fourteen

Poppy

He began by teaching her what he called ‘hand-to-hand combat', which he said was essential when one wanted to defend oneself. Or to fight back.

Is that not a sin? Fighting back?

She almost said the words out loud, but his face was like granite, hard, still, cold. And white. He looked breathless and bloodless as he instructed her, and said nothing, except for uttering strangled oaths at regular intervals whenever their fingers brushed.

Poppy kept her thoughts to herself, and tried to focus on the movements of the training, which demanded coordination and concentration, as if they were the movements of a dance.

He taught her how to move her feet first of all, quickly and silently, and how to balance her weight correctly so that when she found an opening to attack, she wouldn't stumble and fall.

"Bend your arm backwards," Hades instructed, pretending that he was twisting her arm behind her back as an attacker would, "and apply pressure with your elbow. Yes, exactly like that."

She did it, ‘exactly like that', and pounded Hades right in the chest. It felt as if she were pushing her elbow inside a marble wall, so hard was his chest. He coughed, fighting for breath.

"Again," he gasped. "'S was perfect. Now raise your other hand and claw at my eyes."

"At your…?"

"Do it, quickly, before I have time to recover my breath."

She did it. His hand flew up and caught her fingers before she could literally ‘claw at' his eyes, as he had instructed. He hissed at her touch but did not flinch, staying still, in front of her.

"Again," he said.

They repeated the entire thing, hissing included.

"Does your arm hurt like this?" he asked her, letting it down with more gentleness than she had thought him capable of.

"A little," she replied. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly from the exertion, and she was feeling more alive than she had in years.

"I'm sorry."

"It's no matter," Poppy said. "I've learned to live with it. To do what I must."

"No." His face got sullen, and he looked younger, like a boy. "This is unacceptable."

"Are you not in pain as well?" Poppy thought of all the hissing.

"No, why would I be?" His eyebrows met in confusion.

"You said you couldn't abide to be touched."

"Oh that." He looked away. "You're right. I can't. But I had…had quite forgotten."

"Oh."

He forgot? How on earth does one just forget—?

"Come on then," Hades said with renewed enthusiasm, "we shall find a better maneuver for you. Let me think." He proceeded to try out different movements right there, in front of her. She watched him move lightly on his feet, with the grace of a dancer, mesmerized. "Right," he said finally. "Punch me now, right in the face, like I showed you. Then push me away. No, faster. The minute I lean towards you, do not hesitate, do you hear me? Do not think of refusing, just start fighting at once. At once. You may have a split second, use it."

She tried to do as he asked, but her body felt wooden, awkward.

"Again," he said, infinitely patient.

"Again."

"Again."

"I'm sorry," she said twenty ‘agains' later.

Sweat was pouring down his brow, but his lips were smiling. And it did not look like a lie.

"Never mind that now, you are making progress," he said, sniffling. "Come at me. Harder. Make it hurt this time. Move the way I taught you, your body tight, and choose my weak spot, where you can do the most damage."

They went on, their breaths panting in tandem.

Finally, he let her rest and braced his arms on the back of a chair, catching his breath for a full minute.

"You are quite spent," he told her.

He was watching her, smiling an absolutely wolfish smile. His hair was sweaty, dark strands plastered against his forehead, and at some point, he had taken off his vest and stood there in his stockinged feet and shirtsleeves, a wall of muscle inside his billowing lawn shirt. He was smiling down at her with his white teeth and deep dimples, and before she knew what she was saying, it happened:

"Shall you try to seduce me now, so that we can see if I can resist?" her mouth said.

Without her permission.

She herself was still trying to get enough air inside her lungs.

He looked down at her, his own chest rising and falling rapidly. He licked the sweat off those red lips of his.

"Still thinking of that, are you?" He sounded quite out of breath.

Of course he would twist her meaning. Poppy bit her lip and turned around, suddenly embarrassed.

"Did I hurt your hand?" He asked her at once, misinterpreting the movement. "Let me look at it. I'm sorry."

She gave him her hand; it was not hurt, but it did hurt, as it usually did whenever she used it, even for the most menial of tasks. She had learned to live with it, and barely noticed it herself anymore, but somehow now that he held it in his palm lightly, his own fingers dwarfing it, she felt self-conscious of its small, crooked fingers.

Hades let it fall gently, as he had before, and inhaled through his hose. Was he disgusted by her disfigurement? Hot shame burned in her cheeks.

"If I ever cause you pain," he said, his eyes meeting hers, big lakes of blue ice, "you must tell me at once. At once."

"Why?"

"So I can kill myself."

She did not know if she should laugh or slap him across his chiseled cheek. What a thing to say! Mocking her again, no doubt. But his eyes were still on hers, earnest, burning.

"That is not funny," she said with as much acerbity in her voice as she could muster.

