36. Kaspian

Chapter 36

Kaspian

T he soft hum of computer towers fills the sitting room section of Farrow Manor's library as I stand at the center, surrounded by multiple screens displaying the digital lives of each Sovereign.

Silas Morcant, the High Sovereign. His digital life is as austere as the man himself. Bank accounts brimming with ill-gotten gains, a calendar meticulously filled with coded Cimmerian Court meetings, and a cold correspondence style.

The Silent Sovereign, Orion Devereaux and Axe's deadbeat dad. His online presence is even more elusive, which isn't shocking considering how he ghosted his children. His transactions are conducted through intermediaries, proxies, and throwaway accounts, leaving me to sift through layers of encrypted messages and transactions that leave only the slightest digital trace.

And then there's the Scourge Sovereign, Evander Verlane, whose e-life is a blatant reflection of his sadistic nature. Graphic photographic exchanges and financial transactions linked to underground fight clubs and black-market arms deals are only some of what I sift through.

My fingers dance on the keyboard, hacking into their accounts, draining their coffers, shrouding my and my brothers' bloody deeds in a veil of cyber deceit—changing camera footage, manipulating data files, planting false electronic trails. It's a kind of ASMR that somewhat satisfies my thirst for revenge.

"Rossi would not approve."

Elara's voice drifts from the doorway, soft, yet laced with concern.

I swivel in my chair to face her, covering my wince of pain just in time. Fucking bandages. I'm certain Rossi and Tempest used too many strips and mummified me on purpose.

But thoughts of those featherless birds go out the window when I fully take in who's standing in front of me.

Elara's dressed in a tight white tank and tighter blue shorts. Her thick hair is finger-tousled in all the right ways, falling around her shoulders in tangled waves. But beneath all that sex appeal is something else—worry.

Ah fuck, it better not be for me.

"Are you going to tattle to Daddy?" I ask, drawing out the question.

"No," she says, stepping into the room. "I've come to understand why you're not resting."

Her bewitching eyes hold mine.

My chest constricts in a way unrelated to the horrendous burn under all the gauze. It's the sight of her trying to piece together the enigma that is Kaspian Valenti that does it. Such a futile effort. Even I can't unravel myself fully.

Elara's asking me, without uttering the words, to let my guard down, to let her in. But damn it, vulnerability isn't a language I'm well versed in.

So instead I scoff, rubbing my temples as the headache that's been steadily building since our final encounter with the Sovereigns throbs behind my eyes. "And what's your theory, Dr. Wraithwood?"

Elara crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes. "The only person who could make the death of three leaders somehow worse is you. You're nursing a brainchild of mischief over there."

My mouth tugs up into a half-smile. "Always so quick to assume the worst of me."

She moves closer, the faint scent of her spicy perfume teasing my senses. I try to focus on the screens around me, but it's damn near impossible when Elara's standing within snatching distance.

"I'm not assuming," she counters. "I know you."

The silence that follows her statement stretches on for an agonizing moment. She knows me. The thought should be terrifying.

What's more frightening is that it's … not.

"Then you should know," I say finally, forcing myself to break eye contact. "Rest is a luxury we can't afford right now. I have deaths to cover up and a Court to fix."

Elara sighs softly, stepping closer until she's leaning against the back of my chair. Her fingers brush against my bare shoulders, and despite myself, I stiffen at her touch.

"Your body needs rest to heal."

"And your point is?"

Elara's quiet for a long minute, her fingers trailing lines of heat on my skin.

"My point, Valenti," she finally says, "is that you're not invincible. You couldn't even put on a shirt, could you? All you could manage was sweatpants because you're body's been through too much. And God forbid you ask for help the way you help others. Like me."

I chuckle coldly. The sound slithers over the surrounding bookshelves before dying out.

"I'm still invincible where it counts," I retort, leaning into her touch and rubbing my palm over my growing erection through those sweatpants.

Her hands freeze on my shoulders.

"Kaspian…" she warns.

Fuck. The sound of my name on her lips does things to me that no assortment of bandages or painkillers can alleviate.

I shrug out of her hold and utter the biggest lie of them all. "I'm fine, beastie."

"Stop being so goddamn stubborn and let me help you."

Her words tap against the walls surrounding my heart with more force than a battering ram. I can't deny the sincerity burning in her eyes... or the effect it has on me.

