Текст книги "Darkest distiny"

Автор книги: Pepper winters

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter Twenty

FUCK, IT WAS BAD THIS TIME.

Worse than bad.

They knew. They had to know I’d finally welcomed a woman into my home.

I thought they’d be happy. That they’d give me a reprieve from the steady drip of burning agony—so I’d actually have the energy to have sex.

Hadn’t they wanted a scenario like this?

They wanted me to get close to someone—to break my steadfast rule never to condemn a child of mine to this endless suffering.

I could’ve raped the invaders they sent my way. I could’ve turned into an absolute monster and had my fill with hundreds of women, but...I didn’t.

Not because I liked being a twenty-nine-year-old celibate virgin but because I refused to take even the slimmest chance that I could get one of them pregnant.

I’d geld myself before that ever happened.

They’d even slipped drugs into my system when I was at the height of puberty—designed to override my stubbornness and make me burn with lust. That level of pain had been almost unbearable, and if Whisper hadn’t been there to chase away the girls who tried to sneak into my bed, I might have done something very regretful.

At least they’d stopped trying to make me perform like a human stallion, yet I couldn’t understand why the pain was excruciatingly bad.

My veins scorched to dust.

My blood transformed into flames.

My heart pounded faster and faster, reaching that critical moment that triggered the vitalsync core to dose me with a sedative.

My teeth clenched so hard I almost cracked them. Sweat poured down my back from misery.

I tried to decide what would be better: keep fighting and hope the pain would fade? Or let my heart trip over that warning line and get knocked out?

But she was in my home.

She was in my living room, far, far too close to my bedroom, where I choked on guttural screams.

If I passed out with her here...she could do anything to me.

Perhaps they were trying to knock me out so I would be at her mercy.

They’d use some new trick to harvest, not only my blood, but my sperm too, stealing my DNA in a different form to create the life I refused to condemn. Not that they’d gone that far yet. Or at least...I hadn’t been conscious if they had.

A blast of pain.

A punch of agony.

The world went grey—

Chapter Twenty-One

“OW.” I HELD UP MY HANDS and counted the blisters forming.

I’d never had the courage to tell anyone this, but...I’d never had a blister before. Never done menial labour—apart from that short time in Vietnam—that would ever result in such afflictions.

But today?

Today was my very first taste of domestication and...I didn’t hate it.

In fact, I was still standing, even as the sun set. I was still coherent as I went around Lucien Ashfall’s private quarters and turned on the lamps and lanterns. Even when I was younger and my parents were still alive, I hadn’t done well in the corporate environment.

I would function enough to work in my assigned office. I’d help compile research and perform whatever tasks my parents asked me to do, but I’d almost always end the day in a stupor from dealing with people, computer screens, and weighty responsibilities.

But this?

Cleaning had almost allowed my mind to turn off. Dusting his shelves, tidying up his books, mopping the floor. I didn’t enjoy it exactly, and my lazy tendencies urged me to sit down and have a nap, but I was actually a little proud of myself.

I’d actually achieved something.

I hadn’t passed out.

And now, I’m very hungry.

My stomach growled for the hundredth time. Lucien hadn’t returned after telling me to get to work this morning and I hadn’t had the courage to steal anything from his cupboards, but...I also didn’t have the courage to leave without his permission.

I might not be afraid of him, but I also didn’t want to see what sort of punishment he’d come up with if I disobeyed him.

So that left only one option.

Flicking back my hair that’d fallen over my shoulder while polishing the chessboard set—all the pieces neatly back in the wooden box beside it—I collected the rag and bottle and made my way back into the kitchen.

I hadn’t had time to tackle that room yet and my entire body ached at the thought.

Wine.

I perked up.

Wine would make everything better.

Especially the delicious flavours that existed in Cinderkeep.

Dumping the rag and citrus-scented disinfectant on the bench, I headed toward the fridge and opened it. The shelves groaned with food. Fresh melons and strawberries, roasted chicken, cold meats, colourful vegetables, protein shakes, and prepacked soups. My stomach snarled again as I opened the container holding pre-cut celery sticks, scooped up some hummus, and grabbed a handful of strawberries.

