The Crone's Stone
Page 40
properly. “Although I dare say the view is delicious.”
I blinked briefly up at him, too scared to stare for more than a nanosecond. He gazed back at me with a captivating smirk. The glimpse was ample, his magnificence scalding me. He wore jeans and nothing else. Bliss budded deep inside without my say-so. He seemed fully healed from his ordeal with Finesse I’d seen in my visions – not a bruise or abrasion marred his glowing tawny complexion. A little over six feet tall, when not doubled over by a noose around his neck, his physique was formidable.
He radiated an addictive charm, a masculine appeal so enticing as to be impossible to resist. I dared not appraise his face for longer; there was trouble enough in the rest of him. I kept my attention on the mat, squared my jaw and swore I would not yield to his allure. Unfortunately, any oaths I made were disposable as he addressed me in a quiet, cultured tone that was a symphony to my ears.
“Did you like the poem?”
“A version from Baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil,” I mumbled, not wanting to, ‘To the Reader’.”
“Folly, depravity, greed, mortal sin invade our souls and rack our flesh; we feed Our gentle guilt, gracious regrets, that breed Like vermin glutting on foul beggars’ skin. A perceptive assessment of humanity.” His voice grew softer and sadder. “I did not expect you to be so like her. Look at me.”
My lips pressed thin with the exertion of resisting. I laboured not to extend my neck and bring my face upright. I would keep my eyes closed! I would not look at him. On both counts, I failed miserably.
“Oh!” I could not help exclaiming upon sighting his angelic features.
Any offensive I planned faded away; he was so breathtakingly gorgeous. His straight lustrous hair, cut longer around his face, shone in shades of chocolate. His lips were full and inviting, his cheekbones wide and high, his nose regal. But his eyes fascinated above all else. I could not tear mine away. His were the most startling, fathomless blue that twinkled in the light. I was hypnotised, entranced by a cobra.
Seth glided over and knelt to face me. “Except for the hair.”
He reached out, pulling a pin from the bun and my hair tumbled down my back. He uncurled a strand next to my cheek. I would combust under the intensity of his lingering stare. I forgot to inhale until he let it go. The view of his carved chest, muscles tensing with motion, his chiselled stomach, a hint of dark fuzz trailing his belly to the low-riding stud of his jeans, moved my focus down to a place they should not. Denim strained over tight thighs. He smelled divine.
“Hers was long and straight, lighter than yours. She was very lovely too.”
He feathered my cheek with the side of his thumb. If touching my hair short-circuited my lungs, this level of intimacy torched me to ashes.
“Your eyes though … As virid as Egyptian jade. Stunning!”
I froze, insensate and unable to repel his advances. My mind was disturbingly blank, filled with an insatiable need. Every compliment he gave was exquisitely flattering, eroding my flimsy resistance. What reason was there to resist? He placed a hand on my chest and gently shoved me flat to the floor, dropping to lounge next to me. His face was so close to mine, I could see sapphire flecks in his cornflower irises.
“Tell me your name.”
An angry chorus of women’s whispers swept through my mind. Ignorant as I was, I grasped the innate truth: an enemy could never have my name. It was the key to dominating a Keeper, just as the acquisition of our enemy’s name was the key to controlling her. No! He leaned in, his lips at my earlobe. His hands lingered over my body to arrange me like a splayed butterfly. He rolled onto me, propped up on elbows, his legs between mine. I desperately swerved from awareness of his arousal. It was forbidden. I was meant for someone else! I defied the urge to touch him.
“Tell me your name.”
No! My body burned like blown embers, delicious flames licking below. This was wrong! I shook my head dumbly.
“I will make you tell me. And when you are under my influence, I will compel you to give the festering witch her Stone. She will murder us both and we will grieve no more for those lost. It is a favour to you, my gift. She can scour this tick-infested squat for all I care. Call it timely population control. Once we are gone forever, it will not matter.”
I listlessly moved a hand to press my temple. An out-of-place clatter accompanied the action. His lips imprisoned mine and he kissed me roughly, one hand behind my neck, pressing my face to his, the other at my waist, but heading south.
“Tell me your name,” he said gruffly, on surfacing. I quivered beneath him, gasping for air. “Do not fight me. Give in to your want and we can experience pleasure beyond heaven. A final indulgence before I die and am released once and for all from this torturous hole.”
