Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The glaring eyes are replaced with towering shelves housing row upon row of leatherbound books. Logs burn in the open fireplace, two wingback chairs sit opposite each other adjacent to the hearth, and a large desk is pushed under the window overlooking immaculate grounds.
Whether it’s the heat from the fire or the heat in the pit of my stomach, my skin burns as a loud click reverberates through the room.
He’s locked the door.
“I’m not complaining about your choice of dress; you look beautiful, angel.” Valdemar arrives behind me, his breath on the base of my neck as I feel his fingers pulling at the zip. It’s like in the dreams, yet this is real. He is real. “But if you’re going to conceal a weapon, then you need to consider something a little less snug.”
Before I have a chance to react, he lowers the zip enough to pull the knife from between my shoulder blades.
Cold steel slithers over my neck as his warm hand holds me flush against his chest, my thighs clenching at the throb between my legs. Why does my body react this way? I thought it was just in the dreams where I had no control, but reality is just as compelling, if not more so.
“I would be disappointed if you hadn’t come prepared, angel.” Continuing to hold the knife at the base of my neck, he steps in front of me, his hand leaving my waist.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask.
“No, angel. You’re safe here.” He holds the knife out.
I take it, eyeing him with uncertainty.
“ You are the one who is going to kill me ,” he says.
What the fuck? Confusion pushes at me—so much so, I feel as if I might fall over.
Stepping back, he takes off his jacket and throws it over the back of a chair before unbuttoning his shirt. Sweat coats my palm as I grip the handle of the blade. My eyes are glued to his torso. I’m viewing the masterpiece for the second time, the swirling tattoos, the giant raven, and the ripple of his muscles hypnotic as he moves towards me.
Wrapping his hand over mine, he guides the blade to where his heart is.
“Don’t hesitate. Just push it straight in, right to the hilt. Don’t twist it; quick and clean, that’s all I ask,” he instructs.
Dread coats my skin.
As much as I’ve fantasised about Valdemar’s demise, this is not what I came here for.
“I’m not going to kill you.” I pull my hand from his grasp in case he gets any ideas about pushing himself onto the knife. “I admit, when I first came to see you, I wanted nothing more than to kill you, but not now.”
His eyes narrow.
“Then why did you bring a knife?” he enquires.
“I brought it for protection. Someone wants you dead. Somehow, they got into my car and left a note instructing me to kill you.”
“I know what it said,” he says.
“You know?” I don’t understand. How could he know this?
“Yes, because I wrote it, and a Raven Hand delivered it for me,” he tells me.
“What?” I search his beautifully dangerous face.
The room is stifling. Heat and confusion bathe me in sweat.
“I took the Blood Oath with Ed. It bound me to him and him to me. Our souls were coiled, our lives interwoven, much like being a twin. He was more than a brother. He was my blood. You of all people should know what it’s like to lose someone you’re bound to through blood. That’s why I gave myself up to the police and pleaded guilty to his murder. I didn’t know how to live with myself, with this emptiness that his death created. And I thought I just needed time to recompense, time to grieve, time to heal. But it’s only got worse. The emptiness. The feeling that part of me is missing.” Pinning me with his stare, he asks me, “After Ed’s death, how many times did you try to kill yourself?” He says it so gently, as if to soften the question so it doesn’t sound like an accusation but more of a recognition.
It’s as if he was with me when I tried to slit my wrists, the razor blade flush against my veins, my pathetic cry when I dropped it just as the skin broke and the blood gushed out. Maybe he sees the drugs, the glass of vodka, how I couldn’t get past the second handful of pills before I vomited all over the floor.
“A few,” I confess.
“As you know, I’m great at killing other people. But the hardest thing to kill is yourself. And it’s nearly impossible in prison. So, I thought of the one person who would want me dead more than anyone else in this world.”
A fresh wave of sweat courses down my back. “Me.”
“You, angel. You must be the only person in this fucked-up world who deserves my death. You have every right to be the one to put this knife into my chest and end it all. No one else but you. And I can say that I would die a happy man if the last thing I saw was you.”
“Stop,” I plead.
