Rapture (Hades Castle Trilogy Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

  “I’m going to get answers out of you.” He slid his hands under my bum and lifted me up, then positioned me face down, hips over the pillows, arse in the air. “An interrogation.”

  “Is this how you torture all your captives?”

  “Not at all. But you can keep your mouth closed until you’re ready to tell me where you learned magic.”

  As my head rested on the bed, I felt him tying my wrists together behind my back. I should protest, and yet maybe this wasn’t the worst way to be interrogated.

  Samael moved behind me, one knee on either side of my thighs. He reached for the straps of my nightgown, pulling them down until the neckline was below my breasts. Cool castle air hit my back, and I ached to feel his hands on me. My nipples hardened to sensitive points.

  With an excruciatingly light stroke, he brushed his fingertips over my ribs, beneath my breasts—slow, light circles, scorching. Each stroke of his fingertips was torture, his addictive touch was making my breasts feel fuller, hypersensitive, even though he wasn’t touching them. As I arched my back, my breasts grazed against the silk sheets, up and down, my nipples aching to be touched. I turned my head against the mattress.

  “You want to know how I learned magic?” I said breathlessly. “I didn’t.”

  “Where does the magic come from?”

  “From the earth, I think.”

  “Good. There’s some truth at last.” His thumbs brushed over my hypersensitive nipples. My toes curled, body clenching with need, and I gasped.

  He leaned down over me, hands on either side of my head. He’d taken off his shirt, and his bare chest pressed against my back, warming my bare shoulders. The ache between my legs was so intense I could think of nothing but him filling me.

  “You want more of me, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  With a sharp tug, he yanked the hem of my nightgown up, and the air kissed my bare thighs. I was helpless before him, my hips thrust up toward him.

  “Then tell me what you are.” He traced a single fingertip down my spine, leaving incinerating heat in its wake. I wanted him to stroke every inch of my body, but I didn’t have the answers he was looking for.

  “I don’t know.”

  With a slow, lazy touch, he ran a finger down to the edge of my underwear. His fingertips swept around, tracing around my waist to the hollow of my hips. My body buzzed for him, electrified.

  “I don’t know,” I said again. I just wanted him inside me.

  But he was drawing this out. His hand skimmed back around my hip, around my thigh. He traced slowly up and down my inner thigh with the back of his knuckles.

  God, I needed more contact. I felt my legs widening. My breath came faster, pulse racing. I needed to feel him between my legs.

  He was moving higher, but it was deliberately slow. He was trying to drive me insane.

  “Samael,” I whispered.

  “You’ll get what you need only when you give me what I need. What are you?”

  At last, he grazed his fingertips gently over the silk between my legs. A low, trembling moan escaped my lips. I was slick with desire for him. To my frustration, he kept his touch excruciatingly soft, torturing me. As he stroked the silk between my legs, my nipples continued to brush against the sheets beneath me. My body was shaking in desperation for him, hips moving against him for more contact. He pulled his hand away again.

  One hand gripped my hair, holding me right where he wanted me. The other was tracing lightly, tormenting me. At last, he pulled down my underwear—one inch at a time.

  Panting, I cried out his name.

  My eyes snapped open, and I found myself alone, catching my breath. One of my hands was in my underwear, and I’d been sleeping on top of the covers. Morning light streamed in through the window. Disoriented, I sat up and looked around my room. The banner was still hanging on the wall, in one piece. Disappointment pierced me.

  I pulled my hand away. No, it was good that it was just a dream. Samael, after all, wasn’t willing to admit that he liked me.

  That arrogant angel bastard had really gotten in my head, which was deeply annoying. And concerning. I wondered if the more I kissed him, the more addicted I’d become to his touch.

  If I was going to get by in the dangerous world of the Fallen, I couldn’t lose myself to sexual obsessions.

  Flinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stood to head for the bathroom. I’d be taking a very cold bath before I met with Samael again this morning.