My every atom ignited, ravaged by the wildfire of his unquenchable yearning. I drowned in him, his scent, his honeyed words, his passion so unrestrained I felt he’d never had another girl. His hand tickled my thigh, slowly bunching the folds of my skirt, fingertips sparking against bare skin to make me jump. Reflexively, my arms circled him. But that incongruous metallic jangle stopped me. What was that sound?
“Yes, that’s it.” He reached around and positioned my hand at the small of his back, within teasing reach of his tight bum. “Tell me your name.”
Winsome, my brain supplied, losing control. My lips trembled and I weakly willed them to be silent. He writhed against me, grinding rhythmically until white heat ignited, tingling from my toes. His hand reached the concavity of my ribs beneath my breast, the hotness of his skin a delectable contrast to the coolness of the night air on flesh no longer covered by fabric. A moan came from the distance, maybe my own, and I almost abandoned any pretence of refusal.
“Give yourself to me. Tell me your name.”
How could I not choose Seth? Lust swamped me.
“Goddamn it, Bear!” I mentally heard Smithy shout.
“Tell me your name.”
“Wake up, Dumpling!” A cranky yell, this time in the real world, brought me to full understanding. “Make the right choice!”
In Seth’s dream-state, one hand flew to my head with more clanking. The other grabbed for his trespassing fingers. No! “Get out of my mind!” I shrieked. “I am not yours!”
I roused with a start, blurry and disoriented. Alone, I lay on a blanket, which failed to stop the chill from the cold tiles beneath seeping through. My clothes, damp from a trip through the rain, clung to me and made the chill worse. My teeth started to chatter. Was this real? Fortescue hadn’t presented with spirulina and goji berries, as he usually would when I woke.
A long chain, handcuffed to my wrist, snaked from an open vanity attached to the drainpipe within. That was the clinking I had heard! I jerked my arm to test the strength of my bond. The metal links rattled noisily in the confined area, the steel bracelet unforgiving. Even though it kept me restrained, I blessed the sound that had saved me from certain disaster.
Water lapped rhythmically in time to the steady rocking of whichever prison this was. It took a while to grasp the sensation was genuine, not a figment of my overstimulated imagination. I was on a boat! How much time had passed since my capture? Not long enough for my clothes to dry, at least. I groggily took in my surroundings. I was in the head: nautical speak for the bathroom.
I’d been on plenty of luxury cruisers; the more ostentatious of Bea’s associates used them for networking. This closet was probably an amenity for staff, located deep below the waterline and not showy enough for a wealthy patron’s use. An absence of throbbing motors confirmed we were stationary. But for how long? And where was the enemy who had humiliated me to such an extent? The disgrace over what Seth could so easily force me to do was far worse than any threats of my slaying by the Crone.
I eased myself upright, cramped muscles protesting, and rubbed warmth back into my aching limbs, while inspecting my jail with more awareness. About three metres by two wide, there was a shower cubicle of beige tile to my right and a washbasin o
pposite with a mirror above. I rested my back against a narrow expanse of wall facing the toilet. Next to it was a sturdy door. It was locked, no doubt. The length of chain stopped me from crawling far, but stretching out to my fullest extent, I tried the handle just in case. It didn’t budge.
Repositioned at the wall, I lifted my arms to inspect the thick gauze snugly winding my wrists. Odd. What was the purpose of these bandages? Was Seth concerned I’d chafe? But that was ridiculous. Besides, I only had a silver cuff on one arm, not both. I gulped an involuntary laugh, unwilling to give him a reason to investigate the hysterical status of his prisoner. As soon as I turned my focus to him, the scratching of a key in the lock happened instantly.
It was Seth, this time the actual version, not a phantom to besiege my brain.
I averted my eyes, concentrating on my sneakers framed by a square of tile at the base of the toilet. My pulse stampeded and my palms were clammy. He seated himself on its shut lid with a rustle of denim and I pulled my feet up close, hugging my legs. His bare feet encroached on my restricted view; even this limited bit of him appealed.
“We have established you are not completely without defences, Keeper.”
He was less than a metre away. From beneath my lashes, I peeked up his jean-clad calves at bloodied, torn knuckles resting on his knees. The true Seth had evidently been in a