Chapter 64

The frail boy in the cell has dusky eyes, and the roots of his iridescent hair have started to darken.

His light is fading.

His skin is broken.

He’s wet himself.

He cries for somebody he calls Lord …

I would like to kill them all over again.

D r i f t  . . .

I throw a blanket over the portrait and hide it in a room where I don’t have to look at everything I lost.

I’ll never paint in color again.

D r i f t  . . .

There’s fear in her wide eyes as she looks at me, hunting for a mark made by the blade she just swung. The seed beneath my ribs thumps in acknowledgement to her hand upon my chest—directly above it.

I’m tumbling. Feeling things. Fighting them before fate sets its eyes on her.

Snips her breath.

They can’t have her.

D r i f t  . . .

I’m in a cold room only lit by a shard of light that shoots down from far above, bathing the glass sculpture of a man and a woman—forever embracing.

Forever choosing not to stay.

I don’t know why I’ve come here …

It always hurts.

D r i f t  . . .

I’m proud. Bereft.

Petrified.

Surrounded by her colors and scent, I watch a ship sail away—the smell of her blood, fear, and heartache still thick on the back of my throat.

She almost drowned trying to escape me, because I didn’t talk. Again.

Always.

Why did I lock that door? My unsaid words might slit her throat. Burn her at the stake. Cut off her ears.

I’ll only have myself to blame.

D r i f t  . . .

Her hand is around me, working me.

Greedy, I fall into her carnal attention, gorging on her scraps like an animal.

I hate myself for it.

What I really want is her heart.

D r i f t . . .

There’s a hole in my chest, and I want to tell her it’s okay. Because it is.

I deserve to wear her hurt.

Her hate.

But for the first time in my life, I have so many words to say … and now I can’t catch breath to speak them.

D r i f t  . . .

She’s kneeling on a bed of white pillows, her lips a dark shade of red. Another man lays her down, and she lets him.

“Kiss me.”

I can see the lie in her gold-dusted eyes.

His hands are on her. Now his lips.

I’m murderous.

Powerless.

This mouth won’t scream my words—

D r i f t  . . .

I’m looking into the amethyst eyes of someone who fills my chest entirely, her hand on my cheek, regret in her watery gaze.

My heart breaks even before she calls it a mistake.

D r i f t  . . .

She’s walking across a branch above my head while blue flowers rain. She looks down, and my world tunnels as she smiles.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s all for me.

D r i f t  . . .

I’m inside her, and I never want to leave.

She runs her hands across my shoulders and kisses me like I’m fragile. Like she’s not scared of me.

For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a monster.

This is all that matters. Us.

The world can fuck itself.

Fate will never find her.

D r i f t  . . .

My beast pops the man’s skull between his teeth, brains spattering the back of his throat.

He’s certain that if he wears the blood of her enemies, she will see how much he loves her.

That she will accept him.

I wish it were that easy.

D r i f t . . .

She’s falling, and we’re powerless. There’s no balance in this moment.

There’s only pain.

D r i f t  . . .

Agasp cuts into me, flushing my lungs with the smell of leather and a crisp winter morning.

Him.

His essence is alive in the warm air that’s cradling me, in his scent infusing me with every breath. He’s in my chest—like he slipped his fingers between my ribs and tilled a void deep in the matter of my soul, filled it with a black, velvety seed that’s curled its robust roots around the delicate bones.

It feels so right inside me, like a missing piece sown into place, thumping with its own steady heartbeat … strong and mighty.

Anchoringme.

Is this a dream, too?

Confusion powers my heart into a thundering roar.

I open my eyes and look around.

Black sheets tucked over me like a shield.

Clean, black, untorn shirt that swims on me.

Black walls.

Black.

Black.

Black.

The color sinks into my soul like the sun on my skin.

Castle Noir …

I breathe big, clear, beautiful breaths as I look at my arms, stretching them out. Tipping them both ways.

No boils.

The scars on my palms are gone, and my hands fly to my neck—blissfully smooth.

No bite wounds …

How—

Deep rumbling sounds come to me, and my gaze bolts around the ungarnished walls.

