Chapter 46

Chapter 46

M ariah had never been so uncomfortable in her life.

Everything was on edge. Every part of her body was tense and too sensitive. She could see everything, hear everything, feel everything.

Especially him .

A shiver raked down her spine as she tipped another sip of whiskey down her throat.

“You alright, lassie?” Mikael looked at her over a sizzling pan, concern pinching his brow.

Mariah set her glass down on the island, straightening her shoulders. “Yes, sorry. It’s just been a long day.”

Mikael nodded, looking unconvinced, but said nothing further as he turned back to the meal.

The ride back on Kodie was … well, fun. Exciting. For just a moment, she’d somehow forgotten what had happened, who she was and what she was after. The aberrant was pushed to the back of her mind, the slimy feel of its dark malignance nothing more than a shallow memory. She was just Mariah, the girl who always knew how to get men to do exactly what she wanted, and he was just another man who’d fallen into her beautiful trap of saccharine smiles and subtle touches. It was a game they’d played before, but this time she had more power, and she’d fucking loved it.

She hadn’t noticed how it affected the bond stretching between their souls. Hadn’t paid it much attention, not as his smell of rain and sandalwood wrapped around her, scooping her up into an embrace that was so terrifyingly familiar.

She hadn’t noticed how far she’d gone into that game until he’d said it.

That word. That name . That one thing she’d told him not to call her because it was the last thing she’d asked him to tell her before her world was shaken apart. Even if it hadn’t been him, she couldn’t be sure. And she never wanted to hear it from him again.

A plate appeared before her, piled high with steaming buttered bay scallops and seared spring vegetables. The rich aroma wafted up, her stomach rumbling.

“It looks delicious, Mikael. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, lassie.” The chef hesitated, toying with the strap of leather holding back his hair. “Are you … sure you’re alright? Do you want company?”

Mariah forced a smile. “I’m fine. I promise. Like I said, just tired.”

Mikael gave her one last lingering glance, before he turned to tidy the kitchen and excused himself from her suites.

Mariah ate in silence, forcing the delicious food down her throat, hoping— begging —that it would help settle some of the ache pulling at her gut.

She didn’t want to think about how it felt like the tug of a bond, one that wrapped around her like shadows and cooled her fire like ice.

None of her other Armature bonds felt like this. The others were strong but easily malleable, tangible things she could grab and turn on or off. This was too intense, too vexing, too infuriating.

Just like its source.

With a final pull of her whiskey, she set her now-empty glass on the island counter and stormed to bed, desperate to end this day and hoped these feelings ended with it.

Something yanked her from sleep no more than an hour or two later.

Not a thing. That feeling again. But this time, it was hotter, blazing and uncontrollable, and was sitting far lower in her core than before.

Frustratingly, dangerously low.

She couldn’t stop the groan that slipped past her lips as she pressed her thighs together, desperate—for friction, for pressure, for anything . Desire, heavy and suffocating, coursed through her, the type of want that in the past always led her to doing something wild and reckless and a little eyebrow-raising. Her hand skimmed down her bare thighs, the hem of her oversized tunic riding up as she twisted her legs together. She traced the source of that desire, down and into her soul … then following it out …

Her eyes snapped open.

Her mind sharpened onto a bridge of ice and shadows, the bond that connected her to the source of all this.

Several images flashed through her head.

The strike of a metal-tipped whip.

Him, furious and frustrated with her antics today.

The brush of his thumb acoss the skin of her abdomen.

Anniliese Hareth curled in his lap in a castle dining hall, ball gown hitched and lips pressed against his.

All that hot desire ignited into burning, intense rage.

She knew it hadn’t been him in those moments in Khento, not really. But her fury coursed through her like a volcano, untamed and uncontrolled, and everything she’d shoved to the deepest corners of her soul came roaring to the surface.

Fuck him. Fuck him for hurting her, for scarring her, for breaking her.

With a low growl of rage, Mariah pushed from her bed, swiping her grandfather’s dagger off her nightstand as she headed for her door.