"I did not mean it to be," Hades replied, looking down at his feet. "Do you not know that you are killing me every second, even as we speak?"

"I am?"

"Dying," he said, his voice raw, guttural. "I am dying."

What on earth for? she wanted to ask, but her courage seemed to have deserted her once more. She hid her hand in the folds of her dress.

"Don't do that," Hades said immediately. Insufferable man; nothing escaped him. "Never for my sake. Never, do you hear?"

Poppy licked her lips.

"Did you mean to say, before, that I have injured you, as we fought just now?" she asked, hating how timid her voice sounded.

Hades looked surprised.

He took one step closer, then thought better of it, and stepped back again.

"No. I am suffering for another reason altogether. Can you not tell?"

She shook her head and he chuckled.

"You seem to be hardly aware that you are doing it," he murmured. "It would be fascinating if it were not so excruciating."

"Doing what?"

A smile that looked more like a snarl split Hades' face.

"She doesn't even know," he said to himself.

"What?" Poppy was getting impatient, but that had not sounded timid. At all. "What on earth am I doing?"

"Seducing me," Hades replied.

…

They fought some more.

He pushed her once and she lost her balance and started to fall. She knew in that moment that her bad leg wouldn't be strong enough to break her fall and braced herself for the pain and humiliation. The carpet was fast approaching her forehead, when Hades caught her with a long, strong arm looped around her waist. He lifted her up, and she found herself pressed against his marble-hard chest. His heart was beating wildly.

"Thank you," she breathed.

He didn't let her go.

"I could fight you now," she murmured against his neck, "if you tried anything. I think I have learned enough."

"I wouldn't resist. You can kill me if you like."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I…I seem to have lost my mind," Hades whispered, his eyes unfocused.

"Have you forgotten how to seduce young ladies, my lord?"

"I have." Still unfocused.

He didn't even smile.

She pushed against his chest lightly, and at once he set her on her feet. He was still looking at her.

"Well. Naturally, I know nothing of seduction," Poppy said, "except maybe for the obvious things. For instance, I used to think that I wouldn't mind being kissed. I never have been, you know, and it's not likely that I ever will, seeing as I…"

With a drowning man's sigh, he bent his head to hers, and fit his lips on her own.

Alexei

He slammed his lips into her soft mouth.

He had meant to simply brush her mouth with his—well, it was less that he had not meant to do it and more that he could no longer resist doing it. But when he bent his head to hers, she had made a little movement towards him, tilting her head up to his, and he had lost all control.

He kissed her so hard his lungs burned. It was so intense, it felt like dying. Either that, or he had forgotten how to breathe; but who needed breathing anyway? She angled her mouth to better accommodate him, and his knees began failing him.

He cupped her chin with both hands, bringing her face up to his as she melted against him, and he tasted the sweetness of her lips, then her mouth, until he was lost.

He found no reason to stop kissing her; he was dying for oxygen, but he was dying for her even more. When he felt her sigh and begin to sag against him, he quickly draped a hand around her waist and reluctantly parted his lips from hers.

"Are you all right, love?" His voice was making faint, choking sounds, his lips still mere inches from hers.

She leaned against him, nearly fainting, and he knew that he had done this to her, his kiss had done this to her, turned her weak. And that knowledge was enough to almost send him to his knees in front of her again.

"I am," she replied. "You?"

He shook his head vehemently. "I am not all right. You are killing me."

"I should…" She stepped away from him. "I should not be doing this, it is wanton." Her little face looked tortured by guilt, but her cheeks were flushed with pleasure.

He felt his own lips, red and bruised and swollen—by her—stretch into a smile.

"But what do you want, Wyatt?" he murmured against her mouth, tugging her closer to him.

His knees nearly buckled again when she sighed against his lips, the breath soft and trembling with passion, but he grabbed her arms to steady himself. Her hands instinctively came up to cup his elbows, and support his weight.

I don't like to be touched.

I love to be touched.

"I," Poppy whispered, licking those pink lips, and making him lose what was left of his sanity, "want to kiss you. To keep kissing you. Your lordship, I mean."

He chuckled against her lips.

"The name, as I have told you, is Alexei," he said. "And as for me, I want to die."

He lowered his head and kissed her again.

His wish came true: he did die.

And oh, what a glorious heaven he reached.

He who had always been meant for hell, was now in paradise.

It was hours or days or years later when they finally stopped.

They did not so much stop as melt into each other and then on the floor. And then Alexei could not endure it anymore, and almost had to excuse himself and leave the room. But he looked down at Poppy's head, her hair disheveled by him tangling his fingers in them, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming short, her lips swollen, dripping with his kisses, and his heart stopped.

Everything stopped.

He stopped what he was doing and let her go carefully, as if she were made of porcelain.