Devouring my little feast, I spied one of those earthen jars full of floral wine that I’d become rather fond of.

Excellent.

Plopping the last strawberry into my mouth, I grabbed the jar, nudged the fridge closed with my hip and went hunting for a glass.

Footsteps padded behind me, heavy and soft.

My heart pounded, delivering an instant headache as I whirled around and almost dropped the wine. “Haven’t you heard of employment laws?” I blurted. “I deserve a break and—” I exhaled heavily. “Oh, thank God, it’s just you.”

Whisper blinked, eyeing up the wine in my hands as if he knew exactly what I was doing—raiding his master’s supplies.

“Shoo.” I smiled. “This is for humans only.”

Moving past him, I tried one of the drawers, finding plates and bowls but no glasses.

Whisper followed me, pressing his nose against my hip.

“Are you hungry too?” I opened another drawer.

Aha!

Snatching a crystal glass, I uncorked the jar and splashed clear alcohol into it. Tart pear hit my nose. Perfect. That was one of my favourites. Where did Lucien and his prison guards get this stuff? If they sold them in supermarkets, I would definitely have a drinking problem because they were far too delicious.

Bringing the glass to my lips, I closed my eyes to enjoy the first mouthful and—

Fell on my ass as Whisper knocked me over.

Wine splashed all over me, soaking into my white shirt, turning it see-through and revealing—just like I didn’t like tight clothing—I didn’t like restrictive lingerie. The silk camisole I wore underneath plastered to my skin just like my shirt, making me shiver with icy shock.

“What are you doing, you silly thing?” Pushing the giant predator off me, I tried to climb to my feet, but Whisper pushed me again, his giant head against my wet chest, scooting me along the floor.

“Hey!”

He didn’t stop using me as a mop, pushing me around the island and toward another door in the distance that led to an area I hadn’t been bold enough to explore.

Backing away, Whisper gave me just enough time to stagger to my feet before grabbing the material of my linen trousers and jerking me forward.

I tripped.

My hand landed on his shoulder blades, feeling muscles working beneath sleek fur. “What’s wrong?” I asked, having no choice but to go where the panther yanked me. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

Whisper growled and carted me like a dead gazelle under the archway, down another corridor, and through a cracked open doorway.

I stumbled inside and froze.

Black damask covered the high walls, black velvet drapes blocked the falling dusk, and only a few lamps lit the space. Tucked against the far wall, with nothing else around it as if surrounded by a moat of darkness, was his bed.

“You can’t bring me in here,” I hissed, trying to wrench free from Whisper’s teeth. “This is his bedroom. He’ll kill me if—”

A masculine groan, long and low.

In the gloom, my eyes adjusted, locking onto Lucien Ashfall sitting in the middle of his black-shrouded bed. Cross-legged as if he’d been meditating, his hands clutched his knees until his knuckles turned white. Shirtless, his chin dug against his bare chest, his lean muscles etched with a golden glow, and a silver disc glinting over his heart.

Whisper pulled me forward.

My gaze locked on that strange metallic circle looking so odd against his skin. Further away, it’d looked like a large pendant with no chain, but up close, it was embedded into his flesh. Inserted like some morbid jewellery, his skin raw around the edges. Angry red veins crawled from it, spiderwebbing outward.

What on earth—?

The lamps made his collarbones sharp as daggers; his skin glistened with sweat as he panted. His blue-black hair dangled over his cheeks and his eyes squeezed tight. Breathing hard, he trembled and quaked, agony bleeding out of him with every tremor.

The silver cuffs I’d glimpsed a few times shackled his wrists as terrible as handcuffs. They bit into him, tight and cruel, matching the awful mess of that silver plate inserted directly above his heart.

Whisper whined as I came to a stop beside Lucien’s bed, his tail flicking with worry.

What was happening? What did this mean?

What’s wrong with him?

“Are you...alright?” The words came out ridiculously quiet against his savage groan of despair. He didn’t seem conscious. Didn’t look up or open his eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” I glanced at the panther, wishing he spoke English. “What do you expect me to do?”