She stormed across the hall on instinct, bursting through the doors. When she was greeted by darkness and slightly stale air, she remembered.

He’d moved to a wing on the other side of the palace. Until she could decide what to do with him.

Well, she’d fucking decided.

Her grip tightened around the dagger as she padded off, slinking through the shadows of the palace, following the pull of the bond. That desire— his desire—still tugged low in her core, and each step was its own kind of agony. She’d neglected to slip into pants, only the silk of her underwear and thigh-length tunic guarding her against the cool spring air wafting through the palace.

Mariah didn’t see a soul as she stalked through the halls. She passed courtyards and stairways, gilded halls and archways wreathed in shadows. It wasn’t long before she stood in a hallway lined with doors to guest suites.

That bond kept pulling her forward, to the second door on the left.

Her insides were set ablaze, rage and heat and want racing uninhibitedly through her veins. She was panting, chest heaving, palms slickening her grip on the dagger as she placed a hand on the doorknob.

And twisted.

Her eyes found his the moment the door swung open. Tanzanite blazed in the dimness, ice and fire and light and shadow dancing between them.

Her rage, though, was still an unstoppable force.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Her words were hissed, gasped through clenched teeth, her vision fuzzy, and her ears ringing.

But as she held his gaze for a few heartbeats longer, something briefly settled, before snapping into place. A wave of clarity washed over her, lifting the fog and replacing it with a predatory focus.

The first thing she noticed was that he was most certainly alone. No one was in the small room but him. And her.

The second thing she noticed was him .

Frozen, slouched back on the couch. Hair messy and tousled, cheeks flushed, and eyes much too bright. Shirtless, his only clothing a pair of dark-gray cotton pants.

The waistband pushed down. His hand?—

She snapped her gaze back to his. Where he was still as a statue, watching her.

Waiting for her.

Her grip on her dagger tightened as she swallowed, blood flushing to her cheeks, to her chest, all that rage and heat dropping right back to her core.

“ What ,” she repeated, this time much lower, “are you doing?”

Andrian’s throat bobbed as he, too, swallowed.

“What are you doing here?” he growled, his voice so deep, husky and warm.

“What am I doing here? I could fucking feel you. All the way across the palace. I couldn’t sleep .”

He watched her, eyes narrowing, something she recognized twisting his mouth. “So … you came to pay me a visit?” He glanced at her hand, still clutching her dagger.

She felt the path his eyes took as they skimmed her bare legs before returning to her face.

“Good to see you came armed, at least.”

“Gods, you’re an asshole.” Mariah whirled. She was frustrated, and her blood raged. She couldn’t do this. Not with him. Not right now. Not yet.

She heard rustling behind her. “No—shit. Mariah, wait.” Just as she took a step towards the still-open door, a hand wrapped around her free wrist, yanking her back into a chest of hot, solid muscle.

Despite the wave of want that ripped through her, she whirled on her toes, her dagger whipping up and pressing into the hollow of his throat.

And, of course, Andrian was grinning, the side of his mouth cocked up into a smile, white teeth flashing as his eyes blazed.

Mariah locked him with a glare, but she worried the heat licking at her spine, the flush she knew saturated her neck and face, softened its burn.

“Gods,” he murmured, leaning into her. Her dagger bit further into his neck, a wordless warning. He froze but didn’t draw back, that cursed smile still on his face.

“I forgot how pretty it is when you blush like that.”

More flames surged into her cheeks. “I’m not blushing .”

His grin widened. “Sure, you’re not.”

She inhaled once, through her nose, eyes fluttering closed before snapping open and pinning him with her stare. “Let go of me.”

“I’m not touching you, princess. That’s all you.”

She blinked, taking stock of her body. He stood close to her—far too close—but he’d let go of her wrist, both hands hanging loosely by his sides.

The only places they touched were where her dagger met his throat … and where her left hand had wrapped around the back of his neck, her fingers winding into the messy lengths of his hair.