A familiar window looks out onto a stormy night sky, and my pulse churns, stare halting on the easel that boasts an unfinished sketch I’ve seen before—resting hands that seem so at ease. Blinking back prickling emotions, I look to the fireplace glowing with a scattering of pulsing embers casting the room in a warm, red glow. I suck a gasp, heart stilling at the monstrous mound of black fur, huge paws, and wide, unblinking eyes nesting before it.

Looking at me.

I’m pelted with a vision of Rhordyn’s flesh splitting, sprouting an inky pelt that was soon splashed in blood. Echoes of his pained lament impale me, tears puddling my lower lids.

Dripping down my cheeks.

Another smooth rolling sound vibrates through my chest, his placid gaze fixed.

His ears prick forward as I sit up so I can get a better look.

Scraps of material litter the floor surrounding him—as though he took control so fast Rhordyn had no time to remove his pants. Those big, glossy eyes trace me as I wiggle toward the side of the bed and set my feet on the cold stone floor, heart pounding.

Another deep rumble fills the room. Fills my chest—like he’s pouring the sound straight through my ribs; almost a purr that sprouts me full of a strong sense of …

Safety.

I remember the funny dream I had that feels like a nuzzling truth, getting comfortable amidst the ashy gloom. A dream where a blood-lusting beast was part of me, sewn into my seams. It was crunching through bones. Pitted with this raw, archaic belief that the blood I drew equated the love I had for … someone.

I remember the crippling sense of inadequacy as I watched that someone fall.

Me.

The dreams … They’re like trinkets of truth passed to me. Trinkets I tuck away to examine later.

I edge forward in slow, cautious steps, Rhordyn’s shirt swimming around me, brushing against my thighs. The beast stays bound around himself, the tip of his long, fluffy tail flicking side to side.

Rusty firelight warms my prickling skin as I draw close enough that his deep, rumbling breaths dapple my bare legs, fluttering the shirt’s hem. Stilling, I lower to my knees, peering straight into those fathomless globes.

“You—”

My voice chimes like a honey-sewn song, and my hand slaps upon my throat.

Why do I sound so strange? Where has my rasp gone?

Did that heal too?

A shadow looms over me before something soft sweeps against my cheek, and I realize with a start that it’s his tail—making shivers burst across the side of my neck.

It brushes across my chin, back up my cheek. Repeats in a slow, gentle stroke.

A foreign feeling pumps through my chest, my ribs, and vibrates down my spine. Makes me feel warm and snuggly.

Comforted.

Like a soft hug for my heart.

Another swish of his tail, almost like a paintbrush gliding across my cheek, and I smile, deciding I like it very much.

Deciding I’m more and more certain he’s not going to eat me.

I shuffle forward until I’m tucked before his big, wet nose, my eyes level with his ebony globes that reflect my messy hair and flushed cheeks. “You protected me,” I whisper, lifting my hand, and his tail pauses mid-swish as I edge it forward—slow.

Measured.

The beast whuffs through flared nostrils, blowing the blunt ends of my hair off my shoulders as I lower my hand into the dip between his eyes and rub his soft, sleek fur.

He releases a rumbling purr that suggests he’s enjoying the attention, and the faintest smile kicks up the corner of my mouth.

That seed in my chest throbs.

I think of Rhordyn—tucked somewhere inside the beast—and my heart lurches.

Can he see me?

Hear me?

I wonder what he’s thinking. Feeling.

How he’s going to react when I ask him the questions bubbling inside my chest.

“I need to see him,” I whisper.

There’s a long, tense silence.

Another tail brush to the cheek.

Another.

A stern, firmly rooted sense of stubborn pulses through me, mimicking the look in the beast’s eyes.

I don’t think he wants to let him out.

I give him another rub, this time behind his twitching ear, and he tips his head, nuzzling into the action. Lids lowering.

He likes that spot.

I keep going until every breath is a deep, sawing purr, then pull my hand away and shuffle back.

He blows out a short whuff, eyes snapping open, his massive paw easing across the stone and nudging against my thigh once.

Twice.

I shake my head. “No more ear scratches until I see him. Please …”

He blinks at me.

Again.

