Page 14 of Eldritch
My words had troubled him. Perhaps triggered a memory of his past. Rather than press him and risk saying something ignorant, I changed the subject. “I’m just going to wash up a bit. I’ve not yet had the chance since earlier.”
He winced and set the heel of his palm to his temple, his eyes screwed tight. Hostility burned in them when they reopened. “What did you say just now?”
Confused, I thought back to what I’d said. “I just said I haven’t had the chance to wash.”
“After that.” He shoved the iron back into the rack beside the hearth.
“Nothing. What did you hear?” I glanced down to see his hand trembling at his side as he flexed his fingers, tightening them to a fist and opening them again. Over and over, tightening and opening.
“It no longer matters.”
I kept my eyes on his fist. “But you’re clearly upset at something you believe I said. What was it?”
Perhaps sensing my staring, he ran a hand over his jaw, the malice in his eyes never waning.
“Please tell me.”
His jaw ticced, and he looked away, lips twisted in disgust. “Sordesz vet signe da’servio,”he said through clenched teeth. “Filth is the mark of the slave.”
I frowned at the words. “And you believe I said this?” When he didn’t answer, I kept on, “Shouldn’t I be the one to find insult in those words, seeing as I’m the one who’s filthy?”
His angry gaze dipped to my stomach and back.
For the second time that evening, I paused, realization dawning on me. I placed my hand against my stomach, where, beneath the shirt, his release from when we had last been together had dried onto my skin. “You believe I’m callingyoufilthy? Because of what you?—”
He strode toward the window. “I’ll keep watch while you wash.”
I couldn’t stand the thought of him believing I’d spoken those words to him, though. I refused to let them linger between us. I stepped toward him, a bitter heat warming my cheeks. “Could you fathom such cruel words passing my lips?”
Conflict burned in his eyes, his brows pulled tight.
“Someone else spoke those words to you once, though.”
He didn’t bother to look at me. “I’m finished with this conversation. Carry on with your washing.”
“No. I will not. Not while my character is in question.”
Without a word, he twisted away from me.
“Zevander!”
“Enough!” He winced, clearly regretting having raised his voice but the tension in his neck and jaw remained rigid as before. “I imagined it.”
“And still, you can’t even bring yourself to look at me, which means you still question whether or not I said it.”
Silence.
I stepped closer, hands fidgeting. “Zevander, what happened between us was the most rapturous experience of my life.”
“I sullied you the moment I touched you.” He stared down at his palms. “The filthy hands of chattel,” he muttered so quietly, I almost didn’t hear it.
Chattel?
I stood dumbfounded by his words, so erratically different from his usual confident and even slightly arrogant tone. As if I were speaking to someone else entirely. “You didn’t sully me. And if that is what you are so determined to believe, then know that I quite enjoyed it. I would happily allow you to sully me again, were it not so awkwardly timed.” I stepped closer. “I’ve no idea what’s stirring in your head right now, but please do not imagine that I harbor any regret for earlier. I may lack experience, but I don’t lack the capacity to choose for myself. And I don’t appreciate the implication that I am some helpless damsel so easily lured by the wolf.”
He sighed and glanced back at me. “I meant no insult.”
“Neither did I.”