  And then, I’d try to find out exactly what the fuck I was.

  20

  Lila

  One breakfast and two cold baths later, I was walking with Samael outside. Even after the ice water, I could not bloody stop thinking about that dream. Three times he’d caught me staring at him, and each time, my face would burn furiously.

  But I’d keep this secret well hidden.

  As we walked, my mind was dazed, foggy. Completely sleep deprived. The cold wind bit at my skin, but the sun shone brightly today. I pulled my cloak tight.

  The good news was that the fatigue was dulling my fluttering nerves over the upcoming conversation with Mum. Telling her that her natural-born daughter had faked her own death and joined a murder cult was not something I’d particularly enjoy. Especially considering Mum was newly sober now, and wouldn't drift off in a gin haze. The horror of it all would be sharp.

  As we walked through the sun-drenched streets toward the priory, Samael cut me a sharp look. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

  My cheeks flamed, but I schooled my features. “Looking at you like what?”

  “With so much intensity. What sort of schemes and machinations do you have in mind now? You’re always plotting something, aren’t you?”

  Oh, nothing. Just schemes involving silk restraints and your hands on me.

  I cleared my throat. “You told me you’re dangerous. Just keeping my eye on you in case you snap and try to kill me.”

  “How do you envision that fight playing out, should it come down to it?”

  “Perhaps I’d summon a tree branch to strangle you.”

  He stopped abruptly, turning to me. “How? This particular type of magic …” He trailed off. Something really unnerved him about this.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “It reminds me of something I’d rather forget.”

  “Are you going to tell me what that is, or will I have to tie you up and torture it out of you?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s something dark in your castle. An evil presence. A tragedy, maybe. Did you know that there’s an old legend? A king loved a woman so much, he trapped her in the Iron Fortress. While she was locked up, she lost her mind.”

  Shadows darkened his eyes. “I’m not an expert in love, but I don’t think that’s how it works.”

  Frustration tightened my chest. Why couldn’t he just tell me the truth? “And that wasn’t what happened, was it?” I pressed. “It wasn't a king. It was you. You were the first one to live in the castle. A woman lived in that room you keep locked. And you haven’t changed her room since. She meant something to you.”

  “It wasn’t love,” his quiet voice held a sharp edge—a warning, almost.

  “So why have you kept her room like it is?”

  “To remind myself of what evil feels like, and how I should never again let down my guard.”

  I felt my blood growing colder. “Was she a demon?”

  A lick of flames lit up his eyes. “Yes. And I should have killed her as soon as I met her.”

  Fear slid over my skin. “Why?"

  “A demon can't love. They can only pretend, feign love. A demon will twist your mind and your heart and try to suck the life from you so they can feel. And I made the mistake of agreeing to marry her. She was dangerous and traitorous. But we’re almost to the priory, and I’ve told you more than you need to know already. All that was centuri
es ago. It doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

  I felt a bizarre twinge of jealousy that he’d been married before. No wonder the ghost seemed threatened by me. I’d sensed her envy, too.

  We turned into Sanguine Square, where the kings had once burned traitors and heretics. Today, it was where the butchers sold their meat; the sun shone over market stalls, and the air stank of blood. The Priory of the Holy Sisters stood just across the way.

  At last, we arrived at the gleaming white gatehouse of the priory—an old timber frame structure above a stone entrance. Samael pushed through the door and strode onto the stone path.

  I hugged myself, steeling my nerves for the conversation that was about to unfold.

  As I crossed through the old gatehouse, I took in the archaic beauty of the place. A gothic building of dark stone rose before us, and a courtyard spread out to our right, encircled by arched walkways. A couple of Holy Sisters walked past a fountain, hands folded, expressions somber.

  On the left was a cemetery, with crooked grave markers jutting from the soil like bony fingers of stone. In the old days, people thought you had to be buried in a priory cemetery, or you wouldn't get to Heaven. So, they’d stacked the bodies on top of each other, forming mounds of the dead under the earth. It was apparently the only way to ensure a luxurious afterlife.

