“She’s lovely,” I muttered, turning to walk past Rhys, only to find a blonde female stroking his arm silently, staring at me through malice-filled eyes.
“Problem, Remington?” Rhys asked softly, his eyes narrowing on me as I took in his meal with jealousy I couldn’t understand and didn’t care to examine.
She wasn’t just pretty; she was beautiful with a smooth, alabaster complexion. She wore a sheer red nightgown, uncaring that it exposed her ample breasts or landing strip between her thighs. Her hair fell in gentle waves to her hips, sexily mussed from hours of endless sex with Rhys. She lowered her hand, stroking over his crotch with ownership burning in her glare.
“Okay then,” I whispered, moving past him and his feeder. I started toward the bedroom, dismissing them both. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist as my chest rose and fell with an emotion I didn’t understand.
“Were you looking for something?” he asked softly.
“An escape hatch or the kitchen,” I swallowed, yanking my arm away from his grip. “In all the excitement of you guys getting back, and heading off to eat for hours, I wasn’t provided sustenance. Unlike you, I don’t eat from my dick. I need actual food, so after hours of listening to Miss Thang here scream your name to the bloody rafters, I decided to go looking for the kitchen to see if I could get something to eat. I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to walk around inside your home, my bad. I’ll return to my cell,” I growled, stomping off toward the staircase.
I entered the room, closing the door behind me, staring up at the newly fixed ceiling. I shed my clothes, heading toward the bathroom to shower. I grabbed my bag off the bed, tossing it onto the counter before moving to the shower to start the water. Seeing the stereo, I messed with the station, finding a soothing song before opening my bag.
Pulling out a pair of lounge pants and a soft white camisole top, I placed them onto the counter with plain white panties. My eyes studied my reflection, frowning. I was gaudy compared to the model-looking woman Rhys had healing him tonight. My hair was a mess, untamable on my best day, and naturally curly. It was a mass of red hues, along with blonde highlights oddly scattered throughout the mess of tresses.
I had porcelain skin but tanned easily enough in the summer months. But it wasn’t spring in the Pacific Northwest. That meant tanning or even sun for that matter was months away. My breasts were perky, but on the smaller side, barely filling a C-cup with the help of hormones. My electric-blue eyes were my saving grace, directing the eye away from the freckles that covered my nose and cheeks, adding to the redhead stereotype in which I fit perfectly.
Shucking my clothes, I moved into the shower, sliding beneath the blissful heat spray. I washed my hair, lathering it, and repeating the process. Once it was clean from the craptastic day I’d had, I smothered my hair in conditioner. Rinsing it out, my fingers ran down my body and paused over the swollen nipple Rhys had sucked on, nipping it with his teeth. He’d taken my piercings, the backup silver that never left my body in the event that I needed it.
Asshole.
I exited out of the shower, drying off before I slipped into my clothes. Quickly braiding my hair into two parted sections, I stared at my pale reflection, rubbing my eyes. Rolling my dirty clothes up, I put them into the second pocket of my backpack, and then pulled the knit shirt back out, moving toward the garbage to toss it in before exiting the bathroom.
Rhys was seated on my bed, shirtless. He lifted his head, letting his eyes slide down my frame before they moved back up slowly. He didn’t speak for a moment, swallowing past the heat burning in his gaze. I rolled my eyes, staring anywhere but at him and his magnificent body.
“What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be off feeding or something?” I snapped dismissively, moving to the other side of the bed, setting my bag down before the smell of cinnamon hit my nose.
Turning toward the small table, I took in the food covering it. My stomach growled, and I padded on bare feet toward it, pausing to take in the assortment of food. Fresh fruits, stuffed French toast, cinnamon rolls, and an array of meats and cheeses with fancy crackers covered the entire tabletop, with a single bottle of whiskey sat in the middle.
I grabbed a cinnamon roll, bringing it to my nose, inhaling the delicious scent of freshly baked bread. It wasn’t store-bought. Someone had actually made it from scratch! I bit into it, moaning around the mouthful before closing my eyes at the orgasm happening to my taste buds. Polishing it off without care that I had an audience, I reached over the food, grabbing the whiskey, pouring a glassful, and holding it to my nose before scrunching it up at the aroma.
