“I’m a prisoner now,” Rowena said deliberately. “As I was then.”
She didn’t miss the clench of the tyrant’s jaw. He hated her calm, remote manner most of all. In the old days, he savored it when he managed to make her cry. The further she went from equilibrium, the better he liked it. He would find no purchase for his mind games; she was determined to be a glass barrier he could not surmount.
“Not true,” he whispered, prowling close with a menace that raised the hair on the back of her neck and made her flesh crawl. “You adored me at first. Worshipped me. The way your eyes shone whenever I called for you…”
She swallowed, wishing she could spit a denial. “Does it please you? Living in the past and clinging to dead memories.”
“It does not,” he admitted, stopping within arm’s length. “If you hadn’t refused—”
“Your memory is playing you false. In my recollections, you wearied of pretending to be kind, pretending to bear me fondness and introduced games of another sort entirely.”
“Because you rejected me,” he roared.
Finally, his dead eyes lit with real emotion. Anger. Anger and acquisition, those were all Tycho Vega understood. Rowena didn’t know if he’d been born this way or if his father had twisted him into this loathsome shape. Certainly, his mother had done nothing to prevent it. Either way, it didn’t matter, for there was no changing the monster standing before her.
She refused to flinch as he traced a finger down her cheek. “You rejected me,” he repeated in a softer tone. “You were my first, the one I cherished most, and I would have raised you above all others if you had—”
“If I had abandoned my mother. If I’d chosen to forsake all my friends below. That was what you asked of me.”
“I would’ve given you the world,” he said in such a wistful tone that it might have aroused pity if she didn’t know he was incapable of softer emotions. Like a bird that learned to mimic, he could only offer the facsimile, never sincerity.
“No, you wanted to change the color of my cage. As your first concubine, I would’ve been imprisoned in a more luxurious environment. Acquiescence would’ve bored you in time, just as my defiance did.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, his tone almost gentle. “I would have treasured you. Lest you forget, I chose you, you among all others. I set you apart from everyone else, and you were meant to be mine, body and soul. Perhaps it seems as if I have everything, but—”
“Nobody belongs to anyone else,” she cut in, completely disinterested in whatever pathetic drivel he might spout. Those who tried to rule the world didn’t get sympathy; it was a hard and fast rule. “You tried through all possible means to own me, and I objected. It truly is that simple.”
“Is that how you see our time together? Captivity and confinement.”
It truly was a wonder that he could look back with nostalgia on the worst moments of her life. With a sigh, he poured a couple of glasses of wine, and she nearly whispered a prayer to deities she no longer believed in.
I must be quick.
When he turned to set the bottle on the sideboard, she tipped most of the sedative in his glass, some in hers as well. A risk, but if he had her tested it would be suspicious if only he had the drug in his system. The idea of being insensate in his presence was both horrifying and nerve wracking, but she had little choice. Of course, if he didn’t pass out soon enough, she might be glad to be a bit dizzy and numb. With all her heart, she wanted to fight, not submit, but it was too soon. The pieces weren’t in place to take the city, so even if she managed to kill him, she would be overwhelmed by his forces, and then some usurper would snatch power from the vacuum.
No, she had to wait until the resistance was ready to strike, difficult as that was.
“You haven’t answered,” he prompted, offering her the glass of wine.
Rowena had imagined he would’ve had her strapped to a table by now, knives in hand. “I didn’t think I needed to.”
“All my life,” he said in a musing tone. “I lived as my father taught me. Nothing I did ever seemed to be enough to make him proud. To prove my strength, I needed to secure my hold on Golgerra, and then the world. I…tried to live up to his expectations.”
You’re a monster, she thought. And monsters get no pity.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because there’s nobody else to listen.” With a brooding air, he tipped back a long swallow of the drugged wine.
Rowena followed suit, making it look like she had a deep gulp while taking only a sip. “That much I can do, willingly.”
You might say something I can use.
He stared at her in surprise. “You want to be my confidant?”
“Not really,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t believe any other answer. “But I’d rather listen than be strapped to a table or strung up or—”
“I understand, you prefer the lesser of two evils.” Much to her dismay, he set down the glass. “At least you still fear me. It seems you find some aspect of me impossible to forget. I’ll take satisfaction in that.”
The tyrant moved toward her with renewed purpose. He’s decided to resume the old games. A shudder rolled through her, but then, he stumbled, clutched a side table and turned it over as he pitched forward onto his face. Mustering all her strength, Rowena hauled him to bed so his insensate form wouldn’t be the first thing one of his aides saw, should they rush in with some urgent news. Next she righted the furniture, then she set about searching his chambers, all haste since she didn’t know how long the sedative would last.
