Chapter 24

Astrid

I s it weird that this torturous mansion feels like home? Maybe the only one I have really had, other than when my family was alive. The cold stone walls of the dungeons seem comforting in their solidity. Every plush red rug and ornate tapestry hugging the walls soothes me. I don't think I could sleep anywhere else, except for our oversized bed hidden in a castle turret with a view of all the stars.

Surveillance was interesting for a week or so, then it got boring. Through the lenses of all the cameras surrounding our estate, Vincente taught me the most vulnerable parts of entry. He said I need to know all the regular patterns of traffic surrounding the grounds in order to keep me safe during pregnancy if he's not here.

"So what happens after the future baby is here?"

With a smooth glide across the large tome of history, his hand spreads the pages out in front of us. As I ponder his serious face, brow hovering over his gray eyes, I think he won't answer me. He glances down at me as he leans over my back with one palm gripping my shoulder. "Our child will be the future consort, a combination of the two most powerful families in Gnarled Pine Hollow's history, and you'll be his mother. You'll guide him and lead him in the ways he should go. You'll be fully prepared to be the woman of House Strauss. The Queen of the North Side…" Instead of darting away, he holds my gaze and intensifies it. "Right?"

With a deep inhale, I consider how far I've gotten in my studies over the last couple of weeks. Most notably is news of my brother. "Yes. Right."

The way he says the words makes me worry he won't be there to guide me. And that makes me stressed because of this need I've developed for him. Panic rises up in my throat at the thought of him not being by my side.

Is that what love is?

"Our son will be the ultimate revenge against Clavius and Herodius, who have wanted to replace me with a Barrington ever since I refused to play their games. My blood won't go that easily… No. It'll be inside of that child."

It's cold when he backs away from me, taking a book with him to settle into one of the wingback chairs in a cozy alcove near the fire. My face must be wistful because his fingers extend toward the seat next to him as if he'd invited me earlier and is waiting for me to make a move.

He's giving me a choice.

I take him up on it, gathering the book I've been pouring over and plopping onto the soft cushion. He grabs a crochet blanket from a basket nearby and tosses it over my legs. "Tell me what you know of each house."

One of the kitchen staff enters with a tray filled with pastries as well as two mugs and a steaming pot. As she pours us some tea on the round table between us, I clear my throat. "Well, the East was always known for their armories, but most of the weapons were getting diverted to Clavius and Herodius. You tried to shut it down after the Day of the Raging Bull." Tipping my head toward him, I hurriedly add, "Successfully for years, I read. But when the societies decided to promote my brother as consort, they forced you to give Freidenberg his business licenses back and ignore their underground gun trade."

With a short bow, the woman leaves us, and the consort stares at his open book like he doesn't want to meet my gaze. "Your brother."

It's tough to swallow. My throat feels tight as I consider Wyatt and what transpired over the last year. Vincente wouldn't tell me everything, but I found out what I needed to know from Falcon. He wasn't pleased about that, but I know he wants me to continue, to use the knowledge for revenge. While I have other plans.

"My brother was diverting the arms to Clavius and Herodius from the East's trades."

He stills like a stone, and I realize how very terrifying that lack of expression used to be. The more I have gotten to know the man beside me, I don't see a harsh master. He's only that creature when we're fucking and no other time. Not with me, anyway.

Now, he's a confidante. My partner, in a way. I straighten my shoulders and tell him what's been bothering me without any shame. "I just don't see my brother doing something like that. Wyatt was very kind. He was loyal and good. He protected me."

The flames dance across his gray eyes, making them sparkle. "Just because someone does something noble doesn't mean they can't do terrible things, too. People aren't black and white. Good and evil. Villains or heroes. You can be both all at once."

His speech makes me pause. Could Vincente Strauss be capable of doing something good for humanity? If so, maybe these feelings stirring within me wouldn't be so horrible. This urge to be near him constantly. Joy that surges from my soul whenever I see him when I wake in the morning. Warmth that spreads over me as he caresses my skin with any part of his.

"I'm choosing to think the best of my brother. I think he did what he had to because of what he was going through."

Vincente finally gazes upon my face with some consideration. Leaning forward, he tucks a piece of my long hair behind my ear and pulls my blanket up higher on my lap before handing me a cup and saucer. He takes one for himself and sips it slowly. "I think that's a fine way to look at things. The person to best talk to about him is Asa Donovan. Tell me what you know of the South."

