“No. I’ve seen that one too many times.”
“This is going to hurt,” I warn him. Wrapping the strip around his wrist, I tie it tightly enough to put considerable pressure on the wound.
Immediately, crimson soaks through and stains the white cotton. I grab a few more strips and repeat. With each knot, Stone takes in a deep breath. He’s unknowingly placed his other hand on my hip, gripping me tightly, pulling me closer with each inhale.
“Normally, I heal faster,” he explains.
“How much faster?” I try to distract him.
“Depends on how badly I’ve been hurt.”
“Something like this?”
“A few minutes.”
I peer at him through my lashes. “I’m so sorry I did this.”
He cringes with the last knot and then falls silent for a while. “Next time, a simple prick on my finger will suffice,” his voice is quiet. “It only takes a small drop to link us. With the amount of blood we’ve shared, we’ll be linked for years.”
“Again, I’m sorry.” I close my eyes, shaky from his closeness.
“Were you a cutter? Or was it a suicide attempt?” he asks in a quiet tone.
Silently, I open my eyes and stare over his shoulder at the shower.
“The memory I saw wasn’t clear.”
“Both.” My throat goes dry with the rawness of my admission.
“You wanted to die?”
“No. Not die. Just stop living.”
A silent pause seeps between us as he ponders my answer before he speaks again.
“If an in-between state existed—some alternative to death—would you have taken it?”
I shrug, still not looking at him. “Maybe. At the time, I just needed to escape the hopelessness and despair that shadowed me day and night. The nightmares. The visions. The dem—” I stop myself. “Everything dark that haunted . . . haunts me, I needed it to stop.”
“And now,” he prompts, “do you still feel that? Even though those things still follow you?”
I still. Afraid to breathe, worried that any noise or movement would be taken as a yes. “The doctors have told me it’s simply the nature of my disease. I’m impulsive and was crying out for help. With the drugs and therapy, I’m working through much of the despair.”
“That isn’t what I asked.” His tone hard. “And don’t ever repeat their bullshit medical interpretations to me again. You and I both know none of what they’re saying is true.”
Sighing, I wiggle back on the counter a bit. “I—I don’t know what you want.” I’ve never talked about my suicide attempt with anyone, other than doctors.
“What I want is for you to understand that my world is full of despair and hopelessness. I’m the fucking prince of it. The irony here, Hope, is that everything you’ve tried to escape your whole life, you’ve just now tethered yourself to.”
I inhale slowly through my nose at his words as he pins me with a look of concern and continues. “My whole life, I’ve lived in my father’s shadow. Lucifer’s heir. My mother was his great love. She was divine. They were not allowed to be together. It was forbidden. But he fought for it anyway. For her. Only to be betrayed by everyone he’d ever cared for. My mother, his brothers, and the divine. Tazia was given a soul, and my father . . . he was banished to the Circles, with his bastard son. A child born with divine blood running through his veins. An innocent who grew up in the deepest parts of the Circles, surrounded by torture, suffering, and a vengeful demon. The hopelessness and despair that you feel, it surrounded me my entire life—molded me. All caused by his need for revenge.”
He cocks his head to the side and I glance down, unsure of what to say. But his bare stomach is there, and it’s distracting.
“The images and reasons you’ve shared for what you did to yourself, your wanting to escape . . .” he tapers off. “It angers me.”
My gaze meets his again. It angers him because he feels and lives it every day.
“It only re-emphasizes that humans are fragile, weak. And that feeling anything for them is pointless.” His tone is meant to sound harsh, but instead, he just sounds broken.
“Is that why you hate me so much?” I counter. “Or the divine for that matter?”
“How am I supposed to feel when the divine turned their backs on me?”
“You were a baby, Stone. Your mother knew what she was doing. It’s unfair that she was punished for loving someone, but she knew the risks going in. Your father did too. And while he’s channeled his hurt into chaos, suffering, and darkness . . . you are not him. You have a choice. You can step out of his shadow anytime you want to. Be different.”
“I can’t. My divine blood makes me weak. Like my mother,” he mutters.
His statement irritates me more than it should. I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me. “Those who have seen the deepest, darkest corners of despair and hopelessness, and survived it, they are the ones who are the strongest in this world. You don’t go through what we’ve seen, or felt, and come out weak. It makes us stronger.”
Our gazes lock and his eyes grow soft in mutual understanding. For a moment, we stay quiet; his stare remaining on me. The tension grows palpable as he leans in and his lips part like he’s going to kiss me, but he holds himself a hair’s breadth away, breathing so fast he’s panting.
Our bodies meld into one another, chests heaving in tandem. I grab onto his waist and squeeze my thighs around his hips, as his mouth moves across my cheek, skin brushing against skin as he makes his way to my ear. Through parted lips, his hot breath leaves a trail of moisture that cools in the air.
I’d never known a non-kiss could be so intimate.
A quiver runs through my stomach at the intensity with which he maps my body. My head falls back and he continues his path along my neck, collarbone, and all the way down to the tops of my breasts. A small whimper falls from his throat that nearly destroys me, then he abruptly stands up and pulls back. He turns away from me and looks to the floor, like he’s gathering his composure.