Stop now, he commanded himself, trying to get his wild breathing under control.

You will not ruin her.

You will not ruin the one good, clean thing that you have ever touched.

It was a battle against his own body. He wanted to grab her and not let her go until the hunger of an entire lifetime was sated. But he would conquer his own want, his own need. He had to.

His entire body shook and he stood abruptly to walk to the fireplace, leaving her there, curled on the floor.

His knuckles were white, his lips tasted of blood, and he turned around to find her leaning against his bed, her head tilted like a wilted flower, half-asleep. He had to clasp his hands tightly together so as not to reach out and lift her in his arms right then and there.

"This is unendurable!" The words were wrenched out of him, and the pain of uttering them tore his throat apart.

He stood there for a moment or two, gazing down at the still, slight form of the girl. And then he turned purposefully around, meaning to leave the room, the club, and even London, if that would stop him from ruining her.

"Don't go," a voice murmured from the floor.

He turned around so fast his hair whipped against his cheek.

"Are you all right?" He strode to her and knelt next to her on the carpet. Careful not to touch her. Her lips were still swollen and so red, as if tainted from eating cherries.

"I am not," she replied, starting to unfold her body from its crouch. He reached out an arm to help her stand, because the movement looked painful, but she refused it. His heart stopped. "I lost myself in you. I am not all right."

"Nor I," he said.

"This seduction business…it worked then?"

He ducked his head, hiding a rueful smile.

‘It worked then?'

"Do you even have to ask?" he murmured. "And I promise you, I did not seduce you."

"Well, neither did I."

"I beg to differ," Alexei said, pursing his lips—mostly to avoid kissing her again.

Had anyone ever looked more kissable than she did right now, with her crumpled dress, stiff movements, bright-red cheeks and messy bangs?

No. No one had.

"I thought your lordship said that no one could ever seduce you anyway," she said quietly.

He almost kissed her again just to make the words stop coming out of her mouth.

"It is true," he said instead, gritting his teeth. "Was."

"I did not s—" Poppy interrupted herself. "At any rate," she said, attempting to straighten her dress as she stood, "you won, Your Lordship. I cannot endure this any longer."

"I'm sorry," he turned away, suddenly gripped by a rage he could not explain. She cannot endure it, can she? "If I was insufficient."

That was what always happened, wasn't it?

No matter what he did, he was never bloody enough.

He hadn't been good enough for his father to want him, he hadn't been good enough for his country, he hadn't been good enough for that bloody orphanage. And now he hadn't been good enough for this angel of a girl. Then again, who could be?

But it still stung like the devil's own dagger had been plunged into his chest.

"You were," she answered immediately, before his thoughts had been allowed a chance to spiral further into the inferno. "Rather too sufficient, if you get my meaning." His heart gave a thud and he could swear that Poppy Wyatt was actually trying to kill him. Murder him dead. "And there is no need to speak in this icy manner, you know. You were all fire before."

"I am still," he said quietly. "I apologize."

"Stop bloody apologizing!" The words burst out of her with vehemence and he turned to look at her in surprise, only to find that she herself looked just as shocked at her own outburst, if not more.

A laugh escaped him.

"I'm…It somehow feels as if saying ‘I'm sorry' right now might earn me a smack across the cheek," he said.

"It well might," Poppy replied, turning to the window, and pressing her hands against her flaming cheeks. "I wouldn't attempt it, if I were in your lordship's shoes. Now, do you or do you not want me to answer your burning question?"

"My…what?"

"Why I was here than night?"

"Oh, that." He had entirely, completely forgotten about that. "Yes, please."

"Right."

Her tone was all business, although he could detect a small wobble in there somewhere. But she did her best to hide it, and to stand straight and tall, and he mentally took his hat off to her.

This might just be the bravest human being he had encountered in his entire life.

"Follow me," she said, rather snappishly.

Or the stupidest.

"Are you ordering me, Miss Wyatt?" he said, crossing his arms, and refusing to budge an inch from where he stood. She was almost at the door now, swollen lips and disheveled hair and all, apparently waiting for him to follow. Absurd, that's what she was, absurd. "I do not respond well to being ordered around."

"You don't?" she asked, feigning surprise. "What if I told you to kiss me, instead?"

He inhaled sharply.

Damn the chit. Too clever for her own good.

"Would you be more inclined to follow me, if that was your other option?" she asked.

Alexei felt the blood drain from his head.

She's threatening me. It's blackmail, it is. If Nikolaos' assassins were as good at threats as this girl, I can't promise that I wouldn't have given the prince's location up already.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, following her at once. "Remember when I taught you how to fight back?"

"Faintly," she replied, hurrying out in the hall.

"I am beginning to think it was the worst idea I ever had. I think I taught you a little too well."