While she felt a little woozy herself, she hadn’t downed enough to knock her out. Unfortunately, she didn’t find any crucial battle plans, only shocking casualty reports. The bulk of Tycho’s forces had perished in a pitched battle near Burnt Amber. With growing astonishment, she read the rest of the report.
He barely has enough guards to hold the city, certainly not enough to mount another assault. When Prince Alastor marches on Golgerra, it might be costly, but he can take the city. With the resistance already planning an internal strike—
Yes, we can use this.
Giddy, she found a more recent scouting report. Alastor’s forces are only a week away and moving with purpose. He’s coming to liberate us, as promised. There were numbers included, and it seemed that according to Tycho’s spies, his brother had succeeded in securing alliances with the Animari and Eldritch, making him the de facto ruler of the Golgoth. He needed only challenge his brother to take the throne.
That…could prove problematic.
Rowena bit her lip, then put all the documents exactly as she’d found them and took a seat in the living area. Either Lucan would return to take her below when her time was up, or the tyrant would stagger from his room in a rage.
Hell, she’d rather see Lucan.
No such luck.
It was almost a full day later when Tycho roused. His people must truly be terrified of him, as not a single soul had stepped into his chambers during that time. Rowena had eaten some dried fruit and nuts she found in a cupboard, but she was starving.
“You’re still here,” he said thickly.
“I did not have permission to leave.”
His mouth tightened. She could see wheels starting to turn in his head, and a bright, wicked spark of fury flared in his normally flat gaze. But before he could enact the terrible plan percolating in his head, someone rapped sharply on the door.
“What?” he barked.
“You gave instructions not to be disturbed, but I judged this sufficiently urgent.”
“Enter! And spit it out,” Tycho demanded.
The guard strode into the chamber and saluted, then offered his update. “Your brother’s army has been sighted by our scouts. No more than four days on the march, possibly three if they push. What are your orders?”
With a snarl, Tycho smashed a series of valuable antiques. “Fetch Lucan at once. And get her out of here.” He shot her a tight, hateful smile. “Our reunion must keep, it seems. Wait for me, Rowena. We have unfinished business.”
So we do. And it will end only when you’re dead.
Just before Slay completely lost his mind, Rowena returned.
He did a quick visual inspection, but she didn’t seem to be hurt physically. Her mental state was another matter, and he restrained the urge to drag her into his arms. He had to be careful about how he handled her, excellent practice since he wasn’t great at impulse control.
To his amazement, she broke free from Lucan’s escort and fucking ran to Slay. Even threw herself into his arms, echoing how he’d caught her on their first day together. Back then, he hadn’t understood how major it was to touch her. Now he did, fully cognizant of the hard-won gift of her trust. Slay held her with a gentleness, a tenderness he hadn’t even realized he was capable of, tracing his fingertips ever so lightly down her spine.
He didn’t notice when the guards piked off, lost in the wonder of being close to Ro. She smelled different, new herbs and scented oils lightly edged with the unfamiliar tang of another male. It fucking had to be that bastard, Tycho Vega, and Slay had always wanted to obliterate him. Now he wanted to chew through that asshole’s neck and piss down the bloody hole.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“Better now.” She stunned him by stretching up on tiptoe, pressing a soft kiss to his unresponsive mouth.
“You can do that?”
“We’ve done that before,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, but…” There seemed to be no good way to ask if she had been freshly scarred by her encounter with Vega.
Seeming to read his hesitance, Rowena touched the tip of his nose lightly, and he felt that caress fucking everywhere. His cock immediately straightened, and he tried to shift his hips away so she wouldn’t think he was a total perv. Too late, it seemed, because she grinned with apparent appreciation.
“I don’t know why, but it’s different with you. There’s no rational explanation, but everything about you feels…safe.”
Slay found that completely baffling. “You know my nickname, right?”
“It applies to my enemies,” she said firmly. “You’ve no idea how reassuring I find it.”
“Why do we have to be surrounded by people?” he groaned, wanting her with every fiber of his being.
“We could go to the comfort house,” she suggested, a whisper right in his ear that sent pleasurable shudders through him. “I have news to report, and since we’ve been separated, it’s plausible that we’d seek out some privacy for our reunion.”
“You’re trying to convince folks that we want to fuck,” Slay said, “but the thing is, I do want to. Only if you do too,” he added hastily, aware he might be messing this up.
