Page 104

STELLAN

Bryony stepped into the Blood King’s rooms with her hand still in mine.

I followed and waited for Harrowmere to reject me.

The door remained open. Warm light spread from two lamps beside a vast bed. Dark sheets had been turned back, a fire burned behind a metal screen and another door showed a bath lined with black stone.

My old rooms had returned without the dust, broken furniture or blood from the last night I used them. Harrowmere had repaired everything except the memories.

Bryony looked around once, then faced me. “Are you planning to stare at the furniture all night?”

“I haven’t stood in this room for a century. The last time I left it, Cecily was dead, half the court was injured and Edith was waiting with enough iron to keep me from returning. I expected Harrowmere to leave these rooms sealed even if every other chain opened.”

Her expression softened. “We don’t have to rush. I’m not pushing you into a bed that feels like another part of your prison. If being here is too much, we’ll go back to my room.”

“It isn’t too much. The rooms don’t feel the same, and I don’t want to go back.”

Bryony glanced at the bed. “Good. I had plans for that.”

I closed the door instead.

The lock settled with a solid click. Bryony’s gaze moved to my hand on the key, then back to my face. She didn’t step away when I approached.

“You said later,” I reminded her.

“It’s later.”

I caught her around the waist and kissed her. She opened for me at once, both hands sliding into my hair as I backed her against the door. The torn remains of my shirt caught between us. Bryony pulled the fabric apart and pushed it from my shoulders.

“I hated that shirt,” she said against my mouth.

“You could’ve mentioned it before three vampires cut holes in it.”

“I was busy.”

That was enough talking. I kissed her harder, lifting her until her legs closed around my hips. The red restraints stayed quiet under my skin. No chain stopped me carrying her across the room, and the freedom of it went straight to my cock.

Blood had dried along one side of her jumper and leggings. I set her on the edge of the bed and ran my hands over her arms, ribs and hips, checking for wounds I might have missed in the garden.

“Most of that belongs to the guards,” she said. “I’m not injured.”

“You’re covered in blood.”

“So are you.”

I looked towards the bath. “Then we deal with that first.”

Bryony caught my belt before I could move. “Don’t take long.”

I pulled her to her feet and led her into the next room.

Steam rose from a deep bath sunk into the floor. Harrowmere had left folded towels on a bench and filled the shelves with soap, oils and every other comfort denied to me while the chains held. I tested the water, found it hot and turned away from the taps. The court had done enough for one night.

I pulled Bryony’s bloodstained jumper over her head and worked the torn leggings down her hips. The ruined clothes dropped around her feet. She stepped out of them wearing the bra and black lace knickers Harrowmere had provided.

The bruises around her throat had darkened. I ran my thumb under the worst one without pressing.

“It looks worse than it feels,” she said.