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“Why?”
What could I possibly tell him? I feel unnerved by the possibility of Luce and Lilith returning. I am equally fearful of him running away again. Instead, I settle upon another sour lie. “I want to fuck you.”
The blush rising on his cheeks as well as the heady scent of arousal in the air shockingly disappoints me, though it fadesnear instantaneously when he shakes his head defiantly. “My body is too sore for you tonight.”
As he exits the room, my heart hammers in my throat. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, as if something is crawling beneath it. I believe he hates me for all I have done, all the lies and subterfuge. Somehow it hurts worse than being struck.
It has been what I’ve desired all along from Thorne. I wished him to break our pact, to despise me and fear me as the tormentor from Hell. A devilish marquis whose only purpose is to create pain. Yet, I’m disgusted with myself.
“What am I even doing?” I whisper as I place my head in my hands, feeling defeated.
Hawthorne
“Can we please stop?”Sweat clings to my skin, my tunic clings to my back, and my hair sticks to my cheeks.
Aamon considers me for a moment, glancing up and down my body as if taking stock of my exhaustion. “Not until you can make those flowers root.”
From the moment I woke up, Aamon tasked me with rooting the flowers in the vase from his room. So far, I have caused them to blossom, only for them to wilt moments later, and madethe room warm enough to be a greenhouse. The flowers have yet to sprout a singular root. There has been no praise for the accidental accomplishments, and instead it seems to only fuel his ire.
“Aamon, please,” I beg through panting. “I have had nothing to eat this morning, and I need a moment to breathe.”
The marquis cuts an annoying glare toward me from his position at his desk. “You have done nothing with the time today but whine.”
“I would whine less if you would allow me to rest and eat,” I say under my breath.
I couldn’t care less if he hears me at this point. It hardly matters. There is an understanding that within four days’ time, I will be returning to my realm. The longer I stay, the more my body will wither. I have already stayed in the underworld for two nights. Within a week’s time, a mortal body cannot last, it seems. Aamon assures me, however, that once I return, he will visit to continue this training, though without a host, he cannot stay long.
“You are the most annoying creature I have ever met.” Aamon snaps his fingers and, within moments, Berkley pops into the room. “Could you please make us some lunch before Thorne dies from starvation?”
His sarcastic tone is not lost on me at all, though Berkley gives me a subtle smile that tells me he understands my dilemma. It’s very likely he has experienced grueling and laborious days under Aamon’s command for many centuries.
“Yes, sir,” he says before zipping out of the room once more.
Finally gaining a small reprieve, I find space in a comfortable white chair to sit on in the opposite corner of the room near the television. My body immediately turns gelatinous as my muscles relax. I can feel Aamon’s eyes watching me, though I give him no satisfaction. Instead, I shut my eyes with a relieved sigh.
“Don’t sleep, Thorne. We have too much to do.” There is no bite to his words; instead, they seem compassionate compared to the brutal orders he’s been giving all morning long.
A contented smile edges over my lips, and I hum briefly as heaviness takes over my eyelids. “I promise you I’ll stay awake.”
It’s a white lie that I feel safe in telling. I know shortly Berkley will return with food for us both. I’ll eat it dutifully with the understanding that rigorous training will continue. I feel sleep tug at my limp body; I hear the telltale noise of Berkley entering the room again.
I open my eyes to the desk covered in various plates. There are tea saucers with matching cups and pot. I see fruit, dried meats, cheeses and fried pastries. My stomach growls loudly at the sight of the meal. Aamon is lounging back in his chair with closed eyes until I stand. As his eyes open, we give one another a cursory nod as he rights himself.
“Thank you, Berkley,” I say as I appraise the meal set before us. “It’s gorgeous! You’ve outdone yourself.”
Berkley snorts skeptically. He waves a hand as if to tell me it was nothing, saying only “thank you.” He zips back into the ether, leaving Aamon and me alone once again.
“What happened to you not sleeping?” Aamon raises an eyebrow, though his tone says he’s jesting and truly couldn’t care.
I’m unsure how I feel about this newfound lightheartedness that’s growing between us. Still, the words fly from my lips, “And what about yourself? I think I heard you snore.”
Hiding the laughter that’s tugging at my lips, I grab a piece of fruit, absentmindedly popping it into my mouth. The flavors burst on my tongue, and I relish the taste with a hum of approval.
“I don’t snore.”
“Of course not. The marquis of hell surely would never.” I hide another chuckle as I shovel more food inside my mouth, as though it will keep it at bay. Though the marquis surely sees it and says nothing.
We continue in easy silence until the entire meal is finished, leaving only dregs of tea in the pot and grape stems behind. It’s no surprise that the moment we finish, Aamon has returned to his previous righteousness. Standing, he immediately snaps his fingers for me to do the same.
