Текст книги "Wicked Is the Reaper"

Автор книги: Nisha J. Tuli

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Chapter Ten

I awoke to the soft sounds of Wicked’s breathing, his face just inches from mine. He lay on the bed, his top half still bared and his hands folded over his stomach. I didn’t move a muscle, only scanning him while I studied the strange tattoos that ran down the side of his face and torso, wondering what they meant.

A moment later, the back of my neck prickled. I looked up to find him watching me, his gaze thoughtful and brimming with concern. I became immediately aware we were both half naked, though I was on my stomach. It occurred to me he must have seen my bared chest while he was tending to me, and I frowned. But his touches had only been tender and caring last night.

He’d said he wasn’t that kind of monster, and I was inclined to believe him on that, at least.

“I hope it’s okay. I wanted to keep an eye on you, and I guess I dozed off before I could move to the sofa,” he said. It took me a moment to realize he was apologizing for falling asleep in the bed. I moved my head, my hair rustling against the mattress.

“It’s fine.”

He relaxed visibly at that. Neither of us moved while we lay there in silence, our gazes meeting and then pulling away as though neither of us could quite figure out what to do with ourselves. Finally, he sat up, and I did my best not to notice the flex and pull of the muscles in his back and his arms while he leaned over to stretch and then rubbed his hands down his face.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked. I shifted, testing my shoulder, and winced at the stab of pain.

“Okay. A little sore.”

“Hungry?” he asked, looking over at me, and I quickly averted my gaze lest he catch me staring. “I’ll make you some more tonic for the pain, too.”

“Sure, thank you,” I replied before he scooted off the end of the bed and padded over to the kitchen. He got to work as I closed my eyes, curiously soothed by the now familiar sounds of him cooking.

For the next few days, Wicked tended to me, changing my bandages regularly and bringing me food and water and more pain tonic. While I healed, I drifted in and out of sleep until I could finally sit up and move my arm again. The wound was still healing, but I’d improved considerably.

Wicked didn’t leave the entire time, save once, to pick up the healing ointment he’d promised, tending to me with all the attention of a doting nurse. Why was he bothering? Did he need his sacrificial lamb in tiptop shape the next time he abandoned me in the forest?

Still, I couldn’t fault him for the careful way he tended to me, even if it was technically his fault I’d been hurt in the first place.

It was about a week later before I could move around and take care of myself again. I’d been sleeping in his bed every night, but now that I was feeling better, the question hung between us.

“We can keep sharing the bed,” he said, not meeting my eye as he cleaned up the dishes after supper. “If you want.”

The discomfort of sleeping in my cell overriding any of my reservations, I nodded. Wicked had been the perfect gentleman already, clearly going out of his way to stay on his side of the bed. If he’d wanted to try something, he’d already had ample opportunities.

“I’ll have to chain you to it, though. I can’t have you running off again.”

I folded my arms. “Absolutely not.”

He turned to face me, leaning against the counter and crossing one ankle over the other, hands braced against the edge. “Then you can sleep in your cell.” The look on his face brooked no argument, and I knew I wouldn’t win this one.

My nostrils flared in indignation. “Fine.”

“Glad you can see reason, Princess,” he said in the most condescending voice possible. I wrapped my hand around my butter knife, strategizing on where I could shove it so it would do the most damage. He caught the movement and then smirked.

“Don’t bother. I’m a hundred times stronger than you could ever hope to be, Princess.” He rewarded my glower with a smug smile before he turned his back on me, confident I posed absolutely no threat.

Later, when I crawled into the bed at my place against the wall, he did what he’d promised, digging out one of those manacles he’d used on me earlier, securing it to my ankle and then the bed. It left me free to move, but fuck if it wasn’t demeaning. He then gave me a pointed look and stuffed the key deep into his pocket, as if to remind me there was no way I was getting to it.

“Don’t think I’d hesitate to reach in your pants for the key if the opportunity arose,” I said, not entirely sure if it was a joke. Instead of the reaction I’d expected—a roll of his eyes or a glare—his mouth fell open and then snapped shut and...gods, was he blushing?

Suddenly I didn’t know where to look as my own face heated. He cleared his throat before he looked away, pretending to busy himself with his boots as he pulled them off.

