Chapter 31

31

LINCOLN

M y entire body is drenched in sweat as it stirs to life, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings, and for me to remember where I am. I'm at the penthouse, in Asher Donovan's bed, and the man in question is still sitting in the chair, glaring at me. The room is dark, darker than when I went to sleep, and from experience I can tell it must be around 3am, but from the looks of things, Ash hasn't attempted any kind of sleep.

I attempt to move, and pain lances through my torso and I groan, alerting Ash to my being awake. I shift onto my back as he leans sideways and flicks on the lamp on the bedside table, illuminating the room in a soft glow. It's only then I notice his disheveled state. My eyes scan his blood-soaked shirt and pants, the red staining his face, neck, and arms, and I blink back in confusion. I know he helped patch me up, but there wasn't that much blood before, I'm sure of it.

When he sees the look on my face, he doesn't speak, just nods his head towards the side table, and when my eyes flick over to it, my confusion only deepens. A large blood-stained jar sits in the center, with something large and fist-shaped inside of it, a nd next to it is a small box of candy.

"Is that a heart?" I ask carefully, flicking my gaze from him to the jar, and I see him nod in my peripheral.

"It's Billy Powell's heart," he states plainly, and my eyes snap back to him, assessing him a little closer this time.

Tension lines every inch of his body, an obvious fury still clinging to him, and my heart starts to beat wildly in my chest, as I ask, "And the Milk Duds?"

His eyes, which though dark, are still somehow soft as he shrugs, "They're your favorite." A fact I have never told him, yet still he picked up on it and chose to remember it for later.

"You know most people would just admit they like me," I reply carefully, baiting him in his angered state.

"Yeah, well most people lack creativity, discipline, and incentive," he snaps in response, rising to his feet, before his eyes widen a little as he realizes what he just said.

Gritting my teeth, I lean over the other side of the bed, and pull back the duvet, as I command, "Come to bed."

"Lincoln," Asher instantly replies, cursing my name in warning, and I let the sound of it roll over me.

"As much as those thoughts hiding behind your eyes intrigue me, Dark Prince, I am a little out of action right now, so how about we just sleep instead?" I smirk, patting the empty space beside me, and his stare travels between me and the door.

"I can go to one of the other rooms," he explains, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, like we aren't standing in his bedroom.

"You could, but I don't want you to," I admit, not wanting to push him more than he can handle.

"Just sleep?" He questions, slowly moving around the bed until he reaches the empty side.

"Just sleep," I confirm, and then watch in fascination as he slowly pulls off his blood-soaked clothes, my eyes dancing across his sk in.

"I really should shower," he starts, but I lean over and capture his hand in mine, ignoring the stabbing pain now screaming at me in my side.

"You gave me a heart in a jar, but you think a little blood is going to bother me?" I ask, cocking a brow at him, and for the first time since I showed up earlier tonight, he smiles softly. "Just get into bed, Ash, we can worry about the sheets tomorrow."

For once he does as he is told, climbing into bed, being careful not to touch me and stay on his side. So I'm sure he is spiraling when I shift closer, bringing his back flush with my chest, and resting my arm on his waist. "What are you doing?" He gasps, his skin instantly coming alive with goosebumps, and I crave to drag my tongue across every one of them.

"Spooning you, Logan taught me how," I reply, snuggling back into the amazing fucking pillows he has.

"What the fuck is spooning?" His body is still tense and rigid, as if he thinks that will stop me.

"It's another word for cuddling, now just give in and be the little spoon," I grunt, forcing my leg between one of his, until I am comfy.

"I'm not a little fucking anything," he exclaims, and I smirk into his back, the coppery tang of blood on his skin mixing with his natural scent, and driving me completely insane.

"Oh trust me, baby, I know, but you just cut out someone's heart in my honor, so the least I can do is cuddle you," I sigh softly, breathing him in, and waiting for his body to relax into mine.

"Cassie says cuddles can make anything better."

I nod, stifling a yawn as sleep begins to claim me again. "That kid is strong, and smart as a whip, just like her dad," I mumble, slowly drifting off into peace.

"Lincoln," Ash whispers, pulling me back from my almost unconscious state, "Are you okay?" he asks, and I nod, pulling him in even closer.

"I am now."

When I wake up again the sun is high in the sky, shooting beams of light across the bedroom and illuminating the remains of last night. Blood stains the sheets, and our skin, our rumpled clothes are a mess on the floor, and there on the nightstand still sits the bloodied jar and box of chocolate. Yet the only thing I can focus on is Asher. At some point in the night I must have turned onto my back, because I am lying flat in the middle of the bed, and Ash is curled into my right side. His head is resting on my shoulder, one of his legs thrown over mine, but it's the palm of his hand resting on top of my left pec that snags my gaze.