“Why? Because I’m right?”
“No,” I reply.
“Revenge. Justice. Isn’t this what you want, angel?” His eyes narrow.
“Is it what you want? Has this been your intention all along?” My gut coils, fear, desire, the reality of what he’s asking me to do all churning inside me, the knowledge that he’s had an ulterior motive, as I knew there would be. I just never thought it would be this.
His eyes look heavy as he regards me. “It was at first. The whole reason I asked you to visit me was so you could learn the truth before putting me out of my misery. But then I met you, and I touched you in your dreams and heard your loneliness and my name on your lips as you came in my arms. I thought there was nothing left worth living for, but then I met you, and now, I want nothing more than to own you.”
“This is so fucked up.”
“Having your Blood Brother ask you to shoot him because he’s going to be bricked up alive is fucked up. But it does make you realise that life is short, so you have to take what you want, and fuck everyone else,” Valdemar says.
“I don’t know what you want,” I admit.
“It’s simple. Death or you. Kill me or keep me. Stab me, or I fuck you.” He pulls my hand back up to his chest, the knife pressing into his flesh. “The choice is yours.”
“Shit. I can’t….”
“I know you want this. Your dreams were a testament to that. So wet for me. So pliant. But you won’t allow me to give it to you because of who I am. You need to stop thinking about what’s right and what’s wrong.”
The room is hot. Too hot. I can’t think straight. I have no logical reasons for this choice because none of this feels logical.
“And what does that say about me? What kind of person wants to fuck the man who killed her brother? What does that make me?”
“It makes you mine.” He almost growls this.
“Fuck.” I wish I’d taken that drink now.
“Will this make it easier?” He takes the knife from my hand and moves behind me. “I can fuck you at knifepoint. Then when you wake tomorrow, guilt swarming you for what you allowed me to do, you can tell yourself that I made you do it, that you didn’t have a choice.” His lips brush my ear. “You are safe here, but I can’t promise I won’t hurt you; those promises are for the weak. We don’t go through life not hurting those closest to us.”
My pulse reverberates in my ears, drumming at my insides like it’s goading me.
“Tell me to stop, and I will. Just say the word.” His voice is like a hypnotic fog clouding my brain.
“I don’t want you to stop.” And I don’t. He’s right. This is fucked up. I told myself I came here tonight because I needed him to reach my brother, but I know that’s not the only reason. I do need him, but I also want him. I can’t deny how upset I’ve been when I wake and realise every dream is just that—a dream, none of it real.
But this is real. He is real. He doesn’t have to be a dream.
The cold of the blade caresses my neck as Valdemar pulls the zip the rest of the way down the back of my dress. “Take it off.”
Keeping my head still because of the knife, I slide my arms out of my dress and let it drop to the floor. Valdemar cuts through the straps of the scabbard and pulls it from my body.
Now, wearing only my underwear, I feel the burn from the roaring fire and the heat from Valdemar’s skin.
“I haven’t touched a woman in ten years, not in the flesh. And even then, my dream was only you. Always you.”
The knife comes back up to my throat, and I let out a yelp.
“Go stand by the desk,” he instructs.
I do as he says, and he moves with me, the knife never leaving my delicate skin. Placing his other hand in the middle of my back, he pushes me over the desk, moving the knife away so I don’t slit my own throat.
My cheek rests against the hardwood, my high heels straining my calves.
“The view of you bent over my desk is worth living for.” His words are as sharp as the blade he uses to cut through my underwear before tugging the material from around my legs, leaving me in only my bra. “You have no idea how many times I pictured you like this.”
Despite the warmth of the room, a cold draft works its way over my flesh and winds its way between my legs, making me feel even more exposed.
“Fucking beautiful, angel. And you don’t need to worry about the guests in the hall, as they won’t hear any of your screams; they’re for my ears only.”
The cold metal slides up the back of my leg, sending a shiver through my core. There’s nothing inside my head except him, his touch, and the knife. I want to say something, to tell him how this makes me feel, what he does to me, but I’m lost, words confounding me. Maybe it’s the niggle of betrayal that has my tongue. Una, Pierre, Ed. I’m betraying them all, sleeping with the enemy, so I keep my mouth closed.