He turned down the lamps, leaving only the glow of the hearth, and lay down next to me. As the mattress dipped, I felt the tangible weight of his presence like a flashing beacon. The silence we normally shared had shifted, stretching between us with a tension molded from what felt like a thousand thoughts neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

Trying to scatter the heaviness in my chest, I rolled to my side, my back facing him. It did nothing to quell the uncomfortable tightness that pulled low in my stomach.

“Good night,” he said softly, but I didn’t answer.

A few days later, Wicked announced, “I’m going to do some scouting today.”

The reality of my situation came crashing to a shuddering halt. We’d been enjoying an easy sort of truce while I’d recovered from my fall. I’d almost forgotten why I was here and why he’d stolen me from my home. Maybe some part of me had thought he’d changed his mind, but clearly I was wrong. Why had he bothered to take care of me at all?

“Can I come?” I asked, and he pinned me with a dark look.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Princess.”

I shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

There was a small tug at the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing while he continued dressing. When he was done, he’d erased all traces of humor before he pointed me back to my cage.

This time, he did me the courtesy of cleaning it up and providing some blankets and pillows, along with food and water and even a few books to pass the time. It was still a cage, but it was a little more pleasant. A small part of me could hardly blame him for locking me up. I wouldn’t trust myself either, and I was far from finished with my escape attempts. As far as I was concerned, that dagger still had his name on it.

After he locked it, he stared down at me for a moment and I stared back, my expression defiant, willing him to feel the shame of what he was doing. There was a flicker in his gaze. A hairline crack in his stony facade that I planned to manipulate to my advantage. Then he grunted and spun away before storming to the door and slamming it so hard it shook the walls.

His footsteps crunched in the snow, fading away before I sat back and waited.

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Chapter Eleven

The next week continued in the same vein as I continued to recover. When he was home, Wicked never let me out of his sight and never let his guard down.

Every day, he’d go out for hours and leave me locked up, returning as the sun was setting to make us dinner. Our conversation flowed surprisingly easily while he asked me questions about my family and my life. There was something calming about being away from the castle and all my former obligations. The role of heir was never one I particularly relished.

Wicked seemed to love listening to the stories of me and Margaret getting into all sorts of trouble and appeared genuinely interested in everything I had to say. I couldn’t figure him out and as the time wore on, I sensed us both easing into an unfamiliar place where our walls were thinning at the seams.

Though I was enjoying myself, maybe even a little too much, the idea that I might charm him into releasing me was never far from my mind. Once in a while, I’d catch a genuine smile when I recounted some silly tale from my childhood. It transformed his entire face, rendering even those fearsome tattoos into something far more innocent.

I tried to fish for information about him, both because I was genuinely curious, but also because I desperately wanted to know why he wanted to capture the ogre and why I was being made his unwilling sacrifice.

Every time I’d steer the conversation toward him, he’d clam up and then order me to bed, the conversation done for the night. He still chained me to it, though I suspected he did so with increasing reluctance.

He always slept without his tunic, maintaining a respectful distance that did nothing to subdue the heaviness that settled in the room every night. The sight and scent of his bare skin was a complete distraction and more than once I found myself wondering what it would be like to touch him, to smooth my hands over the swell of his shoulders or the lines of his chest. To drag my fingers down the planes of his stomach and explore...lower. I didn’t understand these indecent thoughts I was having more and more often. My emotions were turning into a jumble of warring desires threatening to tow me under.

It was about three weeks after I’d tried to run when I awoke one morning with my face buried into a cocoon of velvet that smelled of forests and the rain. Groaning in approval, I snuggled closer into the column of warmth. Then I cracked open my eyes, suddenly realizing what I was wrapped around. I looked up, hoping against hope he was still asleep and I could disentangle myself with no one the wiser.

However, a pair of curious pine green eyes regarded me. No such luck.

“Comfy?” he asked, a dark eyebrow arching. Frozen, I didn’t move, realizing that my arm and leg were both thrown across him.

“What did you do?” I accused, not really wanting to move. He was so warm and solid, and this felt better than I wanted to admit.

“This is my side of the bed, Princess. You’re the one who did something.” I looked behind me and sure enough, it had been me who’d clearly rolled over and was now lying practically on top of him.

“Shut up,” I said as I finally forced myself away, sitting up and scooting back until I hit the wall. Wicked tossed me a smirk before he rose from the bed. He quickly reached for his tunic and covered himself, but our gazes met, knowing we’d both just noticed the clear outline that stretched in the front of his breeches.