His hand is resting on my heart, the same hand that cut out someone else's mere hours ago, for the crime of just hurting me, and yet still he would deny this if I let him. His body is curled around mine and still he thinks he doesn't own me, and I him.

Doesn't he see that we're inevitable? We always were.

Logan brings me from the brink of darkness and forces me to dance in the light, but Asher meets me right there in the black of night, his wounds so similar to my own, and it's time we started embracing that.

I stroke my hand up his spine, pulling him from a sleep so deep, I'm sure he finds it strange, because he snaps awake, his eyes flaring wide and taking in his surroundings, until they land on me. He frowns at first, no doubt recalling the events of last night, because his eyes then flick between my side and the stuff on the table, before coming back to me, noting our closeness.

"Morning," I rasp, my throat dry and coarse and in desperate need of hydration, and he instantly sits up.

"Are you okay?" His hands slide down to where he bandaged me up, but then hesitating a little, as if he isn't sure he has free rein to touch me. Like he didn't save me from the brink of death just hours ago, and then become an executioner in my honor.

"You tell me," I toss back, not wanting to admit how much pain I'm in, but of course nothing gets past Asher Donovan.

Almost reluctantly he pulls himself away from me, stalking from the room until he returns a moment later with a bottle of water, some painkillers, and a trash bag. I gratefully chug down the meds with some water, before he puts the bottle on the nightstand next to the bloody jar, surveying our surroundings with a blank, clinical look.

"Did you sleep okay?" He asks, once again looking slightly nervous in his own room, and I can't help but bait him.

"You mean while you were suffocating me with your cuddles?" I ask, and he glares at me in warning. "Don't give me that look, Dark Prince, you were an excellent little spoon."

"I thought we established there isn't anything little about me," he snaps, glancing around at the mess of the room, and my eyes instantly drop to the morning wood currently being contained by his black boxers.

"Oh trust me, I know," I grit, forcing myself into a seated position, and allowing his heated gaze to burn over me.

"We should shower and get cleaned up," he starts, picking up the clothes from the floor and tossing them all in the trash bag, before focusing on the sheets.

"If you want me naked and wet, all you have to do is ask," I flirt, pushing myself to the edge of the bed, but it ends in a groan of pain, my hand flying to my side.

Ash is next to me in an instant, his arm flying around my waist to help me. "Are you okay?" He asks, his head too close to mine, and I breathe him in and nod.

"I'll be fine, it's not the first time I've been stabbed, remember?" I grunt, and his eyes darken, flicking to the now healed scar that sits on my shoulder blade.

"Yes, I remember," he spits quietly, helping me to my feet, as I use the side table for support, not hiding my smile as I survey the milk duds and my heart in a jar.

"Who knew you were such an excellent gift giver," I muse, and his eyes drop, as he makes quick work of stripping all the sheets from the bed and tossing them in the bag too. Only then does he move back towards me, his arm once again sliding around my waist, as he leads me to the ensuite attached to his room. "Why did you do it?" I finally ask, not caring how bold the question is, and I feel his body tighten, before he positions me against the sink, and leans into the shower to turn the hot water on.

"Do you think you'll be okay to shower, or do you need some help?" His eyes now avoid my gaze, as he opens a cupboard and pulls out some fresh towels and puts them on the rail. "Your bandages are taped over with a waterproof material, but I'll change them once you've showered anyway, just to be safe," he carries on, still careful not to look at me.

"Asher," I grind out his name, grabbing his arm to stop him from rambling, forcing him to look at me. "Tell me why you did it," I demand, already knowing, but still needing the confirmation.

"You know why," he mutters, head tipping down to the floor, but my hand reaches up and captures his chin, pulling his gaze back to mine.

"I know, but tell me anyway."

His eyes search mine, as my mind relives every single time we've been close like this, knowing most of those times were because he had me up against the wall by my throat, denying what was right in front of him, but not anymore.

"He hurt something that belongs to me, and he needed to pay," he whispers, eyes searching mine, and even with that cunt's blood still staining his face, he is still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. "So I killed the five men he had left, and then I shot , stabbed, and sliced him until he was bleeding and crying, and then I used an ax to cut into his chest and slice out his heart."

The hand holding his chin slides down, curling around his throat, pulling him in even closer, as I whisper against his mouth, "I always knew you wanted me, Dark Prince." Then I seal his blood-stained lips to mine, and nothing has ever tasted so fucking sweet.