Lord of the Abyss rhos-4

by Nalini Singh

  He leaned on the rim, satisfaction in the curve of those lips she wanted to taste so badly her toes curled. “You have no clothes.” A silken reminder.

  Her mouth fell open at the way he was telling her she was effectively trapped until he decided to let her go. “You— I—” Snapping her mouth shut, she turned her back on him, and began to rub at her skin with the water alone.

  “Liliana.”

  Trying not to think about the fact that she’d just given her back to the man who scared even shadows, she made a face at a speck of dirt that seemed imprinted in her skin. It made her feel sick to think how filthy she was— Oh. That wasn’t dirt. It was a burn scar, an old one, so old she forgot about it most of the time.

  Come here, Liliana. The salamander only wants to say hello.

  She’d screamed herself hoarse that day, and it had made him laugh so hard tears had rolled down his face. “Liliana.”

  The way the Lord of the Black Castle said her name was as much an order as her father had made it—except that instead of causing her blood to freeze, the quiet demand of it made the most intimate parts of her flush with sinful heat.

  “Liliana.”

  There was a dangerous impatience to him now. Part of her, the part that had grown up fearing a man’s anger, said she should turn around right that second and give him what he wanted. But the other part—the annoyed, frustrated female part—made her keep her head turned to the wall in stubborn refusal. Perhaps it was that simple…and perhaps she did this so he would hurt her, destroying the seed of vulnerability growing within her, a softness that had her panicked.

  “Here, you can have your soap.”

  Wary, she looked over her shoulder to see the soap on the rim and him in the doorway. She went to grab the bar, certain he’d use his magic to push it away before she reached it. However, he did nothing but stand motionless as she picked up the bar and brought it to her nose.

  “Glorious.” So rich and exquisite that she almost didn’t notice he was leaving. “Where are you going?” There had been no hurt, no pain from him in spite of actions her father might have termed “insolent,” and that deepened the softness, made her weaker when she couldn’t afford to be if she was to kill her father.

  “Leaving you to your bath.” The words were stiff, the disappointment in his expression cut with anger.

  It startled her, the wild clarity of his emotions. This man, she saw with dawning hope, didn’t know how to hide his true face from the world, had never had cause to learn…and so she would never, ever have to wonder if he was about to strike out at her even when he looked at her with a smile. “I haven’t told you the tale yet.”

  He hesitated. “You will tell it?”

  “Of course. I always keep up my end of a bargain.” Then, going with a feminine instinct that was rusty and unused—and though her stomach was clenched tight beneath the water in an attempt to quiet the butterflies—she began to rub the soap down the bare skin of her arm, unable to see a washcloth. “Of course, since you took such pleasure in tormenting me, I shall torment you, too.”

  There was a luminous spark in his eyes and then he was beside the bath again, his arms—solid, muscled, strong beneath the liquid caress of the armor—on the rim. “You were fighting with me, Liliana.”

  An odd thing to say, but not so odd when you considered that no one dared argue with him, this dark lord. “A little,” she said. “But not seriously. It was almost a game.”

  He considered that, his expression thoughtful once more. “The children in the village play games.”

  Placing the soap on the rim beside his arm, she raised her hands to her hair. “What did you do when you were a child?”

  “I don’t remember being a child.”

  Fingers caught in the rat’s nest on top of her head, she tugged and pulled as she tried to work out what the confluence of his mother’s and her father’s spells must have done to him for him to have forgotten his childhood so completely. Either the impact had wiped his memories—or perhaps he hadn’t had a childhood. It was possible that he’d been held in a kind of limbo until he was old enough to care for himself.

  “You’ll pull it all out.”

  “What?”

  “Your hair.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her tired arms. “I’ll cut it off after I get out of the bath. That’s the only way to untangle it.”

  He made a low sound deep in his throat that had her thighs clenching. “I’ll untangle it for you.”

  Chapter 8

  His storyteller laughed.