“I’m on my knees for you, angel,” he says.
I hear the shift as Valdemar lowers himself behind me, the blade smoothing over my calf. The air leaves my lungs as he pulls my cheeks apart, and then I’m gone as he flicks his tongue right up my centre.
I claw my nails over the grain of the wood, thankful the desk is holding me up. Valdemar licks me again, his tongue dipping as I shudder against his face.
Unable to keep my mouth closed any longer, words find me in a rush of pleasure. “Oh God.”
Holding my hips, the knife clasped in his hand now resting against my thigh, Valdemar fucks me with his tongue, then flicks lightly over my clit with the faintest of pressure, which only makes me want it more.
“You taste just like I imagined—sweet and exotic. God, I could taste you all day, all night, and still not get enough,” he says, his husky voice adding to my climbing arousal.
The familiar swirl of an orgasm builds like a cyclone gaining momentum. His tongue is relentless, his pace rhythmic, the sensation intoxicating.
“Fuck.” My breathing is laboured, like I can’t get enough air though the room is full of it.
Just as I’m about to peak, Valdemar stops and rises behind me, pulling me up by my hair, the knife still gripped in his hand, the blade resting against my head.
I’m about to ask him what the fuck he’s playing at, but he beats me to it.
“I want you to watch, angel, while I make you come.”
At first, I don’t comprehend, my mind still reeling from the fact that I was so close and he just stopped, but then I glance at the window and catch our reflection.
Valdemar is behind me, his shirt open, his chest pressed against my back. I can feel the swell of his cock against my backside, and it thrills me to know how turned on he is by this. His fist is in my hair, clutching the knife, and his other hand trails up my back and releases the clasp on my bra, which slides down my arms. I lift my hands momentarily to let it fall to the floor, my breasts now free, my nipples hard and swollen.
He then snakes his hand down my stomach and lingers over my swollen clit. “Look at how beautiful you are.”
Letting go of my hair, he drops the knife down against my throat, and I can’t deny how fucking turned on I am by the sight of my naked body against his, his hand dipped between my legs, and his hot breath on the nape of my neck. Plunging his fingers inside me, he cups my clit with the palm of his hand, and my vision blurs.
“What turns you on more, my fingers inside you, the knife against your neck, or the thought of what I’m going to do to you after you’ve come?”
“All of it.” It’s not a lie. I wish it were.
Pushing myself against him, I grind my pussy into his hand, the need for him consuming me from within.
He adds another finger, spreading me wider. My heart pounds against my chest as I gulp the air. Then he curls his finger, hitting the sweet spot as he grips my throat, the knife inches from my face.
“Keep watching, angel. I want you to see yourself coming undone.”
“Valdemar,” I cry out as the edges of my vision distort and the orgasm rips through me like an explosion.
“That’s it, angel. Come for me.”
Pleasure eats away at me, my legs wobbling under the strain. I lean forwards and place my arms on the desk to hold myself up. Valdemar spins me so I’m sitting on the edge, his hand returning to my clit as the aftershocks course through my body.
“Lie back.” He pushes me down, my body slackening as I let my legs drop. Standing between my open legs, Valdemar removes his hand.
Even though I’m exhausted, I push myself up on my elbows, eager to see what he’s about to do next, as I know this is only the beginning.
He drops the knife onto the desk and slides out of his shirt before throwing it to the side, never taking his eyes from me. Using one hand, he unlatches his belt and then his button and zip.
I swallow hard.
“Do you think you can take me?” he asks as he grabs the heel of my shoe and pulls it from my foot, followed by the other. He places my feet on the desk and then pushes my legs apart, letting my knees flop to the side, opening me wider for him.
“I’ll try.” My answer is hoarse, my throat dry from heavy breathing, but then I salivate as he pushes his hand inside his trousers and his boxer shorts and pulls his cock out.
Fuck. I want to retract my answer. My thighs clench, and my eyes water.
“I told you I would hurt you. And I will, angel, but it’ll be worth it.”
