Page 27 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile (Compelling Fates Saga #3)

Merrick

M errick set Lessia down on the bed in a cabin that must have been the king’s.

He wondered for a second whether he should try to find another room—find somewhere Rioner might not have tainted the air—but when Lessia settled against the wall, stretching out her legs across the bed and expectantly lifting her gaze to his, he only shot her a quick smile as he sat down beside her.

Sitting like this together—her leg pressed against his, her soft breaths the only thing his ears picked up as his eyes traveled across the table and chair standing in the middle of the room and the small tub in the corner—reminded him for a moment of the election.

When stolen moments like this had been the only time he thought he might get with her.

When he’d had to fight with everything in him not to pull her into his arms.

In Ellow his need to hold her—especially when those fucking humans mistreated her—had been so strong he’d often had to force himself to sit on a chair across the room.

It had probably painted his face with a constant scowl, as he hadn’t trusted himself not to curl around her. To try to protect her. Hide her from the cruel world they lived in.

Not that she would have let him, back then… He’d sensed how much she’d loathed him, after all—at least in those first few years.

A low sound rumbled in his chest as he remembered the scent of pure hatred that surrounded her every time he entered a room she was in, and he felt Lessia’s eyes landing on his face.

Turning toward her, he noticed the slight wince weaving across her face as the bed shifted, and if her eyes hadn’t been so soft, so full of love he wasn’t certain he deserved, he would have growled in defiance of the fucking king, and of this whole fucking world.

But that’s not what she needed right now, so Merrick gently lifted the hands she had in her lap instead, placing them in his own, and blinked against the crimson hue threatening his vision as he studied them.

They’d injured her so damned much.

But he’d fix it. If it was the last fucking thing he did, he would make her whole again.

After a quick glance at the sheets, he decided against using them for fresh bandages.

He didn’t want the king’s scent touching her skin.

Not for himself.

Well, not just for himself.

But for her.

Pulling his tunic over his head, Merrick didn’t care that he wouldn’t have another to wear.

He’d walk around naked for the rest of his life if that meant Lessia was warm, her wounds were bandaged, and she didn’t have to smell the male who’d hurt her so badly.

Who’d turned her into this…

The shell that sat before him.

He could sense she was still in there, though. The soft, gentle, beautiful soul that only wanted the world to be kind to everyone. But she’d hardened, the purpose he’d felt from her before now at the forefront of her mind, all else within her being pushed to the side.

He watched Lessia as he ripped the black tunic into long strips.

Her eyes moved deliberately over his torso, up over his face, then down again across his shoulders, over his stomach, and down to his crossed legs.

She was fucking memorizing what he looked like.

Savoring it.

As if… as if she might not be able to enjoy it much longer.

Again, he felt like growling. Like destroying something—perhaps this entire damned ship. But he forced himself not to—pulled on the last of his patience to keep his hands moving slowly and steadily.

Merrick started talking as he unraveled the already dirty bandages and checked on the deep wound on her wrist. “This will heal in a day or so.”

It already looked much better, especially compared to the broken fingers and hand he worked on next.

“This one will take longer.” Merrick traced his fingers over her pale skin, sensing the bone beneath it shifting. “You can’t use this hand at all for the next few days. It won’t heal right if you do.”

The wheezing breath falling from her lips told him she was hurting more than she let her body show, and he stilled for a second.

“It will be all right, Lessia. I… I will fix this.”

Merrick cursed to himself. He didn’t know what the fuck to say. There was so much to fix, and broken fingers were the least of it.

“You… you don’t need to fix this,” she whispered.

He was glad Frelina and Raine weren’t in the room.

He might have killed one of them for how broken her voice sounded.

“You… cannot fix this, Merrick.”

Those five words shattered his heart. Hurt worse than anything he’d ever felt before, and made him want to curl into himself, hide within the mounting cloud of souls pressing all around him.

But he wasn’t ready to take it in. Wasn’t ready to hear that she didn’t mean her hands…

So instead he pushed those thoughts away and growled “Watch me” as he continued replacing her bandages.

Lessia remained quiet as he finished, wrapping the strips of fabric higher up her wrist than before to ensure the broken hand would be properly stabilized.

As he did so, flakes of dried blood fell from her skin, whirling in the slight breeze let in by the dark wooden planks of the walls.

Merrick swallowed, telling himself to be fucking nice and not rip her damned clothing to shreds to examine every single injury immediately. Telling himself to be kind like she’d once told him he was.