But damn it was hard to say the right words with her pressed up against him, smelling like somebody else. There was a fire in his head, along with a roaring jaguar, demanding that she smell like him and nobody else. This woman’s mine, or she needs to be. The sooner the better.
“I’m nervous but I want to try. Let’s go.” Quickly she stepped back but didn’t let go of him entirely.
Holding hands, they walked through the undercity together, not trying to elude any pursuers. Soon they arrived at the comfort house. This time, the bouncer recognized Rowena and waved her through, much to Slay’s amusement.
“Guess we’re VIPs now?” he said.
She aimed at impish look in his direction. Gods did he love the sparkle in her silver-gray eyes. “Hettie must’ve had a good time with you. I can’t wait to sample that mouth for myself.”
He nearly groaned aloud at the mere notion. Yes, please. Right now if possible.
The best part was, his enhanced senses detected whispers of spice. She wasn’t teasing him; those thoughts were genuinely getting her hot. He breathed in deep, savoring the faint hint of Rowena’s excitement and it fueled his own.
Hettie was waiting for them in a private room, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood for sexy stuff. She moved to Rowena and hesitated before offering her hands. Deliberately, Ro took them and squeezed, then let go.
“You came out unscathed,” Hettie said with an air of relief.
“This time. I have important news. Can you get it in the pipeline for me?”
Slay listened with growing amazement, awed at what Rowena had learned about Prince Alastor’s rescue efforts. “Fucking yes! We’ll be saved soon.”
Hettie shook her head. “You can’t count on them getting in. Our plans haven’t changed. We can use the distraction, but we’re sticking with the plan.”
“Understood,” he said. They didn’t get how buoyant Slay felt, though. Wondering if his people gave a shit, if they’d even bother looking for him—that part had sucked. “You definitely read that the Animari are on the move? Allied with Alastor’s forces.”
Rowena nodded. “The Numina are united. Tycho’s people couldn’t confirm, but it seems they may have signed a new peace agreement after the battle at Burnt Amber.”
“This is tremendously helpful,” Hettie told Rowena. “I’ll make sure Chantisse gets the information and we can plan accordingly. Now, if I don’t miss my guess, you two would enjoy some alone time. Feel free to decline if I’ve misread the situation.”
With a bashful grin, Rowena glanced at Slay. “If my intel is valuable enough to cover the price of the room?”
“More than, my love. Linger as long as you like. I’ll send refreshments in an hour or so.” Hettie fluttered her fingers with a teasing smile. “Enjoy.”
Fuck.
Once Hettie left the room, Slay didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Normally, he was the active partner, focused on giving. He’d fucking loved making Pru come until she couldn’t see straight, and that was the only practice he had in such matters. That didn’t seem like a good idea with Rowena when she’d been forced to submit against her will.
Ro stepped toward him. “Do you think…before, you said I could tie you up.”
“I did, yeah. Do you want to?”
She shook her head. “No, the idea disturbs me. But…I’d like to explore you. If you could just…hold still and let me? If that would be okay.”
Patience and self-restraint were not his strong points, but for her, he’d fucking learn. And how different could it be from holding back while pleasuring someone else? The skillsets were probably adjacent, right?
Gods, I fucking hope so.
Slay tried to seem confident when he peeled off his clothes and then laid back on the pile of cushions. He made a sweeping gesture directed at his whole body. “I’m yours. Hope you prefer hands-on learning.”
“I do,” she said huskily.
One good thing about the tunics and trousers, they came off fast. Rowena was beautiful, and he tried his best not to react when he saw all the fucking scars. Her body was a tapestry of them, old marks, lashes and burns and cuts, and rage almost overwhelmed his desire. But he couldn’t murder Tycho Vega right now. The wrong response would only make her feel shitty, so he closed his eyes and counted as she crept closer, adorably tentative yet eager at the same time. It felt like her gaze held actual heat, skimming over his naked body.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
“So are you.”
Rowena swallowed hard. “Parts of me are. But it’s hard for me to be glad about it. My life would’ve been easier if I wasn’t pretty, if I didn’t draw his eye.”
“Fuck that,” he snapped, opening his eyes. “Yeah, shit would’ve been better if not for him. You had nothing to do with it, Ro. He’s the only one responsible for hurting you. It’s not your fault. And you’re still beautiful, every part of you, inside and out. I’m sorry as fuck he hurt you, and trust me, I’ll make him sorry too. But for now, do you think we can be together? Me and you. No more talk about that asshole in our bed.”
Resolutely she nodded. “Sorry. It’s hard because I carry the reminders on my skin.”
Slay pushed up onto an elbow. “Then let’s make some new memories.”