Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I t's far easier than I thought it would be.

All I have to do is rake my claws down the side of my clothing, ripping the material so that it falls from my body the moment I pull slightly away from him.

He draws me right back to him, seeming unaware of what I've done until my bare skin collides with his.

He barely pauses, a groan of need rumbling through his chest as his hands tangle in my hair and then press against my back as he pulls me even closer.

"Off," I snarl again against his lips, this time tearing through the waistband of the pants he's wearing, shredding the material that's holding them up.

Again, it takes only the barest separation of our bodies for the material to slither to the floor.

And still, he kisses me as he wrenches me upward, drawing my legs around his hips and turning to place me on the edge of the table.

My knees are on either side of his hips, and his hard length presses against my core.

I push against him, registering the pleasure it gives me, moaning against his mouth, even though it's a calculated sound.

Our bodies are closer than they've ever been before, and it would take very little effort to draw him inside me.

All the while, his mouth claims me. One arm supports my back while his head lowers to my neck, trailing kisses to my breasts, where he draws more moans to my lips.

I know my body well enough to be certain that I'm ready. Beyond ready.

I take hold of his length between us, tipping my hips enough that it will be easy to take him inside me as soon as his mouth returns to mine.

With my hand wrapped around him, I whisper, "Tell me what I want to know."

He groans against my mouth. "You are a beautiful darkness."

No . That isn't what I want to know.

But of course, my question was wrong.

"Tell me what I need to know," I say, drawing his lips to mine and kissing him as desperately as he's kissing me.

"You are a beautiful darkness, my Veda," he murmurs against my mouth. "A true darkness."

No. Dammit .

His hands clamp around my hips, and I'm certain he's going to pull me toward him, a thrust I want and need because I'm certain I can stay in control.

But instead, he pushes himself away from me.

His breathing is ragged and his eyes are flooded with desire, but his voice is harsh. "No full-on cock and vagina sex, remember?"

Suddenly, it's as if he can see into the heart of me.

I struggle to reply as the control I thought I had slips away from me. In those moments of my silence, his expression becomes blank, so devoid of emotion that it makes me shiver and then I can't find words at all.

"Now that you know I'm your enemy, you're in no danger of losing control to your feelings." He wrenches away from me, his hands finally leaving my hips before he turns away. "Control is everything to you. Fucking me is one way to take back the control over me that you think you've lost."

I can't stop the truth. "Yes."

Because he has never kissed me like that. Vulnerable, needy kisses.

I slide from the table, landing lightly on the rug before I raise myself up, completely naked, my shoulders squared.

I don't understand why my chest hurts so much at this moment.

The heart whose power I no longer control aches badly.

I can't stop the words tumbling from my mouth, the questions to which I need answers. "Why wasn't my mother afraid of you? Why didn't she fight you?"

He's only half-turned away from me, but there are too many shadows in his expression for me to decipher his thoughts.

"Only she knows that," he says.

I try again. "Did she know you?" I take a step toward him. "She greeted you as if she knew you."

He winces. "Nobody knew me, my Veda."

My brow furrows because that makes no sense.

"Did you hate her? Is that why you killed her?"

He's silent.

I wait for his answer, but now he may as well be made of stone.

"Did you hate her?" I ask again, my voice rising. "You ripped out her heart as if you hated her."

Suddenly, I'm crossing the distance between us and I can't stop myself from crashing into him. "Why did you kill her?"

My palms collide with his side, a half-punch, half-push that sends him back a step.

"Why?" I cry, the pain in my chest unbearable, so bad that I could believe I still have my heart. " Why? "

"Because I want my vengeance!" he roars, spinning and catching my fists, stopping me in my tracks. "Because I am owed ."

His eyes blaze at me, a light in them that makes them cycle, impossibly, through blue and gray and shadowy green and finally silver like his hair.

He drags in ragged, seething breaths and his lips move as if he will say more, but instead, he releases my hands and steps away from me, backing farther and farther away toward the darkest corner of the room, farthest from the fire.

"You should get away from me, Darkness," he says, calling me by the name the panthers use for me. "I can't give you what you need."

I struggle to breathe against the weight of my options now. Or, rather, the absence of options.

All I achieved from confronting him was more pain.

I reach for my clothing, sweeping it up off the floor, only to find that the material is too shredded for me to put back on.

Closing my fist around the torn pieces, I turn my back on the keeper, pausing now to consider the book on the table. When Emil hoisted me onto the table's surface, I must have bumped into the book because it now lies at an angle.

With a scream, I extend my claws and ram them down through the untorn parts of the book's spine.

There is no burst of energy this time.

The book was already dead.

But it breaks fully, tearing into separate chunks, the pages strewing apart.

Claw marks remain in the table's surface as I stride from the room.

I half-expect Emil to react to my sudden violence, but he doesn't, so I move onward, deeper into the cottage.

I need clothing and surely, this little house of my creation will provide for me…

A few rooms down the hallway is a bedroom with a large bed and an equally large closet, both made of gleaming wood and elegantly carved.

I pull open the closet to find only a single dress hanging within it, its gauzy layers shimmering.

One dress, huh?

It looks like it's designed to wrap around the body with a wide sash hooked through loops to keep it in place. It has an opaque inner layer that's strapless and extends down to my knees so it will cover my chest and thighs, but the rest is gauzy and transparent, with several layers that form the elbow-length sleeves and a flowing skirt.

I can barely see past my anger as I pull the dress around my body and tie it in place.

Trying to release some of my rage, I attempt to take deep breaths.

I'm angry at myself. For so many reasons. Trying to force answers from the keeper is one. Giving in to my impulse to try to control him is another. Nearly using my own body to do it, well—I'm not sorry he stopped me.

But even so, not all of it was pretend.

I'm forced to acknowledge that my physical need is real. It's pent up within me and I have no easy release for it.

The first time the keeper left me wanting, I did something about it myself, a move that brought him right back to me.

But this time…

There's a part of me that knows it's him I want and nothing else will be enough.

I want my enemy.

But I can't have him.