Page 47

“Nah, I’m good.”

I start toward the doorway and Ares lifts his head. “Bleib,” I command, then dip into the bedroom. I strip off my shirt and pants, grabbing the worn sweatpants from the edge of the bed and stepping into them quietly. The house creaks in the kind of way that lets you know it’s listening. I pause, still barefoot, eyes landing on my backpack slouched against the wall.

Right. The container.

I crouch, unzip the front pouch, and slip my hand inside until my fingers graze the cool glass container. Small, inconspicuous. Not the kind of thing anyone would notice unless they were looking for it. I pull my hoodie over my head, tuck the container in my pocket, and grab the glass of ice. DK is still focused on the game, and I use the distraction to exit quietly, slip into the hallway, and head straight to Arianette’s room. I tap lightly on the door.

“Come in,” she calls out.

I step inside the room. It’s similar in shape to ours, but hers only has one bed instead of three. It’s massive and made of iron, with scrollwork not only at the foot and head, but underneath. A stone fireplace sits in the corner with an armchair nearby. She's sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to her chest. “Oh,” she says, eyes darting to the door behind me and then back at my chest. “It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” I glance over my shoulder. “Were you expecting someone else?”

She shakes her head, but there’s an edge when she asks, “What do you want?”

I could ask her where she’s been. Why she was creeping around the house, but it’s not really any of my business. My job, as instructed by the King, is to keep her safe. To train her for her position of wife. Assessing her, she looks to be in good shape, other than her general wariness. To be fair, the last time a man came into this room, he inserted metal bars into her tits.

“I came to check on the wound, make sure it’s healing appropriately.” I set the glass and container on the bedside table. “Take off the sweater.”

I’ve already seen her topless once today, so there’s not much hesitation as she unbuttons the cardigan and lifts the camisole up and over her head. My mouth dries at the sight of the round fullness of her breasts, and my body predictably reacts, a surge of heat rushing between my legs. I like how big her areolas are, and the urge to run my thumbs over them–to suck them into hard peaks–brings a burning flush to my skin. Between her tits, the bandage is discolored from the wound underneath, and white tape is still plastered over her nipples. The color is glaring against her brown skin. It should be a turn off, but it’s anything but.

Idid that.

Wedid it.

She’s ours.

“Any pain?” I sit on the edge of the bed. My erection fights against the cotton front of my sweats.

Her jaw drops. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I glare at her. “It’s just a quest–”

“Yes, Hunter, I’m in pain. Everything hurts. The wound is bad enough, but my tits feel like there are hot needles seared into them. Somewhere between a throbbing ache and firecracker stuffed inside. They’re tender. Swollen. Every single move feels like I’m being stabbed.” Her hands move to cup them, full and fleshy, and gold flashes on her thumb. A gold band that wasn’t there earlier in the day. “Why did he do this to me? You already marked me. The Claiming was over.”

My eyes shift to the bandage between her breasts. I don’t have to ask DK why he came in here and mutilated Arianette a second and third time. He wanted to leave something permanent on her, just like I had.

“Let me take a look.” I’m not a doctor. Zero interest in spending decades in school only to get mired in a pile of bureaucratic paperwork. I’ve taken a few first aid courses and managed to earn a merit badge in medical emergencies for Scouts before I dropped out. I peel away the bandage slowly, making sure not to rip off any repairing flesh. It’s still shiny from the ointment, but the first thing I notice is that the design doesn’t look that bad. In fact, I’m pretty goddamn impressed with my work. The cuts are clean, even, and the pentagram is fully legible. The circle isn’t perfect, but it’s not like I had my compass out there.

“Why are you smiling?” she asks, her brown eyes narrowed into slits.

I cough, peeling off the rest of the tape. “It’s healing well,” I assure her. “It looks good.”

She nods, but then asks, “And the piercings?”

“That’s why I brought the ice.” I dig out a piece from the cup and hold it up. “It’ll help with the pain and remove the adhesive.”

Closing her eyes she settles against her pillow and slightly arches her back. I touch the cube to the side of her breast first, and she exhales, “Christ, that’s cold.” A ripple runs along her flesh, goosebumps rising to the surface. I run the cube up and over the tape, gliding from one nipple to the other.

“Does that help?” I ask, shifting in my seat trying to relieve the pressure of my erection.

“It doesn’t feel worse.” Her tongue darts out and her body squirms against the sensation, and I don’t miss the way her gaze roams over my bare chest, taking in the tattoos. They start over my pecs, spread to my left shoulder and rise up my neck. “It’s like when something already hurts so bad, any more pain just starts to feel numb.” Her fingers twitch, not quite touching, but close. Then softly, “What do they mean?”

I glance down, running my hand over the black lines and inked symbols like I’m reading them in Braille. “This one,” I tap the design over my left collarbone–a precise rendering of a Möbius strip woven with thin lines of circuitry, “reminds me nothing’s ever really linear. Time. Learning. Grief. You loop back before you ever move forward.”

Her eyes track the motion.

“And this–” I shift slightly, letting the light hit my right pec where a geometric atom breaks apart mid-burst, fragments morphing into stars. “That’s the moment I realized physics wasn’t just numbers. It’s poetry. Everything beautiful explodes before it settles.”