With a groan, he eases onto his haunches like a shifting mountain.

The popping crunch of breaking bones curdles my blood, and I scramble to my feet, heart in my throat as midnight fur begins to recede. That thick, black mane curls into a scruffy head of hair, monstrous torso compounding, limbs refining until olive skin stretches across a broad, beautiful back.

Arms.

Legs.

Until he is crouched before me, on his knees, head bowed between his bare, powerful shoulders while he heaves sawing breaths. The silver scrawls on his skin pulse in rhythm with the seed inside my chest—so slow and strong compared to my thundering thoughts and the rapid fire of my hammering heart.

Vines of relief sprout through my insides, twisting around that seed.

Nuzzling it.

Bursting buttery blooms.

I reach forward, brushing my hand across his cheek.

He shudders.

Slowly, he lifts his head, and there’s such raw vulnerability in his silver-stung stare that fresh tears slip down my cheeks.

He watches them fall, swallowing. With a deep inhale, he lifts both arms—an invitation that cups my heart and settles it in the safe spot behind his much stronger ribs.

I step forward, wrapping my arms around his neck, whimpering when he crushes me against his body, his hand spreading across my shoulder blades. He nuzzles into me as his chest inflates with an uneven breath, and more of those internal blooms burst, turning my insides into a sea of tiny suns.

Home.

I pull a shaken breath, intoxicating myself with his leathery scent. My tongue begins to tingle, and I become primitively aware of the thump of his heart, a familiar ache spreading up the arch of my palate, down into my canines …

A taste flashes through my memory: thick, robust, silky warmth spilling down my throat, quenching my pain.

Him.

I swallow, wanting.

Needing.

“You fed me your blood,” I whisper—so loud against his silence.

I almost choke on the sharp scent of guilt that floods the room.

“Yes.”

His voice is black velvet, swathing me in its richness.

I dig my face farther into his hair, one hand at the back of his head, the other stretched across his shoulders—fingers swirling over his skin like silent whispers.

“Why?”

“Because I refuse to live in a world where you don’t exist.”

My heart cracks, the words passed to me so gently despite the rough timbre abrading my pebbling flesh. Glazing my eyes with another sheen of tears.

“It saved me.”

Not a question. I can feel his strength thrumming through my veins like liquid stone.

Another thick, thirsty swallow.

Another silent whisper—this one closer to his spine.

“Yes …”

“I’m healed, so why am I still …” I clear my throat, cheeks burning, “hungry for you?”

He pushes his head deeper into my chest.

A long, agonizing pause before his baritone rumbles through my mind like a boulder battling against the walls of my skull: ‘From now on, you’ll need my blood daily. Or you’ll wither. Go slowly mad. If you go long enough without it … you’ll die.’

I choke on the heavy punch of his crippling admission, passed to me in such a deeply personal way that I can still feel their echo settling into the folds of my brain.

The Safe …

The goblet …

The single drop of blood …

Suddenly, it all makes such explosive sense.

My knees buckle, but he holds me up, his hands scaling my back, pulling me to him. A lone word thrums through me, emerging from the epicenter of that seed tucked amongst my ribs.

It pounds into my heart.

My soul.

Blazes through me like a falling star, leaving a raw, gaping slash of confusion.

Mate.

I know, without a doubt, that I’ve never thought a truth so pure.

Tears carve down my cheeks as he swallows, tightening his arms. Subtle confirmation that squeezes my heart just as much.

A hazy memory comes to me, nudging, then prodding.

Shoving for attention.

The two of us near my rose garden, his words cutting into me like the jagged edge of a serrated blade …

I draw a ragged breath, hold it, blow it out slow. “Mates, Orlaith, are a fairy tale,” I whisper.

He stiffens.

I mine a few tender vines of courage, bind them around my heart, and continue. “A tragedy painted with the pretty face of a happily ever after, but at its core, it’s still a fucking tragedy.”

Silence …

I pull away.

He looks up, the shadow of something unreadable passing across his chiseled features.

Drawing a steadying breath, I focus on his swirling silver eyes that seem to plead with me—like he knows exactly what I’m about to ask.

“Why are we a tragedy, Rhordyn?”