Whisper cocked his head, his ears flattening. He showed a hint of fang as if adopting his master’s way of making me do things.

Stroking his scruff, I locked down my nervous system as it tried to give me a migraine. I wasn’t equipped for this. I would never have the constitution necessary to be a doctor or nurse and counted myself lucky I wasn’t passed out on the floor, but...the way Whisper watched his suffering master broke my heart.

How long had they lived together?

How had a panther ended up here, in this place, with him?

Gritting my teeth against the rush of nausea, I backed up. “I’ll, eh, I’ll go and get him a glass of water, okay?”

Whisper grunted warningly as I tried to leave.

“I’ll be right back, I promise. I-I’ll get him something to drink and—”

Lucien cried out, buckling over his knees and digging his fingernails into his black loose trousers. Every muscle in his stomach and arms bunched and shook with pain. Another groan followed by a guttural gasp.

My headache exploded. My vision went grey.

I staggered backward as the room spun.

Too much stress. Too much confusion.

Why was he hurting so much? What could help him? Why was no one here to tend to him—

Lucien’s head suddenly tipped back as the strange silver disc over his heart flashed with a green light then a red.

He roared.

Tears stung my eyes. My knees went to give out.

Whisper shot behind me, pressed his giant head against the small of my back, and shoved me forward.

I went flying.

Onto the bed, onto Lucien.

Our bodies collided and my weight sent him sprawling backward. His eyes snapped open as my wet shirt plastered against his blazing bare chest.

The world contracted to his heat burning into me and the frantic thud of his heart, trapped beneath that silver circle.

Comprehension flooded him that he was no longer suffering alone as our eyes locked. His pupils were too wide, the whites tainted with red.

He sucked in a harsh breath as his legs kicked out from their cross-legged pose. I lay over him, jostled with every move he made. I tensed as parts of him pressed against parts of me. His heat. His trembles. His overwhelming maleness.

Baring his teeth, he clamped his hands on my waist as if to throw me off. He sucked in another breath that sent him convulsing with yet more pain.

I stiffened on top of him, too frightened to move, too dizzy to fight.

We were flush. Hips to hips, chest to chest, lips so close—

For a second, everything seemed to stop. The air thickened. Pain paused.

His eyes dove into mine, sharp and cutting.

But then, he froze.

His trembling stopped for a moment as surprise arched his eyebrows.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, skating over my face as if searching for something. “How...how are you doing that?”

I licked my lips, trying to swim through the syrup my thoughts had become.

“Doing what?” My voice cracked, too soft and breathy thanks to the chaos he caused inside me.

He stared as if he couldn’t look away. “The pain—” He cut himself off. Every muscle in him shuddered, as if having me lying on top of him broke a thousand of his rules. His heartbeat hammered against mine, trapped by that awful silver disc, skipping and syncing with mine, making my broken system misfire.

“Who are you?” he snarled, his hands digging painfully into my sides. “Why can you—?” He cut himself off again as if afraid of whatever answers I might give.

Hyperawareness sizzled between us.

I felt every inch of him beneath me. I’d never been this close to a man before. Never known how utterly addictive it would be to feel both terrified and teased—drawn into the danger of him, the unpredictability of him—realising in the most instinctive part of me how vulnerable I was if he decided to hurt me.

The sheer strength of his body beneath mine made me stupidly aware of how different we were but how perfectly we fit together.

Another flush of energy pulsed—alive and volatile—a current running through him and directly into me.

His fingers flexed around my waist.

He glowered at my mouth again.

Heat radiated off him in waves, and everything became too hot, too intense, too much.

Almost as if he felt it too, he pushed me up with impressive strength. “Get off me.”

I blinked, trying to get my body back under control.

He hissed as I fumbled over him, my leg going between his. My hip pressed against something unmistakably male.

He groaned as his eyes snapped closed. But then they opened again and he snarled, “It’s just another fucking trick.” He shoved me upright. He went to toss me aside, but another bone-breaking shudder wracked him.

His arms gave out.

I slammed over him again.

My breasts pressed against that awful silver thing inlaid in his chest. My raindrop pendant clinked against it—

He convulsed.