"Help?" I ask, looking over my shoulder and forcing a smirk that doesn't reach my eyes. "I didn't realize being shot at and branded made me eligible for a spot in your charity case line-up. You've got your hands full with Axe, anyway."

Her face smooths. Turns cold and bloodless. If I weren't coldblooded myself, I'd be genuinely concerned over what I just unleashed.

Until she buries her fingers in my hair and yanks my head back until I bang against the chair and our faces our inches apart.

"I dare you to put him before yourself again, Kaspian," she hisses through gritted teeth, "You're as important to me as he is."

I laugh at that. A low, harsh sound.

"You amuse me, Wraithwood," I say, muscling past the knot in my chest. "Your misplaced sense of duty is certainly entertaining."

"Is that what you think?" Her voice is softer now, the rage in her eyes slowly replaced by something akin to hurt, but she doesn't let go of me. "That I consider you a duty?"

"I'm a liability, Elara."

I regret my words as soon as they slip from my lips. It's unlike me to let anyone in like this.

But with Elara ... everything's different.

Her fingers soften their grip on my hair, and she uses her other hand to trace a soothing path down to the side of my jaw that almost makes me purr.

"I don't deserve your faith," I say grimly, even as I close my eyes to her touch, trying hard to ignore the fluttering feeling in the yawning pit of my stomach.

"But you have it."

Regrettably, her hand leaves my face to rest on my shoulder. The pressure is gentle, but firm.

A silent promise of staying right here.

"Why are you so hell-bent on saving me?" I snap, ignoring how my voice weakens on the last two words.

It's pathetic how desperately I want her answer to be different from the one that's trumpeting in my head.

Elara scans my entire face, from my crown, to my eyes, to my mouth.

"Because," she murmurs. "You're worth saving."

"Elara." It's my turn to warn her.

She places her hand gently over the layers of bandages protecting my heart, that traitorous organ the ruby should've melted along with my skin.

Elara stares down at where we're connected, noting the pounding underneath her hand. "There's your answer."

Her eyes rise to mine with such conviction, it steals my breath.

I can't push her away. Not now. Maybe not ever. Instead, I grab her wrist, intending on pulling her off my chest, then slipping out of her shockingly strong grip on my scalp, but I pause.

"Your definition of worth is skewed," I mutter, my gaze fixed on my hand wrapped around her small wrist. I notice the difference of her delicate fingers against the my battle-worn skin, the purity of her touch against the grit of my life.

Sensing the slack, Elara moves her hand lower, tracing along the edge of my sweatpants. "Is this what you want, Kaspian?"

The little beastie is testing me, pushing boundaries.

"I'm not afraid of you," she says, circling to my front, still keeping me in her hold. "And you shouldn't be afraid of yourself."

Anger flares.

I abruptly rise, sending her staggering back, then yank her against me with all the strength of a wounded, cornered animal until we're toe-to-toe.

Elara pulls her head back to glare at me while I dig my fingers into her hips, locking her into place. Her cheeks are flushed with a color that rivals her hair, her eyes bright with— good —hatred.

But she meets my gaze head-on, and that's when it happens.

A moment. Just a second where my facade cracks enough to reveal a sliver of the uncertainty brewing inside me. My fate, our future, everything hanging in an unsteady balance.

There's a hushed silence as Elara takes in the change in my demeanor, that fleeting vulnerability that makes rare appearances even when no one's looking.

But she's looking now.

"And if I prove you have every reason to fear me?" I challenge darkly, every muscle in my body turning into thin, taut sinew ready to snap.

"Do your worst," she dares with a defiant chin tilt, although her voice wavers just slightly.

I immerse myself in the intoxicating scent of her, spice and honey, the scent that's been driving me to insanity since the day she first walked into my life.

I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against hers in a rare moment of surrender. Her pulse quickens under my hands, warm and alive.

Then, In one single arc, I spin her around and pin her against the desk, a monitor crashing against the floor and cracking the screen, its picture turning into flashing, pixelated colors.

Elara doesn't struggle or try to break free. Her hands snake up the clasp around my neck, pulling me closer until my teeth snag her lower lip until my taste buds burst with her blood.

"Still unafraid?" I question, running my tongue along my teeth.

She's silent for a second. Then—"Always."

I descend onto her lips with all the brutality that has gnawed at my soul. Elara returns my fervor with surprising strength. Our bodies collide, fight, struggle, and eventually find a rhythm only star-crossed lovers understand.

