He taps the end of the brush against his cheek, head tilted as if studying a puzzle only he can see. "Somewhere no one will find your hide after I am done flaying it off your bones." Then he smiles charmingly, fangs caressing his lower lip, pointing at the sketch. "This? This is for when I’ve carved you down so thoroughly I won’t even remember the face you started with. When I’ve peeled the truth out of you, layer after stubborn layer, until I reach that pathetic little spark that makes you think you can fuck with me."
My blood runs cold. I try to find the bluff in his expression or hear the usual amusement or humor in his tone but all I’m met with is an icy rage that has festered and curdled. And I realize with horror as he hums, pleased with himself, that he is mad enough to actually kill me.
I suppose anyone would, when they find out that you’ve been fucking with their head.
He inhales like a man who’s tasted something truly delightful and wants more of it. When I yank at the ropes, fear leaping into my heart, his smile widens. "Oh, that," he purrs. "That is a beautiful look on you, thief."
My eyes frantically search the room for an exit.
He doesn’t bother to look up. "Fat lot of good that will do you. Still, I could give you a head start. It’s been years since I last enjoyed chasing prey." His gaze flicks to my shorter legs. "Though I doubt you’ll get very far."
"What do you want?" I groan against the bit.
He shuts the little sketch book and unrolls to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back as he approaches. He bends awfully close until our noses brush and all I can see is rare violet. Then he slides two fingers under the strap of the bit and pulls it free.
"When I saw you and realized what you had done to me, I thought of the thousand different ways I could repay you in kind. I haven’t quite decided which it might be first. Limb from limb? A swift death? Breaking your spine?" He sucks in a little breath and sick glee shines in his eyes. "Until I do, you’ll serve as entertainment."
My heart is pounding rapidly. His lips are close. I remember what it had felt like that first time years ago, straddling him, kissing him. The high of having his hands on me, his teeth. Nothing has ever come close.
I rein in my fear, my dark thoughts as much as I can, then smile sweetly up at him. "I’m perfectly fine staying right here. There’s an awfully comfortable bed. I bet there’s food decent enough to feed a king. And I don’t have to get out of bed. That sounds like a vacation to me." I wiggle slightly, looking back at my wrists. "You think you could loosen these for me a bit? I don’t mind the ropes. It’s quite... kinky."
The King blinks slowly. "You are not frightened."
I snort. Yes I am. He scares me. He scares everyone. He is large, he breathes danger, his arms are thick enough to crack my skull without even trying. And those fangs. All he’d really needs to tear out my throat is one sink. He radiates violence. Fear doesn’t even begin to describe the way he makes me feel.
The problem, however is, fear isn’t the only thing he makes me feel. It’s just another one of the several emotions he wrings out of me and it is easy to refocus my energy elsewhere.
So I feign nonchalance. "Why should I be? We both know you’re not going to kill me." His eyes narrow, pale lashes caressing high cheekbones as I breach the gap between us, until his nose brushes against the side of mine and my lips feel the softness of his. His mouth is curve cruelly like a weapon, but his lips are softest I’ve ever kissed. "We’ve danced around this many times before. You like me. I live in that overstuffed, royal head of yours."
His fingers curl the sheets on either sides of me. "Your assumptions and misplaced confidence will get you killed."
"Assumptions?" I murmur. "Tell me that I am wrong. Tell me you didn’t follow me and bring me here because you don’t know what to do with me. If you really wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead." His eyes lower to my mouth and darken as I continue softly, "Maybe it started out as curiosity, but now it’s something else. And you hate it. Because it confuses you. It aggravates you, because so long as you cannot get me out of your head, it doesn’t matter if you hold me by a leash. I still have leverage. I own a piece of you."
His breath quickens and mingles with mine. I do not think I’ve ever met anyone whose smell makes me want to... lick his skin.
His eyes narrow. A husk of a smile ghosts his mouth and then his hand is there, sudden and hard, at my throat. Nails bite into my skin; the pressure steals my breath in hissing, desperate sips. Air fails. My words break into ragged scraps
I feel his fingers at my throat half a second later, nails biting into my skin as he all but strangles me. "This is your doing, then? Your compulsion?"
I can’t breathe. Air fails to track down my windpipe and my words break into ragged scraps. "Tell yourself... that if... it’ll make you feel better." Read complete versıon only at novel⸺fire.net
He recoils from me immediately. And as I blink back the water from my eyes, I see that he is gone.
Hours later a maid, doe-eyed and soft-spoken frees me. They clean me, clothe me, set food before me. When I ask to leave, the answer is the same as the look on everyone’s face. No. And it’s strange, how little that disturbs me.
In truth, I don’t want to go home quite yet.
Either way, I don’t see Lucien for the rest of the week. And when the next one rolls by dully while I occupy my time with sleeping, eating, training out of sheer boredom and picking up a new hobby of sneaking into his study to read at night and I find that the study smells warmly of him, I understand then that he isn’t gone. He’s just been avoiding me.