She released him with a gasp, stumbling back. Her chest heaved, everything buzzing in her ears, lightning whipping across her skin. Threads of magic crackled and popped, silver and gold sparking off her fingers. Heat flared in his eyes as she fought to control herself.

Fought … and failed.

“I could … feel you,” she repeated, her words a hoarse whisper. Everything was too bright, too dark, too much.

“Felt what, princess?” He took a small, hesitant step forward. His eyes, burning even brighter, dropped to her lips. “Use your words.”

Mariah knew her flush deepened. She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t even try.

She gritted her teeth. “You. I could—can— feel you. Gods, it’s like you’ve burrowed under my skin, and I can’t fucking shut you out.”

He cocked his head. “You can shut the others out?”

She nodded.

“But you can’t shut me out.” A slow grin spread across his face.

A muscle in her jaw tightened, but she didn’t answer him.

“Can you feel this?” His voice was husky, but he held his grin as he lifted his hand and laid it across his chest. “Can you feel the way everything in me aches for you? What your presence here, right now, does to me?”

Gods, she could. That bridge between them was so bright; she could see it when she closed her eyes, pulsing and shimmering. Everything he felt, every feeling and desire he harbored for her, crashed down their bond, slamming into her with so much force she worried it might buckle her knees and slam her to the ground.

She closed her eyes. Forced herself to breathe deep, searching inhales and expelling exhales. Not that it helped. Nothing helped.

But she had to try. Deep inside her, somewhere, buried beneath layers and layers of lust and desire and heat, was pain. Distrust. Insecurities she was working to repair but weren’t yet mended.

Mariah was terrified of what might happen if she gave in. How much it might shake loose all those things she’d buried.

She was also terrified of what would happen if she forced herself to walk away. To return to her rooms, alone and heated. What that sort of crash might do to her.

Gods, what a fucking mess.

She cracked her eyes, her lids heavy, to find that Andrian had inched closer, and now stood so near that she could still feel his heat radiating off him in waves. He panted, his hands shaking, his eyes whirlpools and his shadows curling around his shoulders.

A dam was broken when she met his gaze.

“Do you know what I had to see back in that place? What I had to endure?”

A shadow flickered across his face. “Mariah, I … I would trade everything about myself to go back in time. Just the thought that I was the one who hurt you like that … those scars?—”

“Not the fucking scars.” Her fury twined with her aching need, washing through her so she didn’t know where one ended and the other began. “ Her.”

This time, it was confusion that passed over him. “Her? Who are you talking about?”

She gritted her teeth, still lost to herself. “I could survive the whips and starvation. Bodies heal. But do you know what truly broke me?” He blurred, and she angrily wiped away her tears.

“When I had to see you kiss another woman. I was holding on, until they convinced me—for one fleeting, horrible moment—that everything you’d ever told me was a lie .”

Mariah didn’t just see the horror spreading across his face. She could feel it, could taste it, thick and slimy and bitter as it washed down that infuriatingly beautiful bond. Andrian’s stunning eyes widened as his jaw slackened, taking a staggering step back.

“I … Mariah, I have no memories of that place. I don’t even know who you could be talking about. I would … I would never .” His voice cracked at the end. “I know—I know I said some terrible things to you. Before. In the library, on that balcony. But they were just the words of a scared and desperate man. The moment you stepped out of that carriage, you were it for me. Even if this world lost its moons, you would still be mine.”

Everything in Mariah’s world narrowed to this moment. This confrontation.

Those words.

Her rage slipped away, dark memories retreating to the hidden corners where they belonged. All that remained was that burning, insatiable heat, an unquenchable desire blending across a bridge of shadow and ice. A demanding pull from a neglected bond made from necessity but screaming for release and acknowledgment.

“I am trying. To forgive you.” Her voice broke, and she sagged where she stood. “I know … I know it wasn’t you.”

His relief was palpable, a physical thing that snapped in the air. He surged further, closing the distance between them.

And halted when she shrunk away, back meeting the wall behind her.

“You can’t touch me,” she said in a rush. She took a steadying breath. “I’m not ready for you to touch me.”

