The Darkest Craving

by Gena Showalter

Page 36

 

  “Stay,” he commanded.

  She raised a brow. “Treating me like a dog now?”

  His smile was sweet and kind and even a little sad. “That’s probably better than the alternative. ”

  “Which is?”

  He flicked her the barest of glances. “A lover. ”

  The very heat Leopold had tried—and failed—to attain now fanned to life. Just like that. With only two words.

  “I have to get this blood off me,” he said, “and I want you within reach. So. Like I told you, stay. Please. ” He messed with the knobs on the shower until water began to spew. Then he placed his fingers at the waist of his pants, paused, as if trying to decide what to do next. Finally, he exhaled heavily and unfastened the material.

  The pants hit the floor and he stepped out of the pool of material.

  His beauty stole her breath. His legs were long, muscular and sinewy, with the lightest dusting of hair. Sexy. . . perfect.

  He watched her as he hooked his thumb in the waist of his underwear.

  Sweet mercy, I’m finally going to die. I’ll have a heart attack. Surely. “So, uh, how did you know to look at the window?” Good. Keep it casual. Maybe he won’t realize you’re staring.

  He paused, saying, “It’s strange. I felt like there was a string attached to my gaze, tugging it up. ”

  She gulped. Why was he stalling? “Has anything like that ever happened to you before?”

  “No. ”

  Were they. . . connected somehow?

  At last, he pushed the underwear down his legs.

  Oh.

  Oh, my.

  Kane, keeper of Disaster, was utterly magnificent. He was sun-worshipped, and chiseled with strength from head to toe. The wings of the butterfly tattoo appeared more jagged than before, stretching closer and closer to his. . . his. . . there.

  Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my.

  The heat in her cheeks intensified, and her mouth went dry. He wasn’t a man, but a warrior. Built for battle, honed by fire and steel. Powerful in a way so few would ever know or understand.

  “Do I want to know what you’re thinking?” he asked, his deep voice sounding hoarse.

  She forced her gaze to lift, and met his stare. The air around them instantly sizzled with the awareness she couldn’t ever seem to escape. They were alone. He was naked.

  Oh, the things I want to do to him. . .

  “I don’t know,” she said, the huskiness of her voice surprising her. “Do you?”

  His heated stare bore into her. “It’ll be safer for us both if I deny the truth. ”

  Clang. Clang. Clang.

  Weapon after weapon hit the floor. Soon there was a pile of daggers, guns and throwing stars at her feet.

  “Give me your dress. I’m going to wash it. ”

  “I—hmph. ”

  He’d closed the distance and forced her to stand, reaching around her to unzip the back of her dress. He had the material shoved down her arms, past her waist and to her feet before she realized what was happening.

  As close as he was, as naked as he was, as aroused as she was. . . sweet mercy, her blood heated to a dangerous degree, and every inch of her skin tingled, craving more of him. Only, ever him. Her limbs began to tremble. And his. . . his. . . his tattoo was getting larger, because one of the butterfly’s wings rode the length of his. . .

  Seriously dying, she thought.

  It grew, and it thickened, and it hardened, and it mesmerized her.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said on a moan.

  “Step out of the gown, sweetheart. ”

  Yes.

  For balance, she put her hands on his shoulders before doing as he’d commanded. Contact had her gasping. Even as warm as she already was, he was hot enough to burn her—and she found that she liked being burned. His muscles were hard and intractable, yet covered by silk.

  He straightened, but didn’t move out of reach right away. He peered down at her, his breathing fast and shallow, a match to hers. The still-sizzling air thickened with steam from the tub. . . with desire. . . with a thousand other things she couldn’t name.

  “I. . . you. . . ” she whispered. Do something.

  He blinked, shook his head. Stiffening, he turned and entered the shower, then jerked the curtain across the rod, blocking her view. Within seconds, the rod was bending in the middle, nearly collapsing. She heard the whoosh of skin against porcelain, as if Kane had slipped. He cursed.

  Her knees gave out, and she fell back onto the toilet lid. Soon, the scent of soap wafted to her. She breathed deeply, letting it wash through her, subdue her trembling. “Kane?”

  Only the slightest pause before he said, “Yes, Tink. ”

  “Thank you. ” They weren’t the words she’d wanted to say, but for now, they would do. “For everything. I mean it. ”

  There was a bang, as if he’d just thrown his fist into the tile. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. ”

  She heard the self-castigation in his tone, and sighed. “I ran away from you, remember? And besides, you can’t be with me every second of every day. ”

  “Want to bet?”