I still failed to see why people did that, or what purpose it had. It would still taste the same whether I sniffed the crap before or after I downed the cup’s contents. I took a long drink, turning to gaze at the male watching me through narrowed eyes.
“They made this stuff from scratch?” I asked, uncertain how they had accomplished it since I’d been in the shower. The cinnamon rolls were hot, as if they’d just come out of the oven moments ago.
“I keep several cooks on staff, and this one was cooking for the staff’s children. They enjoy waking up to freshly made biscuits and bread in the morning. Eat another cinnamon roll, woman. You’re too skinny. Didn’t they feed you at E.V.I.E.?”
“I’m not skin and bones. Just because I don’t have curves like your feeder, it doesn’t mean I’m skinny. I’m average, which, by the way, works for me. I don’t need your damn approval,” I seethed, turning back to the ruined meal as a strange feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. “You can go.”
“Dismissing me?” he asked coldly.
“I am exhausted. You tried to strangle me today, and then I got to listen to you have sex for hours while I sat here starving. For the record, Van Helsing, I am mortal, as you should know since you keep throwing in my face. I need sustenance to maintain my mediocre figure, as you so delicately pointed out. I want my piercings back too. I weaken without silver, and your house seems to be lacking it.”
“Your figure is perfect. If I had tried to strangle you today, you’d be dead. I reacted badly, but I am a bit jaded where your bloodline and mine are concerned. I am sorry for overlooking the fact that you require food in my need to heal from my wounds. You aren’t getting your piercings back because I know exactly why you have them, and what they can do. As for the screaming, I was pretending the feeder was you, and I may have lost control a little bit. I wish I had fed from you, but being you’re not immortal yet, I didn’t wish to stress that I wanted to fuck you. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much choice in the matter without seeming like a complete asshole.”
“Oh,” I said breathlessly. “Look, I get that I’m not very knowledgeable about what is happening here. I’m not an idiot, though. I’m not as weak as you think I am. I could handle you, just for the record.” He smiled a lopsided grin, standing up as he tilted his head. “I didn’t mean right now. I’m not interested in sloppy seconds.”
“I wouldn’t take you after soiling myself on a feeder, Remington. You’re a woman. You deserve respect in that aspect. Considering the conversation with Nyx, you’ve never reached a climax with anyone but me?”
“We’re not having this conversation,” I blushed, turning toward the table, refilling my glass. “Whiskey? You should drink too because then your lips are busy and Lord knows those lips need to be busy… On drinking! They need to be busy drinking. Let’s get drunk. No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, we probably shouldn’t get drunk. I’m a pretty easy drunk, so we shouldn’t do that together. Shut up, Remington!” I shouted, turning horrified eyes on him. I watched his lips twitching as he fought laughter. “Drink?” I growled, holding out the bottle because fuck it, I wasn’t doing well around him.
“Are you always like this when you’re nervous?”
“I am not nervous,” I lied, turning away from his heated stare, embarrassment filling my cheeks. His hand grabbed my braid, pulling on it.
“You’re
nervous, and it’s cute, Remi. You are so innocent that it’s intriguing. Now sit down and eat, because I have it on good authority that you require food. I enjoy listening to you eat, as well.”
He grabbed a cup as I downed the second glass of whiskey, holding my glass out for more. His brow lifted as his eyes slid to my lips. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth, watching him pour a double shot into my glass.
“I’m sorry my family killed yours,” I stated softly, holding his surprised stare.
“I’m not sorry mine killed yours,” he returned, and I winced.
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about your mother. The Elizabeth I knew wouldn’t live in a hovel for even mere moments. She’d have found it beneath her. And those glyphs, what were they?” I swallowed, staring at him before I reached for a cinnamon roll, shoving the entire thing into my mouth as his eyes narrowed, and a smile tugged at his lips. “No moaning this time? What a shame. You make the most delicious noises, little one. Go to sleep. Tomorrow we will finish this conversation, and you’ll make me a sword to prove you are a Silversmith. Sweat dreams, and if you find me within them, do try not to suck my cock. I won’t let you finish me off the same way again. Next time I wake up with you sexually participating, I’m going to consider it an invitation to do more.”