His chest heaved as he slowly tilted his head. “You are trying to forgive me … but you still don’t trust me.” Not a question. He could read the fear, the hesitation in her eyes, could read between her words.

Mariah nodded.

He growled, low and deep in his chest. It was a sound of frustration, and it vibrated down their bond. But he took a step back, until he hit the small dining table in the center of the room. Leaned himself on it, hands braced behind him.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he reopened them, he smiled.

“Okay,” he drawled, the words like honey on his lips. “Then if I can’t touch you … can you touch you?”

The world stood still.

Then everything moved again, blood and wind rushing past her ears. Heat sparked and crackled in her veins, settling low in her core, crawling lower until there was an ache that almost had her whimpering against the wall. Their bond danced so bright she swore she could see it there, stretching between them.

Andrian’s forearms tensed, jaw working as his throat bobbed. “An answer, princess. I need an answer.”

“Yes,” she croaked. “Yes, gods. I can … I can touch me.”

“Good girl.” He almost whispered the words, standing up from the table, straightening his spine as he fixed her with a look . A hungry look. A devouring look.

“I understand. I wouldn’t trust me either.” His voice was like smoke and shadow. “I promise I won’t touch you. Not again, not unless you want me to. But you have to agree to do something for me.”

She swallowed, shifting on her feet against the wall. “What?”

His grin shifted into something dark and feral. “For tonight, your hand is mine. For tonight, wherever I say you go, you go. Whatever I say you do, you do. You keep your ability to stop, to walk away, but if you give me just a sliver of trust …” He pushed from the table, walking not to her but to the still-open door. He stopped beside her, grabbing the handle, his scent wrapping around her like something dark and dangerous.

Probably an accurate instinct. Everything about this was dangerous. She could feel it in her bones, but she couldn’t turn away. Their bond thrummed between them, the energy ancient and wild and unleashed.

“If you give me that sliver, I will give you everything you need. All you have to do is say yes.”

They watched each other, hearts pounding, beating in rhythm, though neither knew it. After what felt like an agonizing eternity, Mariah nodded.

The look that crossed his face sent a fresh wave of heat through her veins.

He closed the door with a snick before locking her with a stare. Everything about him was commanding and dangerous and, despite the conflict raging through her, exactly what she needed.

“Go stand beside the bed.”

At first, her instincts had her resisting the command. Pushing back against the authority woven into his words, she shot him a glare.

Andrian only lifted a brow, the side of his mouth quirking up.

Her nostrils flared, but she straightened her shoulders, shifting on her feet. With every drop of seduction and bravado she could muster, she pushed off the wall and swayed across the room. She still lacked her curves, that soft firmness she’d loved so much, but she was still her.

And even after everything … like fuck would she forget that.

When she reached the bed, glancing once at the dark, twisted sheets, she whirled to face him. He’d taken a few steps forward, moving back to the dining table in the middle of the room. With a movement that tightened her chest, her thighs pressing tighter together, he snagged a chair and swung it around, settling onto it with a lazy grace. He sprawled out, legs spread wide, resting a hand on the table. He was still several feet from her, but the way he watched her made her feel as if he was right there .

As if the hand toying with the hem of her tunic could really be his.

His eyes dropped to that hand, as if he heard those thoughts, before lifting back to her own. His jaw tightened, fingers clenching.

“Take off your tunic. Slowly.”

Her breath hitched. Her lungs constricted.

But she obeyed.

Her fingers curled into the soft cotton as she lifted her shirt, the material rising over her torso. A brief, wild pulse of self-consciousness flashed through her—she was so thin, her ribs too visible, her collarbones stark beneath her neck. But when she pulled the material free from her body, discarding it onto the floor at his feet and meeting his gaze again, all those thoughts vanished.

Andrian’s bright blue eyes had darkened to near black, and the look he fixed her with was ravenous. Desperate. Consuming.

He lifted a finger; what could’ve been a lazy gesture … or all he could do without leaping from his chair.

“Now the underwear.”