Elara's moans fuel the poison burning inside me. I grip her hair, pulling her head back so she can watch me grind against her. Elara bites down on her lower lip, leaving bruise over my bite-mark, and I nearly cum on the spot.

I slide a hand up her thigh, teasing her clit through the thin fabric of her shorts and eliciting a sharp gasp from deep within her throat. Her inner walls clench around my fingers once I edge around her clothes and stroke her closer toward orgasm—but I can't give in yet.

With one last forceful push into her wet heat, I pull out abruptly, leaving both of us panting heavily. Elara's eyes burn with unshed tears, but also desire, pleading for more punishment—for release from this tormented lust that consumes us both.

"Please," she says between ragged breaths. "I beg you … fuck me harder."

Without warning, I lift her and slam her onto the desk, keyboards, towers, and monitors crashing to the ground as I pin her down with a firm hand on her neck, the other ripping away her shorts and undergarments.

Her legs spread instinctively and I position myself over her trembling body. She arches into me. Her fingers claw at my back in a desperate attempt for contact, loosening my bandages until the blood-soaked gauze covers her chest instead of mine, exposing me at my most raw, my ugliest self.

I thrust in, all the way to my hilt.

Her welcoming heat envelopes me, robbing me of any lingering sanity I may have clung onto.

Elara's screams reverberate, a blend of shock at how fast I've stretched her and unadulterated pleasure.

I can't help but match her cries with my own throaty grunts as I drive into her with unrestrained force. She grips the edge of the desk as if she's clinging onto her very existence—each time I thrust, she pushes back.

"Kaspian..." she breathes out, her voice coming out in shuddering gasps as she wraps her legs around my waist.

My calloused hands grasp her hips tightly as I pull out and slam back into her, each thrust harder than the last.

Elara whimpers slightly, but it's not out of pain. No, it's pleasure that has her tossing her head back and gripping my shoulders with white knuckles.

I kiss her wildly, sucking on her bruised, cut, swollen lips. I pull away so my tongue can lick along the column of her neck, tasting the salty beads of sweat dotting her skin. She squirms beneath me, panting, writhing, and it only drives me deeper inside.

"Say you want more," I demand between grunts.

"Yes," she sobs.

There is a sick satisfaction in knowing that she wants more of my carnal hunger. A vindication that I have succeeded in marking her as mine. I withdraw and surge deep within her, rewarded by her cries, her whimpers, and the way her eyes roll back in pure electric pleasure.

I press my forehead against hers as I continue to find home inside her. Elara's nails rake against my back, drawing blood that trickles down my spine. She watches every expression cross my face; each wince, each clench of jaw that marks moments where control slips from me, and each hiss through my teeth when I plunge deeper into her.

Her hand wraps around my hilt and moves rhythmically along with our bodies' forceful collision. Her thumb brushes over my tip just as I pull out and crash into her, making both of us groan aloud.

My teeth find her bare shoulder where I bite down hard enough to make her shout, but the taste of her skin drives my primal need.

Relentless, I drive into her harder and faster with each passing second. Her legs tighten around me as her moans turn into high-pitched screams. Elara's walls clamp down on me, sending sparks along my spine, and I'm pushed closer to the edge.

With one final thrust, we fall together.

Entangled, our bodies heave and shudder. My fingers press into the flesh of her waist, anchoring myself as I try to find my bearings in this fugue only Elara can escort me through.

While I'm working on being able to see again, Elara lightly probes around the flayed, charred skin on my chest.

I watch her exploration for a while before I snatch her wandering hand in mine.

"I didn't think it was possible," she whispers, her voice haggard .

"What's that?" I ask, feigning indifference, yet unable to break away from the intensity of her study.

"For you ... for you to let me touch the worst parts of you," Elara murmurs.

She leans forward to capture my lips with hers in a surprisingly gentle kiss.

My heart stammers at her words, at the accusation and finality they carry. But instead of retreating behind my usual barriers, I find myself admitting, "I can't help it around you."

Her eyes widen slightly at my confession, but instead of retreating or pushing me away as others might have done before her, she smiles and traces my lower lip with her thumb.

"You don't have to wear the mask with me," she says softly. "Not anymore."

Elara's words are my anti-venom, seeping into the most eroded sections of my soul, where no one dares to tread, lest they never come out again.

A breath shudders out of me at her acceptance—Elara's downright stubborn insistence—to see me as I am.

And love me.