"Do not flatter yourself, my lord," Poppy's voice floated back to him, and he thought he heard a laugh in her voice. The very thought that she might be smiling—or laughing—was enough to nearly send him to his knees again. "You had little, if anything, to do with my new-found courage. I can faintly remember being this person before. I had just lost myself for a bit, that's all."

She was clearly taking the lead; but where was she leading him? She didn't know enough of the Club's labyrinth-like structure to take him anywhere yet.

"What have I done?" Alexei chuckled, as he followed, obediently.

But inside, his heart was being torn apart.

If just one kiss revealed you to be a goddess, he thought silently at her, then what were you before?

And who did this to you?

What have they done to you?

Who dared to turned you from a goddess to a pet?

And how soon can I get my hands on them to murder the absolute hell out of them?

Twice over.

…

There was no escaping the cats.

As soon as they climbed the stairs to the main floor, they were swarmed by the feline masters of the club. Poppy walked calmly around them, her steps not faltering once, the cats magically allowing her to weave through their soft paws as if they recognized in her a rare form of cat-approved authority.

By the time they found the gaming rooms, there were seven of the bloody animals tangled around Alexei's boots and Poppy's dress. He was alert, ready to drop to his knees and swoop all seven demons in his arms if he saw that they were about to trip Poppy; she had trouble enough walking with her limp, although one could not tell by the graceful if a bit uneven way she floated on the ground. But somehow, it seemed that the cats were even more careful of her than he was, so he relaxed and surrendered himself to following her and wondering what new stupidity he had gotten himself into.

He did not have to wonder for long.

She took him to one of the gaming rooms. Men of various ages and social standing were lounging about as the thick, pungent fog that was coming from their cigars clouded about their heads, and Miss Wyatt, instead of being shocked, ignored all of that and simply said:

"Now we shall pretend to play, but really, we shall watch."

"We?" he lifted an eyebrow, a movement which was usually enough to render his companions into cowering idiots. But Miss Wyatt did not even notice.

"Fine, I'll do it myself," she said with indignation. "But do not presume to ask me again why I came here, my lord, if you do not have the patience for the answer."

"Don't you ‘my lord' me," Alexei hissed, annoyed into making a fool of himself.

Poppy smiled. His breath caught at the sight.

I would make an absolute fool of myself every day just to see her smile.

Damn her.

They sat at a card table and proceeded to spend the most insipid night of his life pretending to play cards, according to Miss Wyatt's instructions. From where he sat at her elbow, it didn't look as if she were pretending: the girl knew her game.

After she had won several hands and cheated most shamefully, Alexei perceived that she was about to get up, subtly motioning to him to do the same. He endeavored to pick his jaw up from the floor and follow her in a somewhat inconspicuous way.

"What are we doing?" he hissed at her. Maybe he should add ‘I don't follow females around my club's gaming rooms' to his list of things he did not do.

Well, he was doing it right now; but it would be the last bloody time.

"We are going after this gentleman," Poppy replied calmly, indicating a sorry fellow who was getting his coat from one of the servants.

"Outside?" Alexei asked.

"The sky is clear enough in spite of the fog," she said. "There might even be stars."

Alexei shuddered. "My dear, I do not go outside," he told her. "Not if I can help it."

"Oh?" Poppy appeared to be considering this for a bit. Her hair fell on her forehead in the most charming manner. Damn her. "Why not?"

"Bored."

Alexei shrugged, the lie rolling out of his tongue easily.

"I thought you wanted to know what I came here for," Poppy said, relentless. "Well, this is what I came to do. Tonight, I shall be following the young viscount who was just at the card table with us." There was something peculiar in her voice, as if it was about to crack.

Alexei's eyebrows met.

What on earth is she on about?

"DeVere?" He followed the gentleman in question with his eyes. What on earth could possibly interest Miss Wyatt in him? "He is a patron of the Underworld; he's here every night. He lost quite heavily, as usual," he said, confused. "What of it?"

Poppy snorted. "You wouldn't think anything of that, would you?" she said bitterly, and something inside his chest hurt as he felt contempt ooze out of her.

"Excuse me?"

"Could you call your carriage, my lord?" Poppy said in a hurried manner; but he could see that she was really nervous beneath her sternness, so he did as she asked. "As it happens, I sat next to DeVere once before, and I did not quite succeed in following him home that night." He knew exactly what night she was talking about, damn her. "I am afraid we might already be too late."

"Too late for what, devil take it?" Alexei asked, confused and irritated past endurance.

Why is she so interested in DeVere, of all men?

And, dear God, is that thing burning in my stomach…That thing that's eating me alive, stopping my heart…Could it be jealousy?

No, it cannot be. It absolutely cannot. I am not jealous. Others envy me. I have never ever—

"Too late for what?" he repeated, yelling a little bit.

I don't yell.

"To save his life," Poppy said.