Thrusting his fingers inside me, he pumps them until they’re soaked, then removes his hand and swipes it down the length of his rigid cock. It’s beautiful, now glistening with my pleasure.
With his cock in his hand, he traces it across my middle, lingering over my tender clit, rubbing and coating it further. A feverish fire rages between my legs. A hungry need gnaws at me, and I wish I could touch him, but I can’t quite reach his arms.
“I’ll take it slow at first,” he tells me, the hoarseness behind his voice only adding to the inferno between my legs. “But then I’ll fuck you hard and fast, angel.”
I find myself nodding even though he wasn’t asking my permission, merely making a statement of things to come.
Just as he said, he slowly dips the tip of his cock inside me, flirting with my entrance, which only makes me want it more. Moaning through the building desire, I arch my back and push myself forwards.
There’s a reflection on his chest from the moonlight pouring in through the window, and it makes his skin shimmer, his body rippling with every movement, the tattooed raven looking like it’s in flight. He’s something to behold, holding his cock in his hand, my legs spread wide while he guides it seductively inside me.
“Valdemar,” I gasp, the necessity growing, the urgency to have him taking over my common sense, my animalistic needs holding the reins.
“You want it all, don’t you? You want all of me inside you,” he growls.
“Yes.” Another truth.
“I would never deny you, angel.” Slamming his hands onto the desk on either side of my body, he thrusts himself in deep, taking my breath away.
Quickly, he grabs one of my legs and wraps it around his back. I follow with the other, hooking my ankles to anchor him to me.
“Sit up. Put your arms around my neck.” He’s pounding into me, thrust after thrust. The heat from his body mingles with my own, his neck damp with sweat as I claw my nails into his skin. “Hold on, angel.”
I interlace my fingers, and his pace quickens, the pleasure mounting. He unlocks my legs, spreading them wider, pushing down on the insides of my thighs so he can hit me deeper. I cling on to him, and my eyes threaten to close, my teeth clenching as my orgasm builds.
“Oh God.” My mouth is drying out, and the air in the room suddenly feels scant. My breaths become short, frantic. It’s getting harder to keep my hands locked around his neck.
“Lie down,” he tells me, one hand going to my throat, the other to my clit, and I’m spinning, my eyes losing focus as a blinding orgasm rages through my body.
“Valdemar.” His name is out before I can stop it, his cock swelling as my insides clench it tighter before he comes with such force, I’m left breathless.
For several minutes, we remain still, and all that can be heard is the gasping of our breaths, our bodies returning to their normal, resting state.
Though I’m not sure my body will ever return to its natural state.
Still inside me, Valdemar pulls me up by my arms and wraps them around his neck. Grasping my head, he forces me to look at him before planting tiny kisses on my forehead. “You’ve no idea what you’ve just done to me,” he says.
I’m still floating on euphoria, drunk on pleasure, my body swaying against his hold, and I have no response for what he’s just declared.
Sensing my need for silence, he fishes in his pocket for a tissue, his trousers hanging onto his hips, then slips out of me and wipes himself before cleaning me up and loosely resecuring his belt. He grabs his shirt and wraps it around my body, guiding my arms through the sleeves. He then picks me up and carries me to a door in the far corner of the room.
Once again, I’m clinging to him, my arms around the back of his neck, my head resting against his chest, and a different warmth spreads through me—the same warmth that invaded me the day of the fight.
With great dexterity, he opens the door and carries me down a long corridor, fleeting glances of panelled walls and dado rails skimming past my vision.
I can’t help but marvel at his strength when I feel like I’m the one who’s run a marathon as he carries me up a flight of stairs and down another corridor. We eventually reach a door that he pushes open with his foot and then kicks closed behind us.
A fresh scent hits me, like a forest after a heavy downpour. He places me on a large four-poster bed covered in dark grey sheets. After the hardness of the desk, I feel like I’m lying on a cloud, my back sinking into the softness of the mattress.
Large windows line the right-hand wall, and the heavy drapes are open, leaving the room drenched in moonlight.