  But as a high-pitched keening sound wended through the air, I realized with a rising sense of dread that I would not be talking to Sober Mum at all today. Sober Mum was not here. Because the person singing the Albian folksong about a courtesan named Lucy was most definitely Drunk Mum. The song was one of her favorites after a bottle of gin.

  Frustration sparked. The entire point of paying for this place had been to get her off the gin. Sighing deeply, I pointed to one of the archways on the other side of the courtyard. “I hear her over there.”

  “That noise?” Samael’s footfalls echoed off the flagstones as we crossed into one of the arched corridors. “That noise is your mother?”

  “Ever since Alice left, it’s how she drowns her sadness.” My chest felt empty, hollow. “I used to blame you for that. Everyone thought you killed Alice. Now I have Alice to blame.”

  Confusion glinted in his eyes, and an intense curiosity. “Having a family seems complicated. Is it worth it?”

  Good question. “Yes,” I said at last. “Without them I’d feel very alone. You have no family at all?”

  “No. I was created, not born.”

  When we rounded a corner, I found her in a hall with open arches. A door was open nearby, giving a view of a messy room with an unmade bed, which I presumed was hers.

  Eyes closed, she sat slumped on a wooden bench against the wall, looking the same as ever. The same red blooms of gin blossoms spread over her nose. Her hair was a tangle of knots. A chunk of bread lay in her hand as she dozed, and pigeons stared up at her, hoping for some of the crumbs that littered her skirt. The only thing noticeably different was the long, white frock. At least she looked clean.

  The cold winter wind toyed with her skirts and tangled hair. She clutched a bottle of gin, and her breath made clouds in front of her face.

  I sat next to her on the bench and touched her arm. She snorted a bit, but kept her eyes closed.

  “Mum.” I squeezed her arm harder.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she yelped, nearly dropping her gin as she jolted awake. Dazed, her gaze slowly drifted to me. A smile warmed her face, and her expression softened. “There you are. My girl. You were always my favorite one.”

  I smiled back at her. “I was?”

  She blinked. “Oh. I thought you were Alice for a second.”

  The breath left my lungs, and I felt my eyes sting. “No, just me.”

  She looked startled, flustered. “You were my favorite also, Lila. I loved you both. A mum can have more than one favorite.”

  “If Alice were here, would you stop drinking all the gin?”

  She frowned at me. “They tried taking my medicine away, but I get sick without it. I would shake and rave. They understand, now, that it helps me.”

  “You need less medicine. You need a little less every day.”

  She brightened. “You came to pay me a visit,” she said happily. “I missed you.”

  I took a deep breath. “There’s something you need to know. I don't want you to get too excited, Mum, because she’s turned into something very different. But she’s alive.”

  She grabbed my arm, joy spreading over her features. “Alice?”

  God, I had to get this out quickly before she got too excited. “Yes, but she’s part of a murderous cult. They kill people.”

  She blinked at me. “That doesn't sound right. Murderous?”

  “It’s not right, Mum, but it’s happening. They're Albian nationalists who want to kill everyone they think doesn't belong. She's part of it, and so is Finn.”

  The pigeons cooed at Mum’s feet, pecking at the crumbs. “Not Finn! You’re not going to do anything bad to her, are you?”

  “Why do you think I would do something bad to her?”

  She cocked her head. “Because of what you are, Lila.”

  My heart started to pound, and I grabbed her arm. She did know more than she let on. I stole a quick glance behind me at Samael, making sure he was out of earshot. He lingered in the archway, too far away to overhear. Just as I’d asked, he was giving us privacy.

  Turning back, I whispered, “What am I, Mum?”

  She lifted a finger to her lips, giggling. “Shhhhhhh. Secret, isn't it? Always so many secrets. And thing is about secrets … they press down on your chest and crush you after a while, don’t they? Because when you have secrets, you’re totally alone. It’s just you and your secrets, and they bury you alive.”