Chapter Thirteen
I stared at the glass room in the enormous basement of the mansion. There was a large assembly of knights moving in and out of what appeared to be some kind of control room. Outside of that room was a long table with chairs around it, and big TVs covering several news outlets. Rhys had an entire surveillance room in his basement where he watched the outside world in high definition.
He had an amazing setup which was something I hadn’t expected. I’d known he’d be articulate with his men, but he was eerily efficient. Rhys wasn’t an alpha by mistake. The way he controlled the room and dominated it with his presence was proof of his status.
Today he’d forgone his suit and wore a faded shirt with dark, loose-fitting jeans. His boots were expensive Italian leather, designed with his family crest. He’d pulled his hair back away from his face, revealing his sharp, angular features. He’d also skipped shaving today, which made my fingers itch to trace the 5 o’clock shadow to see if it was as soft as it looked.
“How does this work?” he asked, and I smiled tightly.
“I normally create bullets, but you’ve asked for a sword which will take magic since silver is a soft metal. I’ll need copper, bronze, and silver. The room needs to have extreme temperature settings. It will take several hours at least to make a sword strong enough to wield against bone. It’s not a simple process by any means. I’ll have to melt the metal, cool it, form it, and then reheat it. At that point, it becomes tricky. I’ll use magic to enhance the blade with the Silversmith silver in the actual design, adding potency to the blade’s magic. I’ll then repeat the process until the final heating steps. After that, I’ll have to cool it slowly to reinforce the metal and ensure it doesn’t weaken in the process.”
“How many hours are we talking?” he asked, canting his head to the side, studying me.
“I’ve made two swords in my lifetime. One was a mistake that I melted down once I’d finished. The other is still being used today by Nyx. Unlike others in my line, any blade I create becomes infused with magic that adheres to the one who will wield it.”
“How does that work?”
“I’m different from others in our line. When they craft, it is merely Silversmith silver that is the end result. However, when I do it, something else is added to the weapon. Nyx’s sword molds into what she needs, and occasionally, it’s more penis-shaped than an actual blade she wields.”
His eyes narrowed, and a smirk replaced the frown on his mouth. Rhys turned my words over in his mind, and I saw his eyes burning with more questions, as if he found me a wealth of information. I now saw why Winchester was always telling me to shut my craw, as she called it.
“I can’t say how long because that depends on the metal, magic, and the room you provide. It looks pretty state-of-the-art and probably has everything I need. However, it isn’t my armory, and that will slow me down. If I was in my armory using my tools, probably four hours, max. However, I’m not, so I’d double that time.”
“Trust the process,” Nyx interjected, sliding up against him as she smirked at me. “Reporting for duty, hooker. I’ll be your captain today, buckle up, bitches. It’s about to get hot in here, so take them clothes off, and let’s work it, woman!”
I scrunched up my nose, pulling my shirt over my head to hand it to Nyx. She tossed it over her shoulder and wiggled her brows while holding out her hand. I looked down at my shirt, watching Nyx deflate as she huffed, moving to pick it back up, making a show out of folding it. I hooked my thumbs through the warm-up pants and pushed them down to reveal the tight spandex shorts I wore when I forged.
“And you’re wearing next to nothing. Why?” Rhys asked, turning to toss an irritated look at the knights and his brothers. There was a crowd gathering, slowly moving to sit around the table.
“Because the room is too hot for clothes,” I admitted, shrugging. “I can’t wear a bra because the wire would cause damage, and I prefer underwire bras or nothing else. Does my lack of clothing bother you?” I asked, lifting a brow with the question, crossing my arms over my chest, studying the tick in his jaw.
“You’re wearing a tank top that is showing off those perky nipples that I want to suck on. Your shorts, if you can even call them that, expose every curve of that tight little body, leaving very little to the imagination. It’s making me want to bend you over the nearest hard surface, spread those tight thighs apart, and fuck you hard. So, yes, Remington, your lack of dress is bothering me.” His gaze scorched a trail over my exposed flesh, leaving me in a smoldering pile of ashes at his feet.