The heat from the tea seeps into my stiff hands. He stares at the side of my face even though I can't look at him. Softly, I say, "I think that's where Wyatt's buried." Imploring the consort with my begging face, I ask, "Can we meet with them? The families? If we could just tell them?—"

"You want to talk about your brother. I don't think it will go the way you want. Besides, we're still in danger if anyone finds out you're not with child yet."

I pick up a danish and shove it in my mouth with a nod, chewing with aggravation. He's right, but he seems to have hidden plans that he won't tell me about. "What happens if I don't get pregnant? What if Clavius and Herodius try to bulldoze past the barriers and take me? Shouldn't we ask for help?"

His expression is sad, and his eyes strain at the corners until he blinks several times. My belly flips at how utterly striking his face is. "I think the clans want you away from me, too. I'm the monster that stole you away, remember?" Rubbing his palms off on his trousers, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I have a strategy if anyone tries to take you from me."

I know the answer to the question, but I ask anyway. "What is it? What's your plan?"

With a smirk on the corner of his lips, he sits back and downs his tea. Then he grabs my leg out from under the blanket and pulls my foot into his lap. As he digs his thumbs into the sole, I groan with pleasure. "My plan now is to make you feel good so you can finish reading, then we can head to the conservatory to tend to the plants. Then I can fuck your tight little cunt again."

His non-answer to the burning question makes me think I need a plan for myself. For life without him. But I'm coming to the point that I can't envision what that would be like. The crushing blow to my chest when I even think of it is makes me realize that my dreams of the future revolve around this man. A life somewhere, in our own home, with our child.

When we enter the jungle of a conservatory, my hope is that we could get away and visit far-off places as a family. It seems strange, but as I watch him dallying in the dirt and carefully plucking off dead leaves from the tomato plants, I know what a gentle soul can live inside him. He wasn't just talking about Wyatt earlier.

He was talking about himself.

We can save this city, even if it's the two of us. Though I secretly wish to meet with the other clans and have them aid in our attempt. If I could sneak away to speak with them, perhaps without Vincente, maybe they'd listen to me. I'll tell them he's not bad . He wants to help.

I think…

"Nope. Put those over here." His commanding voice snaps me out of my scheming.

Raising my eyebrows, I pause mid-air with the trowel. "What?"

"Those small leaves that fell off. Bring them to the compost bin."

Gathering up some crunchy plant matter in my gloved hands, I wander over to the large containers lining the back wall. As I study the rows of raised beds under the shimmering glass roof, I picture a farm with lush greenery without the constraints of an enclosure. Fruit trees lifting their limbs to the sun in the open air. Vincente under a straw hat, working the field and telling me about each plant. His wealth of knowledge seems endless.

With a wave of my tool at the plants, I ask, "How do you know about all this?"

He holds out his hand for me, and I greedily take it. His shoulders shrug when he replies, "Just a hobby. One that was quiet, away from everyone in the house, and it had the bonus of driving my father crazy."

Again, I see him as a young man, probably around my age, as he stuffs his unoccupied hand in his pocket and lifts to his toes while ducking his head. For someone so full of confidence, arrogance, and candor, he's suddenly bashful. And I think I'm the only one he acts like that with. My cheeks heat with a sudden want for him, my husband.

This boy who had so much on his shoulders, he was never allowed to be that. But he can with me.

"After dinner, will you play that pretty song for me on the organ?"

His strides slow as we approach the back doors to the downstairs study. "Which one?"

"The winter one. The one that goes do do do do …" I try to sing a little of it. Badly.

A smile crosses his lips, brightening his face with mirth. When he's like this, I see it. His love for me. "Yes, my angel. I'll play the winter one for you. Before or after your dinner?"

"Um, actually, how about now?" With a spin, I tug his arm and pull him into the warm house. Given the short walk, we didn't wear coats today, but the flaming wood lighting up the living room's oversized fireplace more than makes up for the chill in the air outside. It's also been nice to wear thick pants and sweaters that Sev brought me from somewhere beyond our fences. Vincente grumbles whenever he has to undo the buttons, but I like making him work for it.