Free from his embrace, my mind clears. I’ve got to get out of here. “I’m going to grab something to eat. You should probably find a new shirt.” I slide off the countertop, legs shaky, and start for the door. But Stone grabs my arm, pulling me back to him. I hold in a moan as his fingers gently wrap around my arm.
His expression penetrates me, causing heat to consume me as he brings my arm up. I drag in oxygen, which doesn’t seem to be making it into my lungs. His fingers skate along the bandage.
“Are you going to be okay?” He turns my arm over and inspects the cut.
I blink several times, feeling out of sorts at his concern. “I’ll be fine,” I manage.
“You’ll probably have a scar there.”
“I’m used to scars, Stone.”
The way he’s looking at me, it’s like I’m standing naked in front of him.
“My father is at war—a war of hearts. And now, I see why you are the key.”
UNAPOLOGETIC
Hope
I SHIFT ON THE COZY couch, trying to focus on the book I grabbed off the shelf, but my attention slides to the library windows. It’s growing dark outside, as the clouds obscure the sunshine-filled corners of the world. Snowflakes blow this way and that, twirling in the gusts, like feathers in the wind. I’ve never liked the winter, preferring the heat of the sun and a warm breeze to the dark and gloomy snow.
My thoughts shift to my parents and Dr. Foster. I wonder if they are worried, knowing I’m missing from the facility. Stone mentioned taking care of it, but he still hasn’t elaborated as to how. To be honest, I’m not even sure how long I’ve been gone at this point. What I do know is the sooner I help Stone’s father, the sooner I can return home.
Hendrix’s warning rattles around in my head. After hours of indecision, I’ve finally come to the realization that whatever alternative universe I’m experiencing, it’s the current reality I’m living in. This could just be a d
ream, but real or not, the faster I live through it, the quicker I can return to my previous life.
This is the reason I’d decided to link to Stone. I knew he’d decline my offer of protection; his royal pride and cocky attitude would stand in the way. Hendrix was firm in his belief that if we share a blood link, we could protect one another. Real or not, I wasn’t about to take the chance of Stone’s existence being extinguished when we’d finally made our way into the Circles. I just never realized how easy it would be to execute.
He didn’t even argue.
He just allowed me to take his wrist, almost as if he knew what I was planning to do.
Part of me is annoyed at his submissiveness, but there is another part that feels powerful—in control. My eyes slide closed and I decide to test our newfound link. I whisper his name in my mind and picture his face, focusing on his best features.
Especially his lips.
Earlier, I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth when he spoke. And now, it’s all I think about. Stone knows how to kiss. Perfect kisses. The kind that make you lose all sense of time. Hell, just tracing his lips over my skin had almost brought me to climax. At the thought, heat infuses my cheeks and I squeeze my legs together.
I need to stop staring at him in general. Seems like a good plan.
Or, maybe I have Stockholm syndrome? That is a much more logical explanation for my erratic emotions and thoughts.
I can feel him before I see him. It’s strange. His presence ignites the particles in the air, as they shift and come alive with energy. Then I get this warm, tingly feeling that runs through my veins.
I don’t look away as he walks into the room. He grins, giving me a knowing look. My stomach flutters and clenches, knowing we now share this secret.
The fire climbs higher in the hearth as Stone walks by the intricately engraved, mahogany fireplace.
“Impressive,” I tease, and point to the raging flames.
His lips twitch. “A stereotypical parlor trick. Mortals seem to love it.”
Butterflies come alive in my stomach.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Am I?” My voice sounds breathy. At the thought, my brow furrows.
He watches me a moment, then laughs. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—sexy and alluring.
I clear my throat. “You’re here.”
He prowls across the room, until he’s directly in front of me. “You called.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “I was testing the link. Seeing if—”
“If I would come running?”
I bristle. “Seeing if you would keep your word.”
“As I’ve told you before,” he takes a seat next to me on the couch, “my word is binding. If I say I’m going to do something, I will. Most beings find that quality charming.”
I try to act nonchalant at his closeness, but the shudder that runs through me is a dead giveaway. Stone stretches out his long legs and leans back, placing his hands behind his head. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him look relaxed. It’s addictive.
He twists his head to peer at me and I shift my focus to the fire. Watching the flames is a good distraction, and it keeps me from making eye contact with him. But his stare bores into the side of my skull, and his shadowy outline dominates the space.
I struggle to keep my breathing even, eyes shifting to him. “Does this mean you and I are mated, or something?”
He does this amused grin thing. “It means we simply share two bonds. The protection vow I got myself into—without thought of consequence. And the blood link, which opened a mind connection between us—well, that one, you got yourself into.”
“Hendrix mentioned something about a brand?”
“If you were to become my chosen one, you’d need to wear my mark,” he points to the crown tattoo on his forearm. “It’s not needed to bring you into the Circles. So, don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t.” I sit straighter. “What’s the significance?”
“It would make you eternally mine. No one would touch you, ever, in any dimension.”
