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He tossed the cash at the man and caught the girl’s arm, dragging her toward the door.
“You in town on business?—”
“No talking.”
He’d had a productive few days and managed to commandeer a vehicle and some new clothes. There had been no sign of his mate, but Cerberus was used to biding his time. He’d find her eventually, and when he did, he’d make her pay for any delays.
The girl sat in the passenger seat silently as he drove. Her questions visibly built, but under his compulsion, she was unable to verbalize a single moan.
She had Lilias’s pale skin, but her hair lacked the sienna hues that lived in his memory. Ritual was important. Cerberus valued attention to detail.
Pulling into the parking lot of a corner apothecary, he shut off the car. She looked at him with worry in her eyes. The phantom scent ofher anxiousness gave the air a bite. Pungent with metallic nuances similar to a sharp-scented onion cooking into a sweet broth. Like a goodbéchamel, the longer she simmered, the richer her flavor would be in the end.
Lifting a strand of hair from her shoulder he stilled and scowled. “What is this?”
Compelled to stay silent, she couldn’t answer, so he tugged the synthetic strand, yanking it free from her scalp.
“Artifice.” He threw the plastic strands on the floor.
Her brows pinched as her jaw trembled.
Jerking her over the center console, he sifted through her hair, finding several tracks stapled close to her skull. Fury built at the sense of being deceived, and he shoved her hard into the door.
“Take them out before I get back. Do not leave this car.”
The bright artificial lights of the pharmacy irritated his eyes. After centuries underground, one developed a deep appreciation for darkness, so he often donned sunglasses regardless of the time of day.
Finding the proper color of hair dye was a simple task with today’s conveniences. Nothing like it used to be for women with all the lead, ochre, and horse piss. Once he paid for his goods, he returned to the vehicle. The woman sat where he left her, now holding a nest of fake black hair on her lap.
Cerberus drove to the hotel. As soon as theywere alone, he stripped her of her clothing and gave her the box of hair dye.
She looked up at him with concern.
“Follow the directions. Then bathe. Come to me when you’re finished.”
He shut her inside the bathroom and stretched out on the large bed, folding his hands behind his neck, his mind retracing those familiar recollections of the one female that still haunted him to this day.
Lilias…
The mere mention of her name hit like a sweet opiate, and he calmed. Sometimes he hated her. Sometimes he loved her. But he never lost the urge to punish her.
She was always with him, tucked deep in the secret corners of his mind. His psyche had more fractures than the soldiers who lay dead at the Battle of Assandun, so perhaps he’d rewritten the truth over time and misremembered minor details, but her face and beauty were forever branded on his black soul.
Whether thinking of her fondly or enraged by the memories, his heart—to his annoyance—obsessed over what he could not have. Indulging in his fantasies never delivered the satisfaction of reality, but he did what he needed to do whenever he felt the urge to get her out of his head.
She was a spring flower on the coldest winter days. Her potent scent of ripe innocence enchanted him. But she had not been for him. She’d been a gift for the king.
As the King’s most trusted guard, Cerberus had been privy to the immoral and often perverse happenings at court. He not only served King Charles as a loyal guard, but he also protected His Majesty’s secrets. As a guardian of so many precious things, it only made sense that Cerberus would be entrusted with protecting Lilias as well.
Stretching out on the hotel bed, he folded his hands behind his head. His mind went back to that time when life was fresh and promising. He had yet to experience the duplicity of females, so he had not expected Lilias to be such a conniving little cunt.
Charles satin the shadows of the opened wardrobe, his thin fingers prattling slowly over the gilded arm of his chair.
“You found her?” the King said by way of greeting, his thin lips curling about his blunt teeth with palpable anticipation.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Mud and blood still dripped from Cerberus’s heavy boots, so he did not fully enter the king’s private chambers.
“Did she put up a fight?” Born a weak and sickly child, the King maintained fragile health all his life and a deep respect for Cerberus’s strength and immortality.
