“No,” I say shaking my head. “I know. It’s not that.”
His eyes turn questioning.
“It’s fine.” I’m aggravated with the whole situation by this point, knowing what I’ll soon reveal and the words come out sharper than I intend them to. He looks a little taken aback. “It’s fine,” I repeat, calmer this time. “I’ll just—“ I point at the bedroom and his shoulders sag in relief.
“Go on then. I’ll knock to make sure you’re ready.”
I scurry into the bedroom and quietly click the door shut behind me. My quickening heart rate has called the steady thump of the daemon even with the extra measures of the alcohol. No. I take a deep breath, urging it to settle. It continues bleating with my bubbling emotions. I run into the bathroom and allow it to unleash into a perfectly good bar of soap. It shatters it, sending soap flying across the floor in a hundred tiny pieces.
Shit.
I get down on my hands and knees, collect every bit, and stuff them into the trashcan. I tug my dress up, throw it on the floor, and give a precursory look at my back in the mirror. The many lashes are from many years past yet still absolutely noticeable.
There’s nothing I can do about it.
I unwrap the bindings from my breasts as I fly out of the bathroom, leaving me only in underwear. Diving under the blankets, I pull them up across my back. Maybe luck will be on my side and he’ll only reveal the top portion of my back.
I’m practically naked in his bed.
My hands feel awkward at my sides, so I draw them up over my head, trying very hard not to think about the conversation we just had about our compatibility.
As soon as shedisappears behind my bedroom door I turn around and drag my hands through my hair.
I’m a total fucking creep.
Here I’d been slapping down hints nice and thick thinking I wasn’t getting the signal through her dense skull. Oh, she got it alright. Has probably been politely sidestepping my attempts.
She was afraid.Visibly afraid at the idea of being vulnerable to me, unclothed in my bed.
I was so convinced the interest was mutual. Of course,she seems interested.She’s locked away in these chambers and I’m the one holding the key. I’m basically like her fucking captor. The power balance is all off and here I am…enjoying it.
Is it the taboo that makes it so damn alluring? How I’d judged my father for taking a low-born wife to keep underfoot in the name of feeling powerful and now I’m here getting high off the same rush he fed from. Drawn like a predator to the smell of an injured, cornered animal.
I realize how ridiculous I was to think it. Not just ridiculous, it’swrongto think it, and worse, entertain the idea of acting upon it.
But the obsession continues to grow, unwieldy no matter how many times I rip out the weeds. Desire tipping its head like a great, unrelenting beast.
So much so that sometimes I stop and wonder if the Blood of the Gods bound us after all.
I pace back and forth in front of the doorway.
No.
It has nothing to do with the Blood of the Gods. Nothing to do withher. Nothing to do with the stupid firebranded oath. Everything to do with this fucking fucked situation I’ve gotten myself into. Never have I been this desperate, this lonely, starved for the slightest bit of affection from anyone or anything. And Morin drops her in my lap…
Did she really intend the punishment center around the superficiality of this marriage? Or does she know that someday she’ll be able to use her to break me again? Can she even perceive the notion of me oranyonegarnering affection for a nought?
I really shouldn’t have kissed her. I’ve at least put the seeds of the idea in her head. Whether she believes I do or could or not…
I don’t know.
Knowing Morin it’s more than what’s on the surface. Everything she does is a plot, carefully orchestrated so that I often can’t at first see her true intentions. Generally, I don’t even try to figure her devious plans out. I don’t really give a shit what it is she wants. She can take over the whole Gods damn Ouroboros for all I care.
But with her…
I knew it was going to be like this. This whole thing is dangerous, corrupt, dripping with poison, and layered with traps from top to bottom. Just one of the many reasons I shouldn’t venture any closer. In the end, her trepidation of me is a good thing—a warning and a reminder to stop my fickle, hair-brained, pining bullshit.
It’s not even about her. It’s just something in my makeup thatbucklesaround the concept of some small pretty, defenseless thingneedingme for their survival.