Her heart was pounding. Hammering. The steady beat of a drum. Everything sizzled and cracked as she did what he asked, hooking her thumbs into the hem of her silk undergarments and peeling them down her legs. She kept her gaze fixed on his, desperate to swallow down every raised eyebrow or tugged lip or bob of his throat.

She was now bare before him. Just as she’d been dozens of times before, but never like this. Never in this new, scarred body, its thinness and weakness still unfamiliar to her. He must’ve seen the hesitation flash in her eyes because he met her gaze again, attention hardening into steel.

“You are fucking perfect. Every inch of you.” Andrian paused. “Repeat that back to me.”

“What?” she squeaked, voice high and breathy.

“Repeat what I said. That you are perfect.”

She stuttered for a moment, twisting her hands together. Nervous. She was never nervous.

But … She obeyed.

“I’m perfect.”

“Yes. Fucking perfect,” he growled, hands clenching back into fists. “Now, remember: your hand is mine. Your body is mine. Everything I say, you do. You can stop whenever you want, but I promise—I will take care of you.”

Mariah nodded. She was past the point of thinking, anger and jealousy and hesitation forgotten.

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now. Get on the bed.”

The backs of her knees brushed the comforter. With a smooth movement, she hoisted onto the soft blankets, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She sat there, hands resting behind her, thighs clamped tightly together.

Andrian studied her for a moment, running a hand through his messy hair. “Grab the pillows. Put them behind you.”

She did as he asked, stealing the pillows from the head of the bed and arranging them behind her. Once done, she looked back at him expectantly, trying to paste a look of boredom across her face.

Mariah was far from bored. She remembered the fun of this game. The thrill of wielding power as only a woman could.

Her expression was enough to pull a grin from him. “Be patient, princess.” He tsked. “We’re finally getting to the fun part.”

Her insides went molten as he rested his arm across his lap, drawing too much attention to the strained gray cotton. He noticed her stare and made a sound in the back of his throat, low and heated.

“Lie back on the pillows.”

She did. She had one leg curled up, the other stretched in front of her, thighs clamped together.

He fixed her with a wicked grin.

“Now spread those legs for me, princess.”

She hesitated. Just for a moment. The longer she held his stare, the greater the inferno in his eyes grew.

She drew up her other leg. And let them fall apart.

From where he sat, he could see all of her. Every single inch. Nothing hidden, nothing shadowed. But for their agreement that he would not touch her, she was utterly at his mercy.

He watched her, his rapt attention nearly burning. “Just like you told me, princess,” he whispered, leaning back in his chair. “So fucking perfect .” He licked his lips, the tip of his tongue darting out to swipe along the seam of his mouth.

“Now, your hand. Whose is it, Mariah?”

Gods. The way he said her name. “Yours. It’s yours.” She almost choked on the words, how quickly she forced them past her teeth.

“That’s right. Mine .” His eyes were shadowed. “Your right hand. Show it to me.”

She lifted it without hesitation. The fight had left her, replaced by this indescribable burning need.

She’d had her fair share of sexual encounters. Had her fair share of encounters with him.

Not one had made her feel quite like this .

“Start at your throat.”

She touched her fingers to the column of her neck, brushing them back and forth. Her heartbeat hammered beneath her fingertips, heat pouring off her skin.

“Now move down. To those perfect tits. Show me how good it feels to touch you there.”

She obliged, her hand drifting down her chest before circling her breast. She closed her eyes, her inhale sharp as her fingers found her nipple, pinching and pulling, her body responding as her back arched off the bed.

Andrian groaned.

“Open your eyes, Mariah.”

She forced her lids open, blinking against the heaviness, the weight of her desire.

She found his stare easily, a glowing blue lighthouse against the dark.

“I want you to watch me for this next part.”

She nodded.

An answering growl.

“Move your hand down.”

Mariah did, her fingers dancing across her stomach, inching closer to her center. Where she really wanted them, where his attention was now locked, watching her every move with a scalding intensity.

