34. Sleeping With the Enemy
Chapter thirty-four
Sleeping With the Enemy
Ione
"Huh?" My body is still thrumming like a live wire. "I-"
"I-uh-duh-" He rolls his eyes. "Get out of the damn bed, Ione.
" He walks over, sleep pants low on his hips, his robe is open exposing his chest. "Trying to pretend like he wasn't just here, it's my house, I have wards everywhere.
" He grabs my arm and lifts me up until I'm standing.
"Apparently, someone can go toe to toe with me, interesting.
" His eyes scan mine. "I hope you didn't get in a fuck. " He smirks. "I'd be jealous."
I don't know what to say, I'm still reeling from the fact that Athanasius lives somewhere in the deep ocean, and had me walking around while a goblin shark and god knows what else was around me. "Let me rest a second." My eyes are swimming in my head and I'm starting to feel nauseous.
"I bet," He lowers me to the bed, crouching in front of me with his hands on my knees. "Astral projection isn't nice when you don't know you're doing it." He sighs. "Coming back to your body can feel like waking up in someone else's." He puts his palm to my forehead. "You're clammy."
The slick bastard then stands up and lifts me over his shoulder.
At least he has the grace to make sure his shoulder isn't stabbing me in my stomach.
He carries me down the hall and to the right, if we went left we'd be going downstairs.
No, there's a short hall and two doors on the right.
The farthest one is his bedroom. Ambrose lays me on the bed, and sighs. "I'll be right back."
He returns shortly with a bowl and a cloth. Climbing on the bed, he presses it to my head. "I feel sick."
"If you puke in my fucking bed, I will make you sleep in it." He snaps. "I'll get you some tea."
Why do I feel so weak? "So you can drug me?" My stomach is rolling. "Just help me to the bathroom so I can puke."
His tone softens. "Cutie, I'm not going to drug you," The cloth moves over my forehead. "How low do you think of me?"
The corner of my mouth lifts and he begins to laugh. "Ok, just because I've done it before doesn't mean it's consistent." He helps me up as soon as I'm in front of the toilet everything comes up.
Without a word, Ambrose makes sure my scarf stays on my head. He rubs my back gently, and grabs a cup of water for me to rinse my mouth. "Thank you." I mutter weakly, sitting on the floor. "You're taking good care of your captive," He raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes."
"Sometimes," He repeats. "Well, I'll think about doing better." He runs a bath, dropping herbs and a few salts into it. "You need to soak in that for a while, I'll come get you in a few."
He leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and here I am wondering what his deal is.
Slipping into the water, I lean my head back and let the smell of ginger and chamomile overtake my senses.
The water laps against me in the white, ceramic tub and I close my eyes wondering what's going to happen next.
Fifteen minutes go by before Ambrose knocks once and pokes his head into the bathroom. "Times up, cutie, wrap that towel around yourself, there's some body oil on the sink in the yellow vial, I have clothes for you out here."
He can't see me from this angle, well, he can't see below my neck. "Can you bring the clothes in here?"
"No." He closes the door.
"Slick bastard." I mumble.
"I heard that!"
He wasn't in the room when I opened the bathroom door.
Quickly getting dressed, I look around the room.
It's much bigger than mine, there's a large bookshelf on one side with a comfy chair.
What looks to be Munson burners and beakers is on the other side with vials and potions of all colors.
There's a fireplace in front of the bed, burning softly, embers now.
There's a window near the bookshelf, it's closed, but I can see moonlight peeking in through the slightly parted curtains.
Standing up, I make my way to the table with vials and potions and pick one up examining the color.
"Put that one down,"Ambrose clears his throat. "Unless you want to turn into a bird. A starling, to be exact."
"I'll fly away from here." But I put the vial down.
Ambrose scoffs. "Potions that turn people into animals don't work so well on humans." He has another blanket in his arms. "You'll either lose your mind in the realization of what you are now, or kill yourself by flying into a window." He smiles at me, setting the blanket on the foot of the bed.
"Why is that?" I ask, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"You're human," He sighs. "Do you really not know anything? You didn't ask him questions? Get curious about anything?"
I shrug. "We never really talked about that kind of stuff."
"Just killing me." Ambrose sits next to me. "I can teach you." He rests his hand on my thigh.
"For a fee?" I push his hand away. "I am inclined to remain ignorant about this, thank you."
Ambrose laughs, he leans his head back and the musk and woody smell of his body thickens. "Pretty Ione, please, you'll learn more about me in the process."
If I learn more about him, he'll try to make me sympathetic to whatever it is that he's doing.
"How about you tell me what your end game is?" Ambrose takes my hand as I talk. He rubs his fingers against mine before massaging my hand gently. "You can't keep me here for all of eternity or something."
"Can't I?" He chuckles. "I'm tired, let's get in bed."
He moves past me, settling into bed.
I know the fuck he is not. I know good and got damn well this isn't what I think it is.
Ione please, Athanasius crawled into your bed first night and demanded that he hold you while he slept. True. How is this any different? It's very different.
"I'm not sleeping with you."
"Yes," He grabs my shoulder. "You are." He's so much stronger than he looks. I'm pulled into the bed, covers tossed over me and Ambrose snakes his arm around my waist, snuggling into my back. "He cannot reach you in here, and I won't have my fun over with so quickly."
Struggling does nothing, he has an iron grip. "Your fun?"
Ambrose’s arm tightens around my waist as I lay in the curve of his body, the heat of him pressing against my back. I can feel his breath warm against my neck, steady but alert—like even in this quiet moment, his mind is working, scheming.
“We’re playing a game,” he says softly. “Athanasius and I.” He sighs. "He has something I want, though he doesn't know he's delivering it."
I tense, just slightly, and he notices. Like always.
“I needed time,” he goes on, his fingers tracing idle circles along my arm. “I trapped you, yes. All of you. But it wasn’t out of cruelty. I needed space to figure out how to become more than what I am.”
More than what he is?
Moireth’s voice rings in my memory: The mages were greedy. They all wanted power.
So this checks out.
Ambrose's fingers pause their motion. “The others,” he murmurs, “my companions… they all reached, stretched too far, too fast. They were strong, but not like me.”
He says it without pride, like a fact—one he’s measured and tested and has come to believe without question.
“They fell,” he says. “All of them. Died trying to elevate themselves. I’ve been more careful.”
I swallow. My skin prickles under his touch. “What power is it, exactly, that you want?”
There's a pause.
Then, so quiet I barely hear him: “The power to ascend beyond this form.”
His lips brush the back of my neck. “Sleep,” he whispers.
And just like that, it pulls at me—thick, irresistible. I want to fight it, ask more, demand answers. But I can't. The weight of his voice, his presence, presses down on me like a spell.
And then I was out.