Valdemar perches on the side of the bed, taking in my depleted body. “Do you need to rest?”
“Before we go back to the party?” I ask.
The shrill tone in my reply has done nothing to hide the fact that the party is the last place I want to go. I can’t bear the thought of facing those stares again, let alone what they’ll look like, knowing what Valdemar and I must’ve been doing, as my hair is dishevelled, my lipstick non-existent, and I can imagine my eyes look like black holes with my mascara having smudged due to them watering. Either that, or they’ll think he’s tortured me into confessing my desire to kill him.
“Fuck the party.”
“But it’s for you,” I say.
“No, it isn’t.” Sensing my confusion, he continues. “It’s an excuse for the Raven Hands to invade my home, drink my wine, and get shitfaced.”
“Sounds like a party to me.”
“A party is when you celebrate something. What exactly are they celebrating?” he says.
“The fact that you’re here.” It’s the only way I can word it. I don’t want to mention the prison or what he was there for, as it’ll only remind me of how I’ve ended up here. There’s still a bitterness to all of this, despite what he’s just done to me, the way he’s made me feel.
“After leading my flock into a mission that killed one of them, leaving Adolphe Fortunato completely unscathed and free to run his fucking empire for the past ten years without anyone to challenge him on his depraved morals.”
“Didn’t the Raven Hands seek revenge after you were put away?” I ask.
“I forbade them from it. It was my fault Ed died. There was no way I was putting any more Raven Hands at the mercy of Fortunato.”
“What about now? Do you want revenge? Are you going to go after Fortunato?” My mind races at the thought.
“It’s been ten years, angel. Ten years is a long time to plot revenge.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I say.
“Sometimes I do want revenge. So much so, I can taste it, see his blood on my knife and the whites of his eyes as I drain him of everything he is. But then at other times, I just want my head to stay quiet, to revel in the nothingness and give myself up to dark abandon. And I don’t know which is worse,” he explains.
Darkness pools on his face, his eyes misting over.
His gaze returns to me. “The only thing I do know is what I want right now.”
“And that is?”
“Do you want to know the last physical words Ed said to me before he died?” he asks, even though I would like to think he knows me well enough now to know what my answer will be.
The hairs rise on my arms as if nails have been run down my back, a sickly feeling working its way through my stomach.
“Yes.” It’s delivered with little conviction, rather guilt at not having been there to hear his last words, jealousy that Valdemar Montresor was the one to hear them, and anger that they were his last words in the first place.
“After the gun went off, I ran to him and grabbed his head so I could look at him. I told him everything was going to be okay and that he just needed to stay with me. Lies. All of it fucking lies.”
Sadness overtakes his expression as he continues.
“I had two guns pointing at the back of my head—one held by Fortunato’s bodyguard and the other by a very nervous police officer who looked far too old to be in uniform, never mind brandishing a gun. But I never took my eyes off Ed. I told him I was sorry, so fucking sorry, and that I would spend the rest of my life being sorry. I asked him to forgive me. He told me that only an angel could grant such things.”
Tears swell behind my eyes, but I refuse to let this man see them.
“Jesus. You think I’m a fucking angel,” I say.
“I know you are.”
“Well, I’m not, and even if I was, I don’t forgive you. I will never forgive you,” I tell him.
“I don’t expect you to when I can’t forgive myself,” he admits.
Wrapping his shirt closer around my body, I pull my legs up and hug them. “What happens now?” I ask.
“That’s up to you. You can go home, if that’s what you want, or you can stay here with me. It’s your choice, angel.”
Tracing the flock of ravens tattooed up his arm, I know I should be asking for my dress and getting the hell out of here. But the slump in his shoulders and the bleakness of his face won’t allow me to. What has he lived with these past ten years? It’s been hard enough living with the loss of my brother, but how do you live with that loss knowing it was your fault?
“I don’t forgive you, but I won’t condemn you. Stay with me.” I reach my hand out, and Valdemar looks up, a small light shining behind his eyes that’s so far removed from the beast that stalked into the library not thirty minutes ago.
Sliding onto the bed, he takes me in his arms, and I let him.