“It’s morning,” he stammered then, his face turning red. Oh, this was too good. “And your thigh was right where...” His nostrils flared and he tossed me a glare. “Shut up.” Then he turned and stomped away, not looking at me before he donned his tunic and washed his face in the basin in the corner.

When he unlocked my ankle, I continued grinning while he refused to meet my eyes. I willed myself not to check that rather interesting part of his anatomy again, sure I wouldn’t be able to keep the same blush off my face.

Wicked started on breakfast, as always. It amazed me how he fed me and cleaned up every day without a word of complaint. I’d always been given to believe that men expected women to do these sorts of things for them. It had never been an issue for me, growing up surrounded by servants, and maybe I should have offered to help. That was likely the polite thing to do, though I wasn’t sure the usual manners applied when you were being held somewhere against your will.

After we finished eating, I prepared myself for my usual day locked up while Wicked went out to do gods knew what in the forest. I was so bored and weary of this. None of his books were any good, and I couldn’t do anything while I was trapped in here and he took the only key with him. I examined every inch of my small prison, testing the hinges and the locks, but it may as well have been a stone fortress.

“Please don’t leave me here alone again,” I said. “I promise I’ll be good. I just need to get out of here for a few hours.” I put on my most pleading expression and even clasped my hands under my chin for good measure. “I’ll make you dinner tonight. How about that?”

He arched a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you have any idea how to cook, Princess?”

I narrowed my eyes. What an ass. I had absolutely no idea how to cook, but how hard could it be? “Of course I can. What do you take me for?”

He gave me a look that suggested he knew I was lying and then strode over to where his boots sat against the wall.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you try anything, then I’ll make you sleep outside, chained to the battlements tonight. It’s supposed to snow later.”

“I promise,” I said sweetly, my voice dripping with honey while I batted my eyes. The look he threw me was filled with utter suspicion.

The sun was out today, the air warmer than it had been in days. I left my cloak behind, opting only for my heavy tunic and overcoat, and Wicked did the same.

We emerged to a bright blue sky stretching overhead, and I wondered if he was lying about the snow just to be a jerk.

“Come on,” Wicked said. “You walk in front and don’t get any ideas.”

I tossed him a dirty look and did what he asked, marching ahead as we slunk into the forest. The only time he spoke was to direct me to where we were going. He probably could have made it in a quarter of the time without me slowing him down, but he didn’t complain.

“We’re almost there,” he finally said as he brushed past me and we entered a clearing. In the center of it sat a large iron cage.

“What is that?” I asked, my hand drifting to my throat in horror.

Was he going to leave me out here in that?

He cast a look over his shoulder, and I didn’t need words to tell me that was exactly what he’d planned.

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Chapter Twelve

“I am not going in there,” I declared. He didn’t answer as he pulled a leather wrap out of his pack. He unrolled it onto the ground, revealing a set of iron tools with worn wooden handles.

“Sit down and be quiet,” he said, pointing to a large rock nearby. “You said you wouldn’t cause trouble if I brought you with me, and I’m holding you to that.” He stared at me, not wavering, waiting for me to comply. “The temperature is supposed to drop tonight,” he said, reminding me of his threat to leave me out on the battlements.

Without saying a word, I folded my arms, put my nose in the air and sank down on the rock where he pointed, pretending like this had been my idea all along. “Oooh, what a comfy rock,” I said, wiggling my butt against it. “This is so much better than my cage.”

As usual, he ignored me while he returned to what he was doing. He used the various tools—a screwdriver, a hammer, a wrench—to make adjustments to the cage, first working on the outside and then moving to the door. I stared at the sky and let out a long breath.

My elbows planted on my knees, I watched him work, enjoying the way his muscles shifted under his tunic. He’d taken off the heavier overcoat while he’d worked, the sun warm despite the thin crust of snow on the ground.

I let out another dramatic sigh, and he tossed me an impatient look. When he turned away, I grinned.

It was then I noticed he’d left his dagger lying on the ground next to him. He was working on the door to the cage, crouching on the balls of his feet, his body half in and half out. Should I do it? Now was as good a chance as any, and I’d been waiting for an opportunity like this. I’d have to move faster than I ever had in my life, but I hadn’t seen an opening this good in weeks. Who knew when he’d let his guard down like this again?

