bitch has one dick.
"No." I say, already done with this game. He keeps playing it, circling me like some bored cat waiting for the mouse to break. Rabbit.
But the thing about rabbits? We bite.
"Listen," He props his head on his closed fist. "One kiss, and I will take you on a tour and let you outside. We can walk the beach, I promise," He holdup his finger silencing me. "Plus, I will not keep you caged to this room. You can leave when you want. How about it?"
How long am I going to be here? I can't spend an eternity here, I say in my mental Fiona Goodes voice. “One kiss and nothing more?”
“Scout’s honor,” he smirks, holding up his first three fingers.
I lean in, lips barely brushing his. It's brief. I mean for it to be meaningless. Then he makes a happy moan sound, and drags me in. His lips press hard to mine, moving over them and the bastard flicks his tongue against my mouth. "Ambrose!" I pull away and he chuckles.
"You were trying to be cheap, I said nothing more and we kissed. Done? Let's take a tour."
The castle isn’t what I expected.
He shows me the kitchen first. It’s small, almost cozy—like someone’s enchanted cottage dream brought to life. Copper pans hang from the walls, dried herbs dangle from beams, and a window above the sink opens to the sea. It smells like rosemary, fresh baked bread and vanilla.
Then his alchemy room, stacked with books and shimmering stones. The potions room comes next—everything is color-coded, obsessively labeled. He's yapping on and on about some process he's doing now for transfiguration, and I'm looking at the bottles.
My eyes catch one in particular. Locator. I say nothing, but I note it.
The menagerie is next. He’s got Tasmanian tigers. A whole damn family. They lounge in a warm stone pen, completely unbothered.
“Brought them back from extinction,” he says casually. “You know. As one does.”
And then the garden. Lush, vibrant, and too alive for someone like him. It smells like peppermint and sweet orange. Somehow, that makes me angrier.
We return inside, and he insists on making lunch.
He cooks while talking, and I sit across from him, watching.
“My sisters,” he starts, “used to practice magic in the fields behind our house. They were born to it. Herbal witches, all of them. Kind, clever. Everything I know about potions, I learned watching them.”
“You weren’t supposed to have magic,” I say softly. “Not the kind you use now.”
He doesn’t look up as he stirs the soup. “Chronomir would say that,” he answers. “In fact, he did. Right after I trapped him.” He sets the soup and sandwich in front of me like we’re friends, like none of this is a prison. “Don’t look so surprised.”
After we eat, he opens the door. “Come walk with me.”
The beach is beautiful. Tropical, maybe. The sand is pale and soft, the waves impossibly clear. But I can’t place where we are. I try—scanning the horizon, the vegetation. Mediterranean? Caribbean? Pacific? Nowhere. Everywhere.
I gather seashells in silence for some time, Ambrose reaches for my hand, taking them from me. Holding onto them as I scan the beach for more. “Where are we?” I ask.
“I told you. Everywhere and nowhere.” He smiles. “Want to swim?”
“No.”
“Sure?” He’s already peeling off his shirt. He places my gathered shells carefully on a rock, and runs into the water like he’s seventeen and human again. "You act like you don't have underclothes on!" He calls from the waves.
The sun is blazing. The humidity wraps around me like a second skin. Why does it feel hotter now? I hesitate… then pull my dress over my head. A swim wouldn't hurt. I can't remember when I've last been to the beach.
The water is almost too clear. Like glass. It’s disorienting. And warm.
“Fun, right?” he calls, swimming lazy circles on his back. "I love it here." He disappears under the water, well, I can see him but he's swimming away from me.
Then Ambrose tugs my leg underwater, and I kick him hard. “Stop. I’m not playing with you.”
“I am playing with you,” he replies, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me with him.
I struggle, but he holds tight. “I’ll take you out far,” he whispers in my ear.
“Drop you off a cliff. You’ll be treading water for days, cutie.
All alone." That dark, foreboding look is back in his eyes.
They almost seem to glaze over. A chill races up my spine despite the warm water lapping against us. "One kiss and we go back in.”
I can't struggle, he's slowly swimming back, I can see the water getting darker. Panic attempts to rise. “You already got one.”
“I want another.” He rubs his nose against my cheek. "Come on, cutie, don't be mean." His voice is rough, low, flat.
I glare at him, but I’m tired. I lean in and give him a kiss—this one longer, full of venom.
He chuckles, and opens his mouth. Our tongue collide, and Ambrose moans, his left hand grips my ass and he squeezes.
I nip his tongue, and he takes more, biting my lower lip as he continues to take more from the kiss.
If he wants it so bad, he can choke on it.
"Good girl," He whispers against my lips. "Come on."