His eyes flashed as she grazed the soft skin of her center. Felt her wetness there, the madness he’d forced upon her since seating her between his legs as they rode her horse through the city.

Since long before that.

“That’s it, princess,” he praised. She held his gaze steadily, even as her own fingers began to move in and around her, dragging that wetness up to circle her clit. Even as his own hand, the one that had rested on his lap, slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, grabbing hold of his length. “Show me how you find your pleasure, Mariah.”

Her fucking name. It sounded like a mixture of a prayer and a curse, something both saintly and sinful, whenever he said it like that.

And because he had, she had no choice but to oblige.

Mariah didn’t break from his stare as she used her fingers to inch herself higher and higher, pushing herself toward the cliffside waiting for her. His hand matched her rhythm, chasing after his own release. Sweat beaded their brows, breath hitched in their lungs, but they refused to break.

Even when she pushed herself over the edge, her back arching from the pillows, she held his gaze. Even when he followed soon after her, breath hissing through his teeth with her name panted between jolts of his body, he held her gaze.

It was only when they collapsed—her back onto the bed, him into that chair—that their stare finally broke. Magic, light and shadow, curled and drifted around them, much like it had that first night, so many months ago.

But this time, they were six feet apart. A gap that suddenly felt too far, too detached.

The distance tugged a low, foreign ache in Mariah’s soul. An urge to sit up. To stand from the bed.

To close the space.

But just as she was about to move … something stopped her. Something she was coming to hate, something she was becoming more determined to stamp out from her life, once and for all.

Fear . It was a low, slimy whisper of fear wrapping around her heart that had her staying still. That kept the distance where it was, even though everything in her body and mind and soul called to close it.

She sat all the way up, dropping her gaze to her lap and her hands. The boiling tension from their bond was extinguished, but a new sort of frustration rose in its place.

Frustration at herself. At this terror. At these feelings that were so unlike her, were so foreign to everything she was.

The chair in front of her creaked.

“Mariah?” His voice was different now, too. Softer, lighter. More cautious, unsure if he had crossed some sort of line.

She hated that she made him feel that way. He’d been a prisoner, just as much as she. And she only continued to treat him as such, even after being freed.

Mariah lifted her head. Met his gaze. And gave him a sad smile. He answered with his own, so much hesitation on his beautiful face.

“Are you … are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. Better than fine.” She looked down at her discarded clothes. “But I think I better get back to my own rooms, now.”

Andrian nodded, running a hand through his hair. Gods, he really needed a haircut. The thought gave her a streak of amusement, which was quickly washed away by muted sadness.

She wanted to stay. More than she’d ever wanted to do anything.

But she needed to conquer this fear first.

“Let me walk you back.”

“No,” she said quickly, standing from the bed. His nostrils flared, throat bobbing, as she realized she was still starkly naked. She scrambled for her tunic, slipping it over her head before fumbling with her underwear. “That’s okay. I can make it back on my own. Besides,” she said, tugging her lips into a forced grin. “I came armed, remember?”

He hesitated, instincts obviously warring inside him, before dipping his head.

It pulled her heart. Shredded it. To see him so muted, so unsure around her. Despite the confidence he’d exuded moments ago, this was the man she’d created.

Perhaps they were each now creatures of the other’s creation, even if they hadn’t known it.

A headache pounded behind her skull. Her body begged for her bed, for sleep. To fall into unconsciousness and figure all this out another day.

“Yes,” he murmured. “You did.”

She brushed past him, swiping her dagger from where she’d discarded it on the countertop by the door. Just before she grabbed the door handle, she turned on her heel, finding him watching her with so many questions and not enough answers in his face.

“Andrian?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She loved the way his name felt in her mouth. The way it rolled off her tongue, as if it had always belonged there.

He brightened, just slightly. “Yes, Mariah?”

Her chest squeezed. “Tomorrow, you can move back into your rooms. But don’t forget; I sleep with this dagger under my pillow.”

The answering smile he gave her was blinding.

“Oh, princess. I wouldn’t dare forget.”