With a guttural roar, his arms snapped tight around me.

He jerked me close, explosive and vicious.

Rolling me onto my back, he went with me, plastering me beneath him as his burning bulk settled between my legs. With a moan, he buried his face against my neck.

I gasped as he panted and shuddered over me.

His weight. His embrace. He anchored me down and trapped me in every way possible.

I’d thought I was fragile lying on top of him.

But it was nothing to being beneath him.

I felt both breakable and formidable. Chosen and condemned.

His heart thundered as his hot, burning body fed me the fire in his blood, showing me just how much pain he was in.

His scent surrounded me—bitter and medicinal.

My hands somehow found their way onto his naked back. He arched beneath my touch, gathering me tighter against him as if he wanted to merge us into one. His muscles spasmed along his sweaty spine as he shuddered with another rack of pain.

Whisper whimpered from the floor, watching everything.

I’d never been so scared or so sad.

His despair seeped into me, searing and endless. He burrowed into me as if trying to escape. The more his pain bled into me, the more I wanted to steal it from him. To take it all. To save him.

My arms wrapped around his waist of their own accord. “It’s okay,” I breathed, voice trembling. “You’re okay.”

He clutched me harder, brutal in his need. Our pulses tangled. Our breaths collided. My body betrayed me with heat and want and an ache that had nothing to do with mercy.

Pity turned to yearning. Fear to fire.

He clung to me with cruelty and desperation—like someone who feared they’d cease to exist the moment he let go.

And I let him.

For the longest time, we didn’t move—two strangers merged in the most intimate of embraces. Our bodies kissing in every place. Our breath syncing until he calmed. Rights and wrongs, boundaries and laws—they all vanished thanks to whatever this was.

Piercing clarity cut through my headache as his arms slowly loosened.

I had absolutely no idea how it’d happened but...for the first time since my parents had died, my atrophied heart cracked.

The tiniest fracture in my pain.

The smallest opening to care again.

I couldn’t stop it.

Couldn’t stop him.

And I knew without a doubt, I would never be the same again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

HE PUSHED OFF ME SLOWLY, SHAKILY, almost as if he was about to collapse.

I went to help him—general human kindness flaring to life instead of the terrifying new feelings he’d caused, but he removed my hand from his bare chest and swayed off the bed.

Whisper almost knocked him down again as the panther nuzzled Lucien’s hip, twining around him. His stiff tail almost reached Lucien’s messy, sweaty hair.

“Enough, you stupid beast.” Staggering to the side, Lucien wedged a hand over the silver circle on his chest and moved slowly toward the huge wardrobe. The hulking piece of furniture looked like it would eat him alive with its clawed feet and carved wooden doors.

Whisper trailed after him, head down and body tense as if ready to catch his master if he fell.

I didn’t say a word as Lucien opened the wardrobe, leaned against it for a moment, then reached inside for a floor-length black dressing gown.

His jaw tensed as if it took far more strength than he had to slip the robe over his shoulders, shove his arms into it, and tie the sash around his waist. The luxurious black robe transformed him from a modern-day man into some ancient exotic prince.

Scooting to the edge of his bed, I plucked away my wine-wet shirt and stood.

Raking both hands through his long hair, Lucien turned to face me.

Warily, wearily, his eyes met mine.

The world shrank to just him and me and this room and whatever had just happened between us.

“Are you...okay?” I asked quietly.

“Leave,” he murmured, his voice raspy and tattered.

Moving toward him, questions exploded out of me. “What’s that thing embedded in your chest? What are those cuffs around your wrists? Why do you smell like really potent medicine yet seem to be on death’s doorstep? What—?”

“Once again, your noise is offensive.” His fingers clenched into fists. Straightening to his full impressive height, he stalked toward me, the panther at his side.

I backed up a step.

I couldn’t help it.

The way he moved, the predator guarding him, he couldn’t be real.

None of this could be real because I couldn’t understand any of it.

Couldn’t understand how he could affect me so desperately.

