“The air may not seem too bad to you, but after years of breathing it in, it puts the biggest strain on the health system.” My brows pinch. He can’t mean the lycan population. Lycans heal quickly. Zeke, seeming to sense the question I am thinking, answers my thoughts.
“Humans, Zirah, their lungs are weaker, but it’s not just them. The pollution here is so bad that the lycan population struggles with it too. It may not kill us the way it kills humans, but we aren’t immune to it,” he admits.
“I have a lot to think about,” I say, considering what role I can play in all this that would improve quality of life.
“Come on. I will take you back to the castle. It’s late, and I know you must be tired,” Zeke tells me, and I nod, returning my attention to the window.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As the limo draws to a halt, the sight of Zeke’s castle leaves me awestruck. It’s a grand spectacle of towering spires and shimmering turrets laced with gold latticework lit up by floodlights.
As we walk up the stone path, the double doors swing open, and we’re immediately in the thick of activity. People are lined up for warm meals, medical care, and a place to sleep. The grandeur of the exterior belies the harsh reality within, and I feel an unexpected pang of amazement for Zeke.
We walk through the castle in silence, each room telling the lengths he has gone through to try to support his kingdom. What should have been a ballroom, a banquet hall, and a library are repurposed into shelters, kitchens, and makeshift clinics. The crystal chandeliers cast light on rows of cots where homeless citizens seek shelter. The grand fireplaces serve as heating for rooms crammed with individuals in various states of despair.
“You turned this place into a homeless shelter?” I ask, a little shocked.
“No, but yes, in a sense. I have to be limited with whom I have here, so I only take families with children. I can’t house all of them, so I choose the most vulnerable or at risk on the streets. We rotate them out once they find permanent housing or jobs. Unfortunately, this last lot has been here for six months, and there are no houses left, even with subsidized rents. The city is at full capacity. I tried to purchase more land, but my city’s debt risk outweighs its lending ability.”
I let his words sink in. Having to pick and choose? I cannot fathom how hard that would be or how sad it must be to turn people away.
Finally, Zeke leads me up a grand staircase to a set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. As we enter, the contrast is stark. This room is pure luxury—his bedroom.
“You may have the bed,” Zeke says. “I’ll take the couch. If that will make you more comfortable being here with me.” I chew my lip and nod. Zeke places his hand on my lower back, leading me to the other side of the room to a door. He pushes it open, revealing a huge bathroom. “I’ll grab some towels. It seems I’ve been cleaned out,” he laughs softly.
My mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions as Zeke retreats to fetch me a towel. I peel off my clothes and step into the ensuite. As I’m about to step into the shower, Zeke returns, his eyes drawn to the intricate network of runes decorating my body. His gaze is curious, not lecherous, and I feel a blush creep up my neck, nonetheless.
Before I can step in, Zeke steps forward, brushing against me just as I move to do the same. We bump into each other, doing an awkward sidestep before he cuts me off again and chuckles. His hand grips my shoulder softly before reaching past me to hang a towel on the rack behind us.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, while his fingers linger for just a second longer than necessary. His body heat and the roughness of his calloused hands send shivers down my spine that cause goose bumps to pebble my skin, hungrily inviting Zeke’s touch even further, even if only fleetingly.
His eyes travel to the runes down my arms, and his fingers gently trail over them before moving to the ones on my chest. His fingers skimming my skin make me shiver, and his eyes dart to mine at my reaction, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Seems I can draw at least some reaction out of you,” he murmurs. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs, letting his eyes move back to the runes. “Did these hurt when you . . .” He trails off.
“When I burned alive?” I laugh. He swallows and glances away, nodding once.
“No, Zeke. I don’t remember these or much of my death and rebirth,” I tell him.
He lets out a breath, his fingertips dancing along my collarbone.
“These runes . . .” Zeke trails off again, stepping closer, his fingers lightly tracing the eye rune below my throat. “What do they mean exactly?”
“Shouldn’t you know? I would have thought you studied witchcraft and folklore given the curse.”
“We did study witchcraft,” he admits. “We all did. Regan was . . . obsessed. He wanted to break the curse. But all this stuff made little sense to me. Symbols, chants, ceremonies. I could get us cursed, but still, witchcraft was beyond me.” His fingers stop at the hollow of my throat. “What do you think these mean to you? Why these runes?” he asks, and I can hear the curiosity in his voice.
I should be more nervous than I am standing naked in front of a man who, on many occasions, threatened to rape and kill me, yet he suddenly doesn’t seem so intimidating. He almost seems vulnerable.
“Well, the eye rune stands for perception, vision,” I whisper. “It sees beyond the visible world.”
His fingers trail lower, between my breasts, to the star rune. “And this one?”
“Star rune symbolizes hope and guidance. The wave rune here,” I guide his fingers lower, “is for emotions, intuition. The air rune stands for intellect and communication. Fire and earth symbolize energy and physical endurance.”
His hand hovers over the moon rune just above my navel. “And this?”
“Fertility, femininity,” I answer. “The sun rune here is for masculine power, courage. And . . .” I hesitate as his fingers brush over the last rune on my pubic bone. I feel my breath hitch as another shiver runs down my spine.