“Yeah, so that happened, and it was hot!” Nyx announced, licking her lips as she hiked a thumb toward Rhys. “You need to say yes.”
“He wasn’t asking,” I argued, still holding Rhys’s heated stare.
“My word, Remi,” she chuckled, patting my cheek. “You’re so clueless it both hurts and endears you to me immensely. When a man says your lack of clothing makes him want to bend you over, that’s an invitation because he wants to do it, telling you about it in explicit detail. If he’s saying that, he’s literally imagined it in his mind a few times. So the word you’re looking for is oh, hell, yes.”
“That’s three words.”
“Point in case, I just drew you a map with crayons, and you’re worried about how many words I used!”
“I have to make a sword, and my brain is trying to focus on that at the moment!” I gritted out. I was trying to concentrate on the steps to make Rhys a sword that would knock his ego down a few pegs.
“He is offering you his sword!” Nyx argued, staring at me with a pointed look dancing in her eyes.
My attention turned, narrowing on Rhys, who was watching us argue about his so-called offer. His gaze dipped to my mouth where my teeth worried the plump bottom lip, and I imagined him moving to the table, bending me over it, and doing what he’d stated he would. A soft moan slipped past my lips, and I rolled my eyes for falling for Nyx’s overactive imagination.
“You just imagined him naked, fucking you! Oh,” she said, bouncing from foot to foot. “You’re growing up! My little girl is growing up! I couldn’t be more proud if you started making porn!”
My jaw dropped, and I shook my head, snapping myself back to reality. “That escalated quickly.”
“I went too far with the porn, didn’t I? I mean, it’s not like I think you should videotape it. At least not until you’re sure he won’t put it online. I have so many videos, but I mean, people know who I am, and that’s not bragging. Yeah, a few need to see certain parts before they believe it is me, but hey, a girl has to eat, after all. Right?” She took in my horrified expression and snorted. “Yeah, I lost you again, didn’t I?�
��
I rubbed my temples before counting to ten. “Let’s just begin, shall we?” I asked, not sure I ever wanted to look online again in my lifetime. There were just certain parts of your best friend you didn’t want to see, ever. “I will try not to take too long, but I do take pride in my work. Swords are a lot more work than arrows, arrowheads, or bullets. I don’t half-ass anything, Van Helsing. Also, no one should try to enter the room until I’ve hit the last cooling phase.”
I stepped into the room, closing it behind me, moving to the thermostat, and cranking it up to five-hundred degrees. Nyx started the timer, knocking her knuckles against the glass before I nodded, tying my hair up, preparing to work.
I grabbed the bars of metal, weighing each one before tossing them into the cauldron on the glowing coals. Sweat beaded on my neck, running down my temples as I peered up at the thermostat. My gaze swung to Nyx, who was watching me, her eyes slightly widening at the sight of sweat.
“Adjust it by forty minutes,” I said before grabbing the body patch that kept track of my temperature to slap it over my shoulder.
Rhys had a top-notch metalsmith room that was about to kick my ass. I placed the mold on the table before me, grabbing the cauldron without gloves or protection, and dumped the contents of the melted metals into the blade mold. Once I finished pouring, I set the cauldron down, pushing my bare hands into the ice-cold water set beside the table. I turned to gauge Rhys’s response outside the room. His eyes were locked on my hands as if expecting them to be charred.
After a few moments had passed, I poured cold water over the mold to solidify the metal. The hiss of steam comforted my mind, soothing over me as a soft smile played on my mouth. I loved creating weapons, but Winchester had warned me several times not to make anything other than ammo. Though, she had never told me why or what was so dangerous about the process.
Next, I pulled the glowing red blade from the fire and carefully placed it into the water, looking over the shape. I pulled it out quickly, and set it back onto the coals to keep the metal at the heated temperature I needed, placing it on a long table, grabbing the hammer beside me. I started shaping the sword slowly, pounding the hammer against it as sweat dripped down my face, sizzling against the glowing metal. I beat it slowly, forcing it into the correct shape, solidifying the metal together.
Bulletproof Damsel Page 11