Once he settles on the bench, his strong arms wrap around me, pulling me onto the seat next to him. Sliding against the wood, I settle in and watch his long fingers caress the keys. At first strike, the sound vibrates my blood. The flex of his muscles working the machine fascinates me until I'm entranced, watching him like the master of music he is. His elbow bumps into my side occasionally, but not in a way to make me move over. It's more like a touch of endearment or making sure I'm still with him.

All three stories of the room fill with deep, wiry sounds his fingers produce as he becomes engrossed in the sheets of notes in front of him. Just as he gets to the loud crescendo of the song, my pussy tingles with every strike of his harmonious chords, which is only heightened by the long note he holds at the end of the movement.

With every brush of his thigh against mine, my breathing halts. The intensity of his gaze on the pages in front of him is unbreakable. Until I see his lashes lower as he steals a glance in my direction. Instead of the somber expression he usually wears when playing, he's filled with brevity that travels across the tiny space between our bodies. The tension is so palpable, a droplet of sweat forms on my brow.

The flames of the fire create shadows in the deep recesses of his cut cheeks as his fingers pause against the ivory keys. Lust hovers over his heavy lids as he gazes at my face while my heart pounds within the silence. It's almost deafening.

He reaches over and grabs me around the waist to set me on the top keyboard. A horrific discordant noise travels up the pipes and across the painted ceiling when my butt clamors against it. With a firm grip on my neck, he lifts my chin to meet his incessant kiss. It's as passionate as the tones he plays, as enslaving as the bass rippling through the copper tubes rising above us. My palms press into his chest, gripping his wool sweater while at the same time pushing him away just so I can breathe.

Placing his forehead to mine, he moans into my open mouth. "You're maddening. I can't get enough of you. I want to consume you until you live inside me." His words don't produce the fear they once did. As much as he wants to be one with me, I know he's already dug himself deep enough where I can't cut him out. And now I know…I don't want to.

Between panting puffs of air, his deft digits work the buttons on my jeans as he groans. "Fuck. No more trousers for you, angel. They only slow me down." With a deep growl of frustration, he practically rips them down my legs, every shift of my body creating more cacophonous chords. The sound adds to the growing need between my legs.

I tug him closer with my fingers hooked in his trouser loops, then fumble to get his zipper down. He's ahead of me, already pulling out his firm cock. In a flash, he grips under my knees and slides me closer, thrusting himself inside. With anguish, his lips find my neck and suck until I cry out from the pain mingling with relief. The discordant noises are as loud as my scream of his name. His sweeping tongue quickly transforms the ache into pleasure. Releasing my legs, I wrap them around his waist. My heels dig into his firm buttocks as I bring him even closer.

His fingers collapse on the keys on either side of me as he creates music that resounds with the song our bodies make as they slam against each other. He plays the notes as well as my body. While his attention is focused on where we combine, I tuck a finger under his chin and lift it so I can get those gray eyes to see me . The narrowing of his gaze on my face makes my pulse skyrocket, tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of my squinted lids. His warm, wet tongue gathers one up, licking my cheek, then ending his suck with a precious kiss.

There was that time just after Amalthea's visit that I felt so attached to him. Like the fear of him not being inside of me caused me to want him desperately. I couldn't get enough of him. It was intense. But this time is different.

Is this what making love feels like?

The waves of his hips peak into the crest of mine, and with every crash our chests join. Thundering beats resonate through his ribs, seizing the air from my lungs.

Music halts when he lifts his hands up to cup my cheeks as he places his damp forehead against mine and whispers, "You're mine. All mine. Say it as you come for me, angel."

A cry wrenches from deep within my core as pleasure seizes through my nerves, the sensation spreading all the way down to my toes. "I'm yours!"

His lips twist with mine, cutting off the wail I release like a torment of wanton bliss. I swallow his guttural groan as he comes inside of me. The pulses of my rapture ebb like the staccato tones seeping out of the pipes while his arms wrap tighter around my waist. With unbridled strength, he lifts me to plunge deeper inside. My nails dig into the back of his shoulders as I hang from his body like I'm an extension of him.

Like we're one.

There's a shift in the atmosphere as we gaze at each other until the flecks of gold in his gray eyes swirl with emotion. Despite knowing very well all the things our bodies just spoke to one another, I remain silent. Even when he says, "I love you."

Only, this time, I want to say it back.