Page 24 of Greed: The Savage (Seven Deadly Sins #7)

I n all her years, no one had ever looked after Addien following an attack.

Every hurt she’d taken, she’d tended herself.

That was how life on the streets worked.

Nay—that was how survival worked. You got knocked down, you slunk off like a stray dog, found some corner in the shadows where no one could see, and set about tending your wounds.

And it was a day for firsts—because never before had she been stirred as she was now, by the touch of a man and the husky, seductive pull of his voice.

As Malric peered at her through thick, sooty lashes, he alternated between cooling her skin and breathing over the very place he touched. His breath, a hot, soothing tease, his words a suggestion, his voice a temptation. She ached between her thighs from the subtlest of touches.

The wolfish curl to his unforgivingly hard lips said he knew it too.

“You are beginning to see a hint of how ice can be used…” With that, his finger stretched for that frigid water that had literally stolen her breath and dipped his own hand within those icy depths, like he was testing hot bath waters to gauge its temperature, but giving no outward reaction as to the bite of those mercilessly frigid contents.

Even as her heart raced and that eager anticipation stirