Page 88 of Blood and Thorns
She shook her head, which eased some of the anger that sparkled with jealousy. “I was scared you were going to hurt yourself.”
I searched her face for deception, almost sickened to find the comment genuine. “You care about everyone you hate,belle?”
“Only those who keep me locked in a tower, and it’s Ara.”
I let out a puff of air, which was as close to a laugh as she was going to get. “I found out the woman I thought was dead may actually be alive.”
“Why is it important that she’s dead?” she asked gently.
“Because she was the one to give me my scars.”
Chapter 39
Arabella
I was sore, the ache between my legs both delicious and frustrating. I’d never admit it to his face, but I’ve never orgasmed so hard. I was pretty sure I’d passed out, because I had zero memory of leaving the club, never mind waking up with Sebastian glowering over me.
He was like a cornered animal when pushed for his feelings, and in my professional opinion, had the emotional maturity of a rock. Not even a pretty rock, but a boring grey one that had been smoothed by the vicious waves of the sea, but if broken open it would be jagged and sharp.
It was as if he made the conscious decision to repress himself. Hide his emotions in the same way he wore that mask.
But he wasn’t hiding when he chased me through the club, his eyes alight with pure sadism and desire. They’d brightened further when he’d caught me, hurt me. Except, he wasn’t hurting me. His bruises weren’t out of pain, but out of possession. Need. Desire.
I wasn’t surprised to wake up alone, Sebastian having left my room early in the morning. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I came out expecting to be greeted byBeatrice, except I was alone. Not even Chip or any of the cleaners were present.
The place always seemed achily empty when I was the only one here.
Disappointed, I grabbed my notebook and a pen but found myself outside his bedroom. The door was closed, and I almost lifted my fist to knock. To see whether he was…
Shit.What the hell was I doing?
Turning on my heel, I went to the kitchen, grabbing one of the muffins waiting on the counter before sitting on a stool so I could comfortably write.
The story in my head flowed so easily onto the page. It was just a first draft and would likely always remain a first draft. But it was cathartic, putting all my feelings in black and white. Putting the fictional characters through trials and heartbreak. Making them suffer and then succeed.
I don’t know how long I wrote for, my hand aching when I came to the final page, and the muffin nothing but annoying crumbs beside me. I stared at the words, a hollow feeling inside my chest that the story wasn’t finished, and there was no more paper.
Thatmystory wasn’t finished.
“What are you writing about?”
I jumped from the stool, catching it before it clattered to the floor. “Bloody hell.”
Sebastian stood in the doorway, dressed in his statement black-on-black. The suit stretched across his broad shoulders, perfectly tailored to his large frame.
I huffed, “Remind me to put a bell on you.”
His upper lip twitched, but other than that his face remained in his usual scowl.
“It’s nothing.” I closed my notebook, freezing when something moved across his chest. “Sebastian…”
He brought up his hand, allowing the giant fuckingspider to scramble over his fingers before skittering further up his arm. “So scared of something so small,” he mused, closing the distance between us.
“Don’t you dare.” I moved around the island, keeping it between us at all times.
Lazy amusement glistened in his eyes. “Come here,belle.”
“I swear if you come near me, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”