“May I?” As he gestured to the jacket he’d given her, he felt like slamming his hand into his face when the anger within him still broke through the words he’d meant to be gentle.

But he couldn’t hold back the fury rising within him like the hot liquid he’d once seen a mountain spit out in a neighboring realm.

When he’d first seen her on the ship, he’d realized she was injured all over—physically as well as mentally. But what he could smell now…

There was so much fucking blood. Some of it might not still paint her skin red, but it was there… It hadn’t been washed off, only been replaced by more.

Another vibration in his chest shook the bed.

Lessia only nodded.

His heart could barely hold on when the woman before him raised her arms—the swallow she seemed to have tried to hold back echoing in the second he stared at her.

Merrick bit down on his bottom lip until the skin broke.

She was worried, not for herself but for what he’d think of her. Merrick could sense the flicker of shame within her as he reached for the jacket.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

That wouldn’t fucking do.

Moving as slowly as he could, Merrick peeled off the jacket he’d helped her into, and he refused to let his eyes drift away when she was finally freed from the fabric.

When Lessia cast her own down, he reached out to lift her chin.

“You’re beautiful.” Merrick didn’t whisper, forcing his voice to remain strong, to be heard clearly.

He wouldn’t let that fucking Torkher win by shying away from what he’d done.

Merrick’s name was carved on her stomach.

On her sides.

On her arms, even on the one where the black traitor mark appeared starker than ever against her fair skin.

On her chest, right over her heart.

And from the smell of iron and coal dust, he was certain more of Torkher’s carvings lined her back.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Merrick made sure his fingers were assured as they whispered over her skin, not cowering from the words now darkening it.

Shifting her, which was easier than he liked since they must have starved her, he confirmed his suspicions.

Like he’d expected, there were even more dark scars of his name branded onto her.

He knew why Torkher had done it.

The fucking bastard.

He’d done it so she’d hate his name—so she’d look at herself and always be reminded of the dark side of Merrick—and so that Merrick would look at her and always know what they’d done to her.

He would not give that fucker the pleasure.

He’d change his damned name if it came to that—maybe go by only the Death Whisperer.

And before that…

Merrick rose from the bed, helping Lessia to the end of it, setting her feet on the floor before he knelt before her.

As he unsheathed the ruby-decorated dagger, he leveled his eyes with her amber ones. “I want you to mark me.”

Her eyes flew wide—then quickly narrowed—and he expected a No fucking way was right at the tip of her tongue, but he spoke before she did.

“I can’t stand it.” Merrick lowered his voice, pressing the dagger into her hands. “I can’t stand everyone knowing you’re mine”—his eyes dipped to the scars across her body—“if they don’t know that I am also yours.”

“Merrick,” she started.

“Lessia,” he interrupted. “As soon as I saw you in that fucking cellar, I was yours. Perhaps even before. Perhaps I’ve always been yours, and I’ve just been waiting for you to come into my life.”

Merrick slid his hands up her thighs, staring at her.

“I want to wear your name everywhere across my body.” Lifting the arm with his own traitor mark, he angled it so the light from the lonely lantern in the room spilled onto it.

“Like this one, I want yours and mine to be the same. You are mine. I am yours. That’s just how it is.

The good and the bad and the pretty and the ugly.

We will fucking share it all. That’s how it was meant to be, and it’s how it will always be.

I want the world to fucking know it. I want everyone I ever meet to see that every part of me—every dark corner of my soul—belongs to you. ”

“You are insane,” she whispered, the hand holding the dagger trembling, and her pale face still moving back and forth.

“Perhaps.” His eyes challenged hers. “But if you won’t do it, I’ll carve your name across my forehead, and I expect it won’t look terribly good, as I’ll have to do it in a mirror and it might end up backward.”

She laughed then.

A cracked, rough, harsh laugh, and it might have been the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Please.” His knees dug into the floorboards, but he didn’t care as he moved to lay his chest across her lap, his arms resting gently around her back. “Please, Elessia.”

A chill whispered across his bare skin when it was quiet for a moment, but then she whispered, “I promised never to deny you anything.”

“You did.” His words were muffled as he pressed his face against her legs. “And this is what I want.”

“You’re insane.” She sighed again, and Merrick expected more protest.

But then a cold blade pressed into his skin, and he’d never been so fucking happy to feel pain.

The entire time she worked on him, he whispered the two words he never wanted her to forget.

“You and me.”