  Don’t tempt me. “So. . . how many fights have you been in?”

  “You mean your storybooks haven’t given an exact tally?”

  “No. And I wish they had. You’re quite good. ”

  “You will be, too. I’m going to train you. ”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. ”

  “But other men will make fun of you if they find out. ”

  “Why would they care?”

  “Women aren’t supposed to learn how to fight,” she said, “and anyone who dares to teach us is shunned. ”

  “That’s dumb. ”

  Agreed. In the Fae realm, men were supposed to be their protectors, but as Leopold had proven, protection was often overlooked in favor of lust and greed. “You don’t care about being shunned?”

  “By these people? I’d consider it a blessing. ”

  She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “I have to ask you a question. ”

  “Anything. ”

  “Are you seriously going to marry Synda?” She’d meant to ask as matter-of-factly as she’d asked everything else, but that hadn’t exactly happened. She’d whispered, instead, all of her hopes seeping from her voice.

  And rather than answer, he began whistling.

  Well, that was answer enough, wasn’t it?

  Disappointment, frustration and anger pooled in the pit of her stomach. She’d been right. His feelings wouldn’t change his course.

  “On days like this, I wish I had Dear Heloise on speed dial. There’s blood on my girl’s dress,” he muttered. “Should I use club soda or vinegar?”

  My girl’s dress, he’d said. My girl. Josephina.

  Argh! You can’t have more than one, Kane, she nearly shouted.

  The water shut off. “Throw me a towel. ”

  Josephina pulled a white cloth from the cabinet, then volleyed the material over the rod.

  “Thanks. ”

  “Welcome,” she said with more sharpness than she’d intended.

  The curtain was brushed aside, and she had a brief realization that there was no steam—why?—before her mind. . . completely. . . derailed. Kane was still naked, of course he was, but now he was glistening. His hair was darker when it was wet, and dripping water down his face. The dragon brand on his chest was no longer red, but already scabbed and black. The towel was draped around his hips, hiding his butterfly tattoo—and other things.

  Breath caught in her throat as he hooked her dress to the bar. The soaked ends of the cotton smacked together.

  “I need something to wear. I need to leave the room,” she managed to say. “I have duties. ” And I need to get away from you. Before I forget I don’t like to share.

  “I’ll se
e to the duties. You’re going to stay in here and rest. ”

  Her eyes widened with bafflement. “You can’t. I can’t. ”

  “I’d love to see you try and stop me. Or leave this room. Now make a list of what you have to do. ”

  If he wanted to do her chores, fine. Opulens would see him and laugh. Even the servants would snicker. Josephina would finally have time away from him—time of peace. The feelings he stirred. . . she was beginning to hate them. Their intensity.

  Grinning with sugary sweetness, she stalked into the bedroom and dug a pen and pad of paper from the nightstand. Then she wrote. And wrote. And wrote. He used the silent minutes to strap on his weapons, rifle through the contents of the closet and dress in the clothes the king had provided for him. Her wrist was aching by the time she finished the list.

  He approached her, wearing a black shirt and black pants, and looking absolutely edible despite having covered up his magnificent body. She handed over the paper.

  He gazed at it, scowled. “You do all of this?”

  “Almost every day. ”

  He read over the list a second time. “I should just kill your father and brother right now. ”

  “And be hunted by the Fae for the rest of your life?”

  “That doesn’t worry me,” he said, and he sounded sincere.

  “It should. I know Tiberius has allowed you many liberties, and you probably think my entire race is a joke—otherwise you wouldn’t be so cavalier—but you haven’t seen everyone revved up for a blood vendetta. I have. ”

  “I’m still not worried. ”

  She anchored her hands on her hips. “If the Fae want you dead and fail to find you, they’ll find your closest friends and torture them to force you out of hiding. Even the famed Lords of the Underworld. ”

  “And if I’m already dead?”

  “They’ll do it just for fun. ”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IN SECONDS, KANE had the lock on his bedroom door rigged, keeping Tink in and everyone else out. Ropes of guilt threatened to jerk him under a river of shame, which was ridiculous. He was doing her a favor. She needed rest and he needed to make sure she was safe and, prisoner or not, this was the only way to ensure those things. Maybe one day she’d even thank him.