Chapter 9
Nine
Ash
The room I’ve claimed as my own since arriving here doesn’t offer much in the way of warmth and comfort. The walls are bare, except for a single painting I found in the basement, a hunting scene with dogs tearing into a stag, blood in the grass. I liked the sense of inevitability.
Right now, I’m sitting at the desk in front of the window, waiting.
There’s nothing to do but wait. I’ve been expecting her all night, but she was ‘occupied’ with her ghost. That half-there man who could never satisfy her the way I will.
She waited until dawn, and now I can feel her moving through the halls, her magic along with her.
I smile, feeling the taste of anticipation on my tongue.
Three minutes later, there’s a pounding on the door.
Rose looks angry, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. She’s wearing a ridiculous outfit of threadbare shorts and a huge t-shirt that hides her curves from me, which makes me irritated.
She doesn’t bother with a greeting. “Why?”
I cock a brow. “Good morning to you too, Rose.”
“Don’t play with me!” Every inch of her is turned up to eleven. “My magic, why can I feel it? Not just the tiny drip you usually give me.” She shakes her hands, gold light flickering at her fingertips. “What game are you playing?”
Sometimes it’s more effective to give someone silence when they are demanding an answer. She hates it, hates being the one who doesn’t know. She stalks closer, bracing her hands on the desk, like she’s trying to keep herself from launching across it at my throat.
“Rose,” I say in warning. “Sit down.”
She refuses, standing her ground. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
I fold my hands, considering her. It shouldn’t be possible to feel someone else’s adrenaline, but I feel everything that comes from her.
Everything. I felt her euphoria when she climaxed last night, right before I smashed my fist into the wall.
The connection between us is painful. Rapturously painful.
And now, she feels too exposed, too powerful, and it’s scaring the shit out of her.
“I did exactly what you’re accusing me of. I loosened your collar, Rose. Let out the leash.” I let my gaze drift over her, deliberately slow. “You wanted more power. I decided to oblige you.”
She shakes her head, incredulous. “Bullshit. You don’t do anything unless there’s something in it for you.”
She is right. I don’t operate on charity. But there’s more to it, and she knows it, even if she refuses to say it out loud.
I pretend to study the painting on the wall. “Jasmine wants to see what you are.”
“She’s not the only one.”
“You’re not dangerous. Not yet.” I look at her again, letting her see exactly how I’m enjoying this. “But you could be. If I let you. If I help you.”
She flinches, and I can almost taste her discomfort with the thought of needing my help.
I stand, and she tenses, expecting me to close the distance, but I don’t. Instead, I stay there with my hands in my pockets.
“If you want to run, run.” I step in now, close enough that her breath stutters. “But you won’t get far. Not with what’s in your blood.” I drag my finger lightly down her arm, right over the mark. She shivers.
She yanks her hand away, furious. “Stop it.”
“But you don’t want me to stop.” I say it as the truth, not a tease. There’s a split second where she’s sure I can see every secret she’s ever had. That I can feel every bad thought she’s tried to hide.
She hesitates. I watch a dozen emotions run across her face, hunger, disbelief. She wants it. She also wants me to say that she has no choice. There’s relief in being commanded, for people like her. The freedom to submit, as long as someone strong enough is holding the chain.
“Stop talking like you know me,” she snaps. The bravado is back, but less impressive. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know you better than you want me to.” I let my mouth get close to her ear, not quite touching. “I know what you think about. What you’re afraid of.”
She shifts away, but I grab her wrist, holding her there.
“You want to be scared,” I say. “You want to see what happens when you stop running. All you have to do is ask.”
For a heartbeat, she looks at me like she might actually punch me. Then she looks away, stubborn and shamed by how much of her own feeling she’s showing.
“I’m not scared of you.”
“Liar.”
She jerks her wrist free. “You wish.”
“If I wanted you afraid, you’d know it.” I step back, giving her space. She watches me, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts. It’s almost enough to make me reach for her again, but I resist.
“You’re not here just because the magic is back on. You’re here because you can’t stand not knowing what comes next.”
She doesn’t deny it.
“Fine. You want to know what comes next? Training. You meet me. Midnight. Out in the woods. Alone.” I watch her take in the words, feel her tension.
She masks it with a joke, but it’s not convincing. “Wow, what a great idea. Maybe afterward you can bury me in a shallow grave.”
“Maybe I could,” I say, just to watch her eyes go wide. “Maybe you’ll run.”
Now she’s remembering. The night in the woods. She’s remembering the way she liked it, even if she’d die before admitting it out loud.
“I’ll be there,” she finally says, voice tight.
I nod, and the discussion is over. She knows it too.
“Go on,” I say. “Rest up. You’ll need it.”
She almost looks like she’s going to say something else, then she thinks better of it. She turns and leaves, slamming the door behind her, and I stand there, listening to her footsteps fade down the hall.
When she’s gone, I let the mask slip a little. The hunger is real, rolling in my gut, gnawing at my rationality. I want her scared, but I want her hungry more. I want the moment she lets go, gives up the need to pretend, and lets me have her, all of her.
Midnight can’t come soon enough.