  The Guardian of the Abyss had heard feminine laughter before. Sometimes, Jissa laughed. And he’d heard the women in the village laugh, too, when they didn’t know he was near. But Liliana’s laugh was different, full of something that made his own mouth want to curve, his chest muscles expand. He didn’t give in. But he wanted to.

  “Very well,” the sorceress said to him, for he knew she was a sorceress. “But how will you work this magic?”

  He ran his eyes over the slopes of her shoulders, so silky with water. “Turn your back and wait for me,” he ordered, wondering what the water would taste like licked from her skin.

  When she raised an eyebrow, then obeyed, he got to his feet. “Start thinking of your tale.” Leaving her, he went quickly down to the kitchen using the secret passageways of the Black Castle that opened only for its lord, and found the cupboard where Jissa kept her “pretty-making things” as Bard called them when Bard could be brought upon to speak.

  The Guardian wasn’t interested in pretty-making, but he’d been curious about the light in Bard’s eyes when he’d spoken of such things, so he’d explored. Everything in the cupboard had smelled very nice, and later, he’d caught one of the scents in Jissa’s hair. There. Closing his hand around the bottle, he promised himself he would bring Jissa a bar of the special soap she liked when he next went flying over the village.

  All the shopkeepers knew to leave a black box with some of their wares out for him in the night. No one dared steal from that which was the lord’s, and the shopkeepers made sure of it—for he paid them very well. He wondered if Liliana would like to see his room of jewels and treasures as he retraced his steps to the bathroom. Part of him had expected her to be gone, but she was waiting patiently, her back against the rim.

  “Liliana,” he said from the doorway.

  A soft smile over her shoulder that made his body tighten in painful ways, and yet it was a pain he craved. “I heard your footsteps,” she said. “What have you got?”

  “Nothing for you to see.” If she knew of it, she might decide to do the task herself. “Turn your head to the wall.”

  Only the slightest of hesitations before she did as he commanded.

  He knelt behind her, anticipation humming in his belly at the chance to touch this woman who spoke to him in ways no one else ever had, and who seemed to see something in him even he couldn’t see.

  “Once upon a time,” she began as he poured Jissa’s pretty-making lotion onto his palm, “there were three princelings and one princess. They were named Nicolai—”

  A kick of his heart, his mind burning as his hands worked the lotion into Liliana’s tangled locks, the sharp points of his armor having retracted themselves.

  “—Dayn, Breena and—”

  “—Micah,” he found himself saying, his hands fisting in her hair. “The third prince must be called Micah. You will do this.”

  Liliana went motionless. “Yes.” A whisper. “His name was Micah and he was the youngest prince of them all.”

  One of his hands brushed Liliana’s nape as he unclenched them, and she shivered. He didn’t jerk back his hand, though it was obviously too cold for her. He liked the feel of her skin. It was different from his own, more delicate and smooth. “Where did they live?” he asked to distract her so he could continue to explore.

  “In a kingdom,” she said, her voice husky. “With their father and mother, the land’s beloved king and queen. But this
is not their tale. This is the tale of how the four siblings once summoned a unicorn prince, proud and dignified.”

  Wonder blazed through him, along with a tugging sense of knowledge. “There is a watch in the room where I would sleep,” he said, sharing a secret with her because she was his prisoner and would tell no one, “if I needed sleep.”

  “A watch?”

  Made of opals, emeralds and precious metals, it was his oldest treasure. “It has a unicorn on the face.” A noble creature, as regal as any ruler.

  Liliana sucked in a breath. “May I see it?”

  “If I’m pleased with you,” he said, because she was even softer now, her muscles no longer stiff. It made him wonder if he could coax her into lying naked for him as he stroked his hands along her skin, if she would go loose and limber all over, her thighs falling open to the caress of his fingers. His body grew hard, engorged.

  “The watch is beautiful but broken,” he said, scheming how he would make her naked even as he lulled her into softening even further. “The hands move so slow, I can never catch the motion, and they have ever tried to reach midnight.” An extraordinary watch, that showed dawn, noon, evening and midnight, each quarter marked by a green gemstone.