I took a slow breath, trying to calm my heartbeat. I couldn’t alert him to any change in my demeanor. He’d sense it—I was sure of it. I edged off the rock so I was hovering just above it, my hands braced for leverage. I’d only get one attempt to do this, and if I messed up, it was over. Counting down from three, I readied myself, and then I ran.

Crashing into Wicked, I knocked him over, sending him toppling into the cage. I slammed the door shut and flipped the lock before he launched himself at me with a snarl. I leaped back, but the bars and the door held fast as he shook it and roared. “Rowan! Open this right now.” For a moment, I was too shocked to move. I couldn’t believe that worked. And oh my gods, was he pissed.

I stepped forward to pick up the dagger that lay just outside the cage, beyond his reach. He lunged again, the entire cage shifting, and I nearly fainted from how hard my heart was beating.

“Rowan, open this right now,” he hissed. I held up the dagger with a shaking arm and shook my head. I needed to end this, but I couldn’t get near enough to slit his throat. Even if I could, I wasn’t sure if I could go through with it. It was one thing to tell yourself you’re going to kill someone and quite another thing to actually do it.

“Rowan!” he roared again, hurling his body at the bars. I had to get out of here. Now.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not sure what I was apologizing for and then turned and ran as fast as I could.

Once again on the run, I headed in the castle’s direction, hoping I’d find my way as I got closer. Otherwise, I’d have to find somewhere to hide. If he caught me, I was finished. He was furious. I prayed the cage would hold him. Clearly he’d intended it for the Reaper, who didn’t exactly sound like a kitten, so Wicked had to have made it pretty strong.

But strong enough to hold a seriously apoplectic Fae? Gods, I hoped so.

Running as fast as I could, I cast glances over my shoulder, terrified of seeing that familiar shape pursuing me. Would he catch me again? I pumped my arms and legs, dashing through the trees, a prayer on my lips.

Suddenly, I went flying, something wrapping around my legs. I crashed into the ground, a heavy weight landing on top of me. I kicked and screamed and thrashed, but he had me. A low growl came from his throat as he flipped me over and pressed me into the cold ground, seizing my wrists in his hands. Slamming them to the earth, I cried out as Wicked landed on top of me with all of his weight.

“Let me go!” I screamed, bucking and kicking. But he was solid and immoveable, and I was completely ineffective.

“Hold still,” he snarled. “I’m going to...” He trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

“What? You’re going to what?! Leave me in the woods in a cage as bait for the Reaper and leave me to die?!” I screamed so loud my voice cracked.

“That’s not what—” he said and I spit at him, saliva landing on his cheek and slowly sliding down. He growled and leaned over, bringing his face to mine, his big body pressing me into the cold ground. I writhed and fought and then suddenly stopped, my breath seizing.

Fuck. Wicked was as hard as a rock. I could feel his thick length where his hips pressed between my thighs, and heat rushed to my stomach. Our gazes met and his nose flared as I remembered what he’d said about his sense of smell. There was no doubt he could scent how wet I’d just become. Why was this so hot? I wanted to die right there of mortification.

For several long heartbeats, we stared at each other, our chests heaving, lightning sparking in the air between us. His dark expression was so intense, I thought it might melt me right into the forest floor.

A second later, he hauled himself up and pulled me to stand, clamping on to my wrist before he dragged me back through the forest. I’d never seen him this angry. It was obvious in the set of his shoulders and the way he ignored my protests while I stumbled to keep up.

Before long, we arrived back at the castle. He said nothing as he dragged me inside, shoved me into my cage and slammed the door. He didn’t move, holding on to the bars as he stared at me, his chest still puffing in and out. My own breath was coming in tight, short gasps.

“I hate you! I want to go home! How can you do this to me?”

Suddenly, he swung open the door and stormed in, coming to a stop so close I had to press myself into the wall to avoid touching him. His hands planted themselves on either side of my head and he leaned in, his hard body and his hard cock pressing against me, caging me in. I squirmed, the space between my thighs tightening in response. What the hell was wrong with me?

“You can’t be angry with me for trying to save myself,” I hissed. He moved his face closer, his expression a mask of fury. I was sure I was about to die.

Forget the Reaper, Wicked would be the source of my eternal undoing.

“I’m not angry with you,” he snarled and then he kissed me.

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