The Darkest Torment
Page 82

William pressed one of the daggers flat against his heart and took a step backward, as if pushed. For the first time in their association, all pretense and civility were stripped from him. She saw desire, such intense desire, and wanted to sob and hug him and run from him and sob some more.
“I can lock him up,” he told her, “keep him safe and keep him away from you.”
A protest bubbled up; she bit her tongue, only a whimper escaping.
“Go ahead. Try.” Puck’s grip tightened on her.
I’m in a tug-of-war with two apex predators, and I’m no good for either of them.
And...and...why did William even want her? She was damaged goods. Messed up. Broken. Puck, on the other hand, she understood. She—her situation—elicited his emotions, however weak they were. However temporary.
How disappointed would he be if she failed to help him feel something new?
“Gillian. Do you want me to lock him up?” The words lashed from William.
The tears returned. She couldn’t repay Puck’s kindness with cruelty. “No. I’m sorry,” she repeated.
In a snap, his expression blanked, and it broke her heart. He said nothing more, simply turned and strode out of the room.
What have I done?
With a sob, she fell back on the mattress. Puck sat beside her and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Do you love him?” he asked when finally she quieted.
Why lie? “Yes.” Her tear ducts swelled and dried. “He’s my best friend.”
“I will be your best friend now.”
As her husband—still weird—continued to run his fingers through her hair, she relaxed, a sense of calm enveloping her. No, not calm but...indifference? Just then, she didn’t care about anything, and it was nice. The bond at work?
“Am I immortal?” she asked. “Or did I make you human?”
“I told you. I’m the dominant.”
So. She was immortal. Now, she would live an eternity knowing she’d hurt William in the worst possible way. That she’d traded one hell for another.
“We will cement our bond now,” he said, standing to remove his shirt.
She gave a violent shake of her head. “No. No sex. Ever. I give you permission to be with others. As many others as you want, but never me.”
His frown returned. “We are husband and wife.”
“I know, but I told you I never experienced desire and I meant it.”
He thought for a moment, nodded. “Very well. It shall be as you wish.” He turned on his heel and left through the same door William had taken, and the tear ducts she’d thought wrung dry welled with a new flood of moisture.
22
“Game of Thrones? No. Game of loans. I’m going to loan my foot to your ass.”
–Taliyah, the Cold Hearted
KATARINA RESTED HER head against Baden’s shoulder and petted her fingers along the ropes of strength in his chest, her mind replaying the past few hours. First, he’d read a text from Torin and cursed.
William is on a rampage. Gilly is better—but oops, she’s married to a dude named Pukinn/Puck/Dead Man Walking. Oh, & she’s maybe probably immortal so Willy’s rage is gonna last FOREVER.
Baden told Katarina the bond had made the formerly human girl immortal, the same way Ashlyn’s bond to Maddox had made her immortal, entwining their futures. Then he’d made sweet, sweet love to Katarina. Afterward, he’d held her close and they’d whispered silly secrets in the dark.
She’d told him how, when she was five years old, her father convinced her she could magically change stoplights. If she blew the lights a kiss, he’d said, red would turn to green. To this day, she blew kisses to the lights whenever she drove.
Baden told her how, centuries ago, he had allowed Paris to break his arm with a sledgehammer, because Paris had sworn up and down women loved nothing more than kissing an injury and making it better. Only, a kiss hadn’t made it better. So he’d broken both of Paris’s arms.
“You didn’t kill him?” she’d asked. “Baden, I’m so proud of you!”
“The fact that I restrained myself is what earned my nickname. The Gentleman of Mount Olympus.”
She’d laughed, and he’d tickled her. She’d begged him to stop, even as she’d hoped he would continue. He’d missed out on so much throughout the course of his life. Childish games, innocent fun...connection.
They’d made love again, and he’d fallen asleep with a smile—and the whisper of a single word on his lips. Marriage.
Was he considering making her immortal through the marriage bond? Was she?
No, no. Of course not. They were only temporary. That hadn’t changed...had it?
She studied him now. Without the cares of the world and the demands of the beast pulling him in different directions, his features were almost boyish. And she had helped get him to that point.
“You stopped,” he said, his voice deeper than usual, raspier, too. He turned his head to meet her gaze, and she gasped. His pupils consumed his irises, hiding the copper she found so beautiful. Flickers of red danced in the black. Blood stars. “Start again.”
“Stopped what?” she asked, confused.
He clasped onto her wrist with a too-tight grip, as if he didn’t know his own strength, and moved her hand up and down his chest. “Do this.” He released her. “Do not stop again.”
Baden wasn’t usually so harsh with her and understanding suddenly dawned. Those eyes... She was talking directly to the beast, wasn’t she? This wasn’t the first time it had happened, either.
Tread carefully. The beast needed far more taming than Baden. He was wild, unpredictable. “You like being stroked?”
Short and sweet. Always end on a positive note.
“No.”
She almost laughed. Almost. His expression held no hint of playfulness. “Why do you command me to continue, then?”
“I like being stroked by you. You are weak. No threat.”
Argh! Not another naysayer. What would it take to prove to these people—and creatures—she possessed strength, just a different kind of strength than they possessed? “What else do you like?”
“Blood. Death. Vengeance. Never betray me, woman.”
“As if I would dare,” she said drily.
He glared at her. “You mock me?”