  “There aren’t many minutes left, are there?” Liliana asked, turning to look at him over her shoulder, those eyes of no particular color suddenly piercing. “Before midnight?”

  “No.” With his finger, he traced a pattern on the skin of her nape, massaging his other hand through her hair as he did so. “Tell me this tale.”

  She shivered again. “My lord—”

  “There is soap there,” he murmured. “I’m just clearing it away.” Not a lie. Of course, he’d put the soap there.

  “One day,” she began, and he was certain she arched a fraction into his touch, “when Micah was very young and his siblings full-grown, his brothers were teasing him as older brothers do, by saying that they could summon a unicorn and it was a pity he was so small and likely to be scared of such a magnificent being, or they’d show him.

  “His sister, who was his champion, said for him to ignore his brothers, but Micah demanded they prove their boast, and so the four of them set off for the Stone Circle, a point of great power within the land.”

  “I bet they didn’t expect Micah to hold them to their stories.” The name flowed off his tongue so smooth and easy that he wanted to claim it.

  “No.” Liliana sighed. “Shall I duck my head under the water?”

  He looked at the bubbles in her hair. “Yes, then I will untangle your hair further.”

  When she ducked under and rose back up, all slick and sweet smelling, he knew her hair was untangled, but he poured more lotion into his hands, stroked it through the rough, thick strands while imagining doing the same to the body hidden beneath the steamy water. Next time, he would make the water colder so he could see everything. “Tell me the rest.”

  “It was a long way to the Stone Circle, and Micah was but a babe—”

  He scowled. “Micah wasn’t a babe simply because he was the youngest.”

  “That’s what Micah is said to have said,” Liliana told him, “but finally Nicolai—who was rumored to be a sinful man in many ways, but who loved his siblings with the fierceness of the hunting lions that roam the plains—convinced Micah things would go faster if Nicolai carried him on his back, and so that is how they went.”

  A stirring in his mind, an image of a warrior with bronzed skin and silver-colored eyes streaked with gold. “Where did you hear this tale?”

  “The cook told me,” she answered, rubbing the soap over her arms. “He once worked for the king and queen.”

  He watched the soap slide over her skin, felt a dark stirring within him that tasted not of evil, but of a far hotter temptation. “Tell me more about Micah.”

  “Well, it’s said that Micah might have been the smallest, but he had the biggest heart.”

  He wasn’t sure he liked that. “Tales about boys do not involve hearts.”

  “Oh?” She made a startled sound. “I suppose not. But you see, Micah was loved. He was the youngest prince, and terribly spoiled.”

  “He couldn’t have been so spoiled.” It was an instinctive response. “He was a prince, after all. He had duties.”

  “Ah, but he was a babe then,” she murmured. “He had two older brothers and a doting sister. So he was spoiled.”

  He tugged on her hair.

  “Stop that,” she said, slapping at his hand. “You must listen to the tale as I tell it.”

  Allowing her to catch him, he made a rumbling sound at the feel of her skin against his. “Turn around, Liliana.” The mounds of her breasts were slight, but they would make the perfect mouthfuls.

  Her hand dropped away and her voice, when it came, was a whisper. “No. It’s not safe. You’re not safe.”

  Since he wanted to bite the gentle curve of her neck, stroke his hands below the water to fondle and squeeze, he couldn’t argue. “Continue.” It was a growl.

  “Micah,” she said, a tremor racing over her skin, “he was spoiled and petted, but he wasn’t cruel or mean like other boys might’ve been. He rescued so many injured animals that the queen gave him his own little block of land where they could roam.”

  Something in his chest grew tight and he found himself curving his hands over her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs along the skin of her back. “His mother was kind.”

  He felt a ridge under his thumbs but Liliana pulled away before he could explore it. “I think my hair is done.”

  He coaxed her back by promising to wash off the soap. “The queen?”

