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It’d been too long. Far, far too long since I’d been inside her.
Despite the misery of the new jewels and the horror that I couldn’t do a damn thing to save them, all I could think about was kissing her. The moment our eyes met, and all her fire tangled with mine—the second her slur burned my blood…all my self-control sizzled into rusty dust.
Only her.
Just her.
No one else had the power to invoke such heat inside me. Such an uncontrollable combustion that seared around my despair, set alight all my blackness, and gave me a reprieve…just for a moment.
And that tear?
Are you fucking kidding me?
I went past blazing and straight to conflagration.
I didn’t stop jogging until we reached the castle’s east corner. Ily slowed beside me as I eyed up the large portico with potted manicured trees flanking yet another door. Unlike the modern sliding doors leading from the ballroom and dining hall, this one looked ancient. The heavy wood pockmarked and chipped as if some long-ago invader tried to hack at it with an axe.
I had no idea where it led, but I wanted privacy.
I needed Ily alone.
Now.
She didn’t say a word as I yanked open the door, and we stumbled into a room.
Vaulted ceilings, swept-back bronze curtains, metallic threaded tapestries, and a giant amethyst geode all glittered in the soft glow of two huge chandeliers.
And the best part…it was empty.
Pulling Ily deeper into the room, the outside door banged shut, wrapping us up in the silence of stone, plush tan leather couches, a huge fireplace with stone foxes, and rugs thick enough to sleep on.
Guiding her to one of the couches, I pushed her down and sat close enough for our knees to touch.
I went to speak, but she tipped up her chin, and her eyes flashed with gold. “Do you know this is the first time you’ve sat me on a chair like a normal person instead of making me sit by your feet like a dog?”
I frowned, ready to argue.
I needed to argue.
Arguing could be the lifeline to pull myself out of the swamp I’d fallen into.
I choked on all the things I wanted to say, but the shackles of shadow slowly came back, trickling through my mind, gifting me yet more memories that I’d blocked out.
I’d accepted her kneeling by my feet—not because Victor expected his jewels to assume such a subservient position but because…I’d been raised that way.
I’d watched my father snap his fingers and witnessed how our mothers would crawl for him. I’d often filled up a dog bowl at his command, cutting up pieces of decadent food that they had to eat face first and ass up.
I groaned and rubbed my eyes.
How could I tell her that those memories were no longer forgotten thanks to trauma-amnesia protecting me? That they were now brightly lit and centre stage in my head? How could I confess that the longer I stayed here, the more my past knitted with my present and made all this so normal for me?
So fucking normal, which only made my grief so much worse.
Because I didn’t want this normal.
I didn’t want Ily on the floor.
I didn’t want her jumping at my every command.