A quiver runs through my stomach at the intensity in his odd stare and firm tone. “Like property? Isn’t that—I don’t know. That seems a little . . . archaic and chauvinistic if you ask me.”
He stretches his neck from side to side. “The supernatural dimensions are archaic. Hence the need to respect our ancient rituals, decrees, and reigns. Respect is power.”
Stone’s large hand comes toward me and he picks up a strand of hair that keeps falling out of my ponytail. He studies it, fascinated, as he runs it through his fingers. “We’re going to leave tomorrow for the Circles.”
My breath catches and I have to wait a moment before I can respond. “Okay.”
“That’s it? No argument? Just . . . okay?”
“What do you want me say? Isn’t that the entire reason for all of this?”
“You’re taking this better than expected.”
“How else should I take it?”
His eyes narrow, confused at my easygoing demeanor. “I’m not sure.”
“What did you tell my parents and Dr. Foster about my disappearance?”
“We wiped and altered their memories of you.”
My mouth falls open. “Are you saying they don’t remember my existence?”
“Dr. Foster doesn’t. Your parents think you are in Switzerland, with a friend.”
I sit back, shocked, but grateful my parents know I am still alive.
“Whatever happens, I promise I will protect you and return you to your life.”
“I know you will,” I whisper. “And I, you.”
“Will you do something for me?” His tone is measured—purposely calm. “I want you to try to prophesize our visit. I know that in the past, you’ve had no control over what you see, or when, but it would be helpful if you could surmise what my father is up to, and what he will be asking of you. It’s always good to have the advantage.”
I tense. “I don’t know if I can do that. The visions just happen. I touch something, or someone, or I get a feeling for something . . .” I trail off. “Most of what I see, I dream.”
He regards me for a moment before his fingers still. My hair falls to my shoulder, and for the longest time, he just stares at it. “Can I try something?” his voice is quiet, but thick with desire. His eyes darken as his intense gaze holds me hostage.
The tension between us grows, and it’s so intense, I avert my eyes and redirect my focus, glancing back at the fire. Why am I even considering his request? I can’t conjure my visions on command.
Grabbing my hand tightly with his, he commands my attention. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Look away from me when I look directly at you.”
I frown. “I didn’t realize I did that.”
Stone watches me, as if he’s debating. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No . . . not anymore.” My honest answer comes out fast and clipped.
Stone leans in. “Are you afraid that I’ll see the real you?” His breath falls against my lips. “Afraid that if I do, I’ll judge what’s behind the guarded wall you’ve put up? Or the fact that what you feel and see just might be real, and not something you’ve created in your mind?”
I swallow and pull back, my heart slamming against my chest. “All of it. I’m afraid of all it.”
Stone leans over further, until he has to hold himself up over me. He inhales the scent of my hair before his warm cheek skims mine. The sensation awakens things within me, as his soft breath falls on my ear. The deep vibrations of his voice send a wave of pleasure and desire to my core.
“I want to try something, but you’ll have to trust me. Can you do that?”
I nod my agreement.
“Close your eyes and listen to my voice,” he orders. “I’m going to release the barrier I have up. This way, you can see and hear what I am thinking. If we touch
and I flip through memories of the Circles, I think that might be enough to trigger a vision.”
“Okay,” I whisper, sliding my lids shut.
“Sometimes, the Circles is a tough place to be. As Lucifer’s son, I’ve seen and experienced a lot of horrific scenes. If I share this with you . . . you’ll need to remain calm, and know that I’m right here. Nothing is going to happen to you while you’re there. I will protect you from it all. Okay?” he assures.
I nod again, unable to speak. With my eyes closed, I feel Stone take my face between his palms. He leans forward and gently places his forehead against mine, taking in a deep breath. For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of his breathing. I swallow and wait.
Then, as if I’m watching a movie in slow motion, Stone’s thoughts and memories begin to flood my mind. A tall, intimidating man with raven hair walks into a dark room that smells rancid, like sulfur. His eyes are distant. Cold. Almost black. He leans back, standing taller, and nonchalantly places his hands in the pockets of his slacks. The casual move doesn’t match the malevolence in his expression.
I feel my face pale. All the blood drains from my body, causing shivers to course through me. The hairs on my arms stand on edge when I realize this is Lucifer—Stone’s father.
In the dimly lit room, there is a small child. A boy. He’s maybe two years old, and he’s being held by two men. One is pinning his arm to a wooden table and covering the child’s mouth, muffling his screams and cries. The other is holding what looks to be a hot branding iron, hovering over the child’s arm.
Bile rises in my throat as the innocent toddler squeezes his eyes closed. His angelic face is bright red and swollen, marred with bruises and tears, which are streaming down his cheeks.
A whimper falls out of me, and I desperately hope this is a bad dream.
“Someday, Stolas, you will rule the Circles. Today, my young son, you will be branded. Your connection to the Circles will be forever linked to you,” Lucifer says proudly, yet with a cold, emotional detachment. “Your hands are shaking, young prince,” he scolds, bending down and grabbing Stone’s face.
Stolas: A Dark Soul Series Novel Page 14