  “The king called her his other half,” she said after a taut pause. “Is that not strange?”

  He considered it. He had always been alone, encased in stone. No one could join with him. Even were Liliana spread naked beneath him, her body flushed and damp, her thighs spread, his armor would lie between them. “Yes.” He scooped up some water, watched it smooth over her skin.

  “So,” she continued, “the four heirs went to the Stone Circle, and they got their heads together and conferred about the best spell to use for the summoning. During the trek, it had become a shared challenge.”

  He massaged more lotion into her scalp, saw the goose bumps that rose up over her flesh. “You’re cold. We will finish the bath.”

  “Yes,” Liliana murmured. “I think that’s a good idea.” Dunking her head again, she squeezed the water out of her hair. “You must go.”

  He was the Lord of the Black Castle, could order her to stand wet and nude before him, but that would make her stiffen, and he wanted Liliana luscious and soft when he explored her. “I,” he said, brushing her earlobe with his lips as he spoke, “enjoyed your bath, Liliana.”

  Liliana let the shiver roll over her as the Guardian of the Abyss exited the room. Her reaction had nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with the man who’d had his hands on her. Looking down to see her nipples beaded to shameless points, her meager breasts plump with heat, she bit back a moan.

  A few more minutes and she might just have leaned back and allowed him to slide his hands down her front to explore her breasts the same way he’d been exploring her nape, her scalp, her shoulders. For the first time, she wanted rough male hands on her flesh, squeezing and petting and caressing. His fingers had been so strong, so assured. But not hurtful. In fact, she hadn’t felt the spray of razors or the sharp black tips of his gauntlets at all. Pleasure, that was all she’d felt.

  Forbidden pleasure.

  He wasn’t for her, might well slay her on the spot once he realized the truth of her lineage. Trying not to allow that to matter, to be the stoic Liliana she’d been since the day her father burned the final drop of childish innocence out of her, she stepped out of the bath and used the towel to dry her hair, wipe her body. Then she looked around.

  To realize she had no clothes.

  “I can’t believe it,” she muttered, wrapping the towel around
herself and tucking it in tight before wrenching open the door. “If you think—”

  The room was empty.

  But that wasn’t what had her tongue-tied.

  It was the dress on the bed. The red, red dress.

  Walking forward with disbelieving steps, she touched her fingers to the delicate, silky material, curling those fingers into her hands as sheer want washed over her. She’d never had a dress so saturated with color, so very pretty. Dull browns and grays, those were what suited her “nightmare of a face.” Her father’s words, but in this he was right.

  “I’ll give you three more minutes.” The ultimatum came from the other side of the door.

  Biting back a startled cry, she stared at the wooden surface. “I’m not the kind of woman who wears a red dress.” Oh, but she wanted to.

  “Do you not like it?”

  “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen,” she said, because to lie would be a desecration of his gift.

  “Then you’ll wear it. Or you will be naked.” A pause. “Hmm…”

  Every inch of her skin skittering with sensation at that considering murmur, she dropped the towel and pulled on one of the two identical pieces of flimsy underwear laid out beside the dress—there was no slip, nothing for her breasts, but then she didn’t need it. Such luxury, she thought as the cloth whispered over her thighs to cup her behind.

  “Oh.” It was a shivering whisper as she realized the undergarment, cut high on her thighs and of a near-transparent material, exposed more than it covered.

  “I’m coming in very soon.”

  “Wait!” Grabbing the dress after stuffing the extra pair of underwear in a drawer, she pulled it on over her head. Only to find that it laced up the back. Twisting to clench the sides closed, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair hung damp and sleek around her face, but it was still a shapeless mat, and her face hadn’t changed. It remained that of a wicked witch right out of a nightmarish tale.

  But the dress…oh, the dress.

  It cupped her breasts, nipped in at the waist and flared out at the hips to give her a form that made her, for a bare moment, feel almost, if not pretty, then not ugly, either. Her lower lip quivered and she might have given in to tears had the door not pushed open behind her.