Page 40 of His Dark Delights
He clapped a hand on my shoulder before snatching it back and wiping his sticky palm off. My friend handed me the handkerchief from his front pocket, and I wordlessly accepted it.
“You did what you needed to do,” he said.
I nodded again, though it hadn’t brought the satisfaction I sought. I needed more. More than to punish the man who harmed Lilly. I needed her. To find the solace I longed for within her embrace. My friend and I broke apart for the night, and a mad frenzy fueled me, driving me across the imposing fortress of the palace in search of consolation.
Chapter Fourteen
Lilly
I bolted upright in bed, eyes snapping open. Fear spiked through me, and my heart ricocheted through the confines of my chest. Every ounce of my blood rushed through my veins and perspiration coated my brow. I smoothed my hand over my chest, swallowing against the sensation of icy fingers scratching along the length of my spine.
The subtle, almost silent sound of a door opening rocked through me. In the pitch-darkness of the room, the faint glow from the fireplace highlighted a tall, dangerous frame lumbering across the room.
A scream lurched up in my throat and I leashed it back. I scrambled higher up the bed, clutching the blanket to my chest. Ice shards coursed through my blood as the plush carpet muffled the footsteps comingnearer.
In the dwindling orange glow from the cinders in the fireplace, I recognized a familiar silhouette. I knew the slope of those shoulders, the shape of those dark curls, and the feeling of those arms when they wrapped around me.
My eyes adjusted to the meager light, revealing the man approaching from the secret door to the king’s room. Although the sight of him didn’t ease the panic gripping me in a chokehold.
Fiery red light danced with the shadows, accentuating Soren’s handsome face. The fire’s fading glow and the silvery moonlight from the windows illuminated his haggard and worn features—and the crimson blood splattered across his billowing white shirt.
Concern reared up in my stomach, pushing past the wall of resentment I needed to guard my feelings. It tugged me out from under the safety of my blanket and off the bed. I followed that instinct across the floor, meeting Soren halfway across the room.
“Oh, gods, what happened?” My hands fluttered over his shirt, inspecting the drying blood in search of injuries. Memory of the day I’d found him half-dead in the woods surged through me, followed by a wave of panic.
“Lilly,” Soren rasped, catching my wrist from the air. He pulled my hand down, placing it over the thumping in his chest. “It’s not my blood.”
I snatched my hand away from him and twisted my fingers in the front of my nightdress. When I took a step back, afraid of where the blood came from, he followed. Out of breath and voice thin, I asked, “Whose blood isit?”
“Gerald’s,” Soren replied harshly, as if the name burned the back of his throat.
A small gasp flew past my lips.
The king stepped closer, towering over me. His natural scent curled around me, mingled with sweat and the odor of drying blood. This close under the barest light, I got a better glance at his state. He appeared utterly bedraggled, exhausted, and seething. Like a caged bull after winning a fight.
“What did you do to Gerald?”
After the way he treated me and the pain he’d inflicted, I didn’t feel bad for the knight. In many ways, I knew he deserved some repercussions for his actions. And another part of me was glad to know he’d suffered. It was a twisted feeling, but one I wouldn’t shy away from.
What sickened me was the relief of knowing that the blood on Soren’s shirt was human, not fae. I was still half-human. My father was a man—a good man. But I was almost overjoyed that the king had come to me clean of the ichor of my magical kin.
“Nothing less than he deserved,” Soren snarled through a tight jaw. His hands smoothed over my arms, keeping me from recoiling further. “There’s not a bastard alive that I’d let hurt you and live to see the light of another day.”
The implication in his words was clear. Outraged, I wrenched myself away from the king. His hands followed, trying to keep me in his grasp. I put up my hands as a protective barrier.
“You killed him for his use of force against me?”
“I had to,” he insisted. “I cannot let anyone get awaywith hurting you—”
My hand shot out, striking across his face. Stinging pain fluttered over my palm from the force of the abrupt slap. I flung myself out of arm’s reach on the off chance the king decided to retaliate against my impertinence.
“You hurt me!” The words cracked out of me, flowing like a ruptured dam. “If you wanted to see me so badly, you should have found a way to come yourself. He only hurt me because he was a fool ordered by another fool. And when I finally arrived at the palace, instead of being greeted as a cherished guest, as you proclaim I am, I’m treated no better than a whore. The way you used me and left me was shameful, and I hate you for it.”
The idea of telling Soren about my true heritage stirred in my mind. A devilish voice whispered that he’d hate me just as much as I hated him if he knew the truth. He claimed to love me, and an obstinate voice said I needed a reason for him to abhor me, to match the sickness within my heart.
Hiding the truth from him kept me safe. Yet a silent, demented urge pushed me to speak it into existence. Would he treat me as he did other fae and prove that he really was the depraved butcher many believed him to be?
Would he accept the truth and desire me regardless of my blood? Maybe that secret part of me wanted him to crave me despite the sheer force of his greater purpose. I wanted him to be helplessly in love with me, despite his morals and reasoning. I wanted Ren to love me despite the sin of my heritage.