  “Then tell, Mum. It’s important, and you’ll feel better. You’ll feel less alone. Less buried.”

  “You have secrets, too, don’t you?” Her gaze flicked behind me to where Samael stood. “Who's this?”

  Oh, just my fiancée, the Angel of Death. “Don't worry about him, Mum. I want to know who I am. Where I came from.”

  She took a sip of her flask, then brought a hand to her mouth, laughing. “Well, I couldn't tell people the truth, could I? It wasn't natural. Thought they might kill you.”

  My pulse was racing faster now, my grip tightening on her arm. “What wasn't?”

  “I said I found you on the doorstep. But that wasn’t the truth. Because what happened was …” Her eyes drifted to the left, in a daze. “I was walking home with Alice, past the Priory of Thorns. And you know the courtyard of ruins? Where the pink tea roses climb over the stones. That was where I found you, crying in a forgotten corner.”

  I stared at her. This was not the story she’d told me long ago. “Someone left me in a basket in the ruins.”

  “Not a basket, no. That would have been more normal. It was the strangest thing … you were covered in dirt, my love. And I thought I saw you crawl from the dirt. Like you rose from the ground itself. You clawed your way out. You rose from the earth.”

  My jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”

  “You climbed from the soil. Just a little baby, but strong enough to work your way out of the earth. Like a mushroom growing. Very unnatural. But whatever you were, I couldn’t leave you there, could I? Whatever you were, you were hungry. You were always so hungry. You’d scream and scream all night for milk.”

  Horror slid through my bones. “Someone buried me?”

  Mum shrugged. “I didn't know. I think that must have happened, but I had the strangest sense … it seemed like you grew there, maybe, like a flower.” She shook her head. “I know it doesn't make sense. I was still nursing Alice then. What was the harm? I could feed you. It wasn’t easy, mind you,” she added with a weak laugh. “You wanted so much milk. I thought you’d leave me a dried husk. But I couldn’t leave a baby in the dirt. I wanted to keep you safe. And I knew you weren’t normal. When you were a baby, your eyes were black
as the night …”

  My stomach plummeted. “What?”

  “I was so relieved when they turned normal again. Because I knew … I knew something was wrong. Something was a bit off. But I loved you anyway. I’d only let people see you when you were asleep, so they couldn’t see your black eyes.”

  My mouth had gone dry. What the fuck? I wasn’t a soulless demon. I didn’t have tangible proof that I had a soul, but clearly, I bloody had one. I felt things. I loved people.

  I swallowed hard. “Does Alice know?”

  Mum’s eyes were glazed, but she nodded. “It was crushing me, the secret. Like I said, secrets make you feel alone. She kept asking where you came from. And we were always so close. So I told her one day. But it upset her. And then she was just gone.”

  Something twisted in my chest. The words of the ghost were still climbing around inside my mind. Admit what you are.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me, Mum,” I said defensively, but I didn’t believe it anymore. “Wherever I came from, I’m not evil.”

  She didn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes were unfocused again. “I always knew. My two girls, so different but so alike. One light, one dark. One good, and one evil. But I loved you both anyway.”

  “I’m not evil,” I said in a harsh whisper.

  The ghost’s words snaking around inside my skull, invasive vines. You were meant to be alone.

  “Shut up,” I whispered.

  Mum’s eyes were closing again; she was no longer listening. She slumped over on the bench, head on the cold stone.

  Tears stung my eyes. I stood, my heart hammering, and turned back to Samael. I rushed over to him, desperate to be away from here.

  When I reached him, he touched my arm. “What did she say?”

  I blinked, trying to clear the tears from my eyes. There was, of course, the possibility that she was just drunk off her arse. “That Alice was her favorite. And she’s just drunk. Nothing important. It didn’t make a lot of sense. I’m going to have a word with the Holy Sisters about cutting down her gin.”