We swim back, he's holding my hand, and he keeps holding my hand as we walk back to the castle. The only towering structure for miles around, the only thing I see on this island.
“You think you’re slick,” I mutter as we near the castle.
“I know I am.” He kisses the back of my hand. "I can see how he liked this. You, in particular, did you make it this difficult for him?"
Snatching my hand away, I snarl. “Is that what you're trying to do? Be Athanasius? I don't care what you say. I know him for who he is now, and I'm sorry for what happened to your sister, I am, but," Jeez…Ambrose won't care what I'm saying. "He will come for me.”
He shrugs. “He’ll try. But by then…” He looks at me with that slow, confident smile. “…you won’t want to leave.”
That night, I fall asleep faster than I should. Maybe it's the ocean air. Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe it's because—for the first time in a good while—I felt Athy again.
And then I’m there.
But it’s dark. So dark it wraps around me like velvet. Cold, too. My breath fogs and hangs before me, and something tightens around my chest like pressure—like I’m underwater.
Wait. Am I? Fuck no! I'm not swimming though, I'm walking, breathing perfectly fine. I try to jump and swim, but nothing. I shiver, blinking into the pitch black. Ahead, there’s a small fire, crackling bright, distant and impossible.
How did I get here? This dream feels too real.
I can hear things in the darkness around me and I am scared.
My heart is pumping hard, but I can feel a familiar presence.
Tendrils of shadow, Athanasius, touching me. Barely.
Something brushes past me. Something big. I freeze. My whole body clenches. And then I see it.
A goblin shark, pale and unnatural, glides in front of my face, mouth half-open like it’s thinking about biting. I scream—punch wildly—and duck down, curling into myself. My toes sink into sand.
What the hell is this? I scream again, voice hoarse and echoing. “Athanasius!”
“Use the fear,” an old woman calls from somewhere ahead. “Use it. Grab her now!”
Hands wrap around me. Strong. Familiar. Fierce. I’m yanked toward the fire—and him.
Four arms wrap around me, pulling me into warmth. My feet leave the ground, my body presses against his chest, and his chin drops onto my shoulder, he's shaking. “Rabbit,” he breathes, voice like thunder wrapped in silk. “Rabbit, can you hear me?”
I lift my face. He’s smiling. That smug, arrogant, beautiful smile. “Yes,” I whisper. “Where are you? Where am I?”
He cups my cheek. “My home. Our home." He kisses me, and this is a kiss I want.
My mouth opens for him, and his split-tongue ravages mine, taking, tasting.
I want to climb up his body, but he's holding me so tightly.
Tears begin to prick at the corners of my eyes before he releases my mouth.
"Tell me where you are, Ione. Open your eyes. Let me see.”
“My eyes are open…” A soft presence brushes against us. Athanasius steps back and I twist slightly and see the old woman—draped in tattered fabric, her hands glowing faintly.
“You are being held by Ambrose,” she says. “His magic is potent, but mine is older. Calmer. Stronger when guided. Focus. Open your mind. Let us see.” She places her hand on my forehead.
My heart slows. My breathing evens. And the dark starts to crack. I wake up in my room.
The fire’s gone. The sea air is still. My legs are tangled in the sheets, and I know—know—they had me. They were here.
Athanasius’s voice cuts through. Not like a sound, more like a blade slipping into thought. “Where is he?” he growls.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, hands shaking. “He disappears at night. But today—he let me out. He showed me the castle, the gardens, the beach…”
I don’t tell him about the kisses. Lord no, he'd be hellbent on killing him and not focused enough to get me the fuck out of here.
I do tell him about the potion. “There was a vial,” I say. “In the potions room. Labeled locator. Maybe it can help.”
The old woman appears again, voice calm and grounded. “Perhaps… but I must see it.” Then her face tightens. “He’s coming. We have to stop. He must not know.”
Athanasius turns to me. All fire. All fury.
But for me, there's gentleness in his touch. My eyes go dark and once again I'm wherever he is.I can see him, his face in the firelight. His knuckles brush past my cheek. “I’m coming, rabbit. Do you hear me? I’m coming.” He kisses me again—deep, hungry, real.
Then again, slower, his hands sliding down my body like he needs to memorize every inch. “I love you, Ione.”
My body sinks into the bed as if he's laying me there himself. Another kiss. Warmth. Safety.
Knock knock.
The door swings open. I bolt upright in bed. Breath caught. Body still tingling from the dream—or the visit. And there he is. Ambrose. Leaning in the doorway like he’s got nowhere else to be.
“That look,” he says, grinning. “He came to visit, didn’t he?”
I stare at him, silent.
Ambrose tuts. “We can’t have that again. Come with me, pretty Ione.”