He seemed invincible yet tragically vulnerable. He had the skills to kill those trying to kill him, yet he’d almost died in my arms five minutes ago.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, my temper bleeding through common sense. “Tell me—”

“Leave,” he snarled.

“But you’re hurt—”

“GO. AWAY!” He surged toward me, fury in his eyes, teeth bared.

Whisper snarled—at him or me, I couldn’t tell.

My stress levels shot to blackout levels.

My heart palpitated.

My eyesight blinded with white spots.

And I had two choices.

Pass out at his feet.

Or run.

I fled.

* * * * *

“Oh my God, you’re still not dead?”

I almost fell flat on my face as I charged out of the palace and into the night. Evelyn was the only one still waiting for an audience with Lucien that would probably never come.

Balling my hands and trying to hide my trembles, I marched past her.

Her eyes dropped from mine, landing on the plastered wetness of my shirt. “Wait...did you sleep with him? Why can I see your boobs? Why are you wet?”

My cheeks caught fire as I looked down. The sheer fabric barely covered anything, revealing just how cold I was and allowing a good estimate of what bra size I would need if I ever chose to wear one.

Snatching at the linen shirt and cami beneath, I yanked the wine-sodden fabric away. “It was an accident, that’s all.”

My head pounded, pounded.

I needed to lie down. As soon as possible.

“An accident?” She came toward me, anger flaring in her dark stare. “An accident that involved pouring water on yourself? What were you trying to do? Win a wet t-shirt contest?”

“I’m leaving,” I muttered, dashing past her to the stone steps.

Nausea hunted my every move.

I couldn’t stop replaying Lucien yelling at me.

His anger wasn’t new. It shouldn’t affect me whatsoever.

Yet after what’d happened between us...

“Wait.” Whirling to face me, her temper cracked just a little. Her performance of being a badass assassin faltered as she glanced at the hulking mansion. “Is he...what’s it like in there?”

My mind skipped over the long day of cleaning and the horrible realisation that Lucien Ashfall lived in a resplendent estate tucked in the English countryside, yet he dwelled in the middle of it—trapped in living quarters that were more of a jail than a palace.

“It’s fine.” I charged down the stairs, my headache crushing.

“Is he okay?” she asked, following me like a bad smell.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” I kept my head down so she wouldn’t see the truth that I’d fallen on top of him thanks to his bloody panther, only to end up flat on my back with him pressed against me.

“I’ve heard rumours he’s not well.”

“He seemed perfectly okay to me.”

As if I’d tell you anything.

“What else happened?” she asked, not letting me leave. “Aside from the accident.”

No way did I want her following me back to my pavilion or seeing me pass out in the garden if I didn’t make it home fast enough. I spun to face her, gritting my teeth against the rush of vertigo. “Nothing happened.”

“Something happened.”

“I did some cleaning for him. That’s it.”

“Cleaning?”

I crossed my arms, flinching against the wet fabric. “Look, I’m tired, hungry, and not feeling very well. I don’t have to answer your questions, so—”

“Is he dying?”

“What?” Words stuck in my throat. “W-Why would you ask that?”

She shrugged. “He looked in pain the last time I saw him. Coupled with the rumours that he passes out a lot...it’s only natural to wonder if he’s terminal.”

“He passes out a lot?”

God, empathy and pity and a whole lot of trouble gushed through me.

The agony on his face. The trauma in his voice.

Back in his bedroom, he’d seemed moments away from begging death to take him. His despair had been so thick, it’d choked both of us. His pain was a living entity, devouring him alive but...that wasn’t my story to tell. He couldn’t afford to look weak because then the vultures would arrive, and circle more than they already were.

I might not understand him. I might have very confusing thoughts about him. And I might wish every moment to get out of this place, but...I wasn’t a gossiper and for some reason, he’d given me a smidgen of trust.

If I stood any chance of getting out of here, it was most likely through him so...I’d be loyal to my unofficial, slave-driving employer, and keep his secrets.

I met Evelyn’s eyes, hoping my ability at lying had improved.  “He’s absolutely fine. As far as I know, there’s nothing wrong with him. And now, if you don’t mind, I really have to go. It’s been a long, long day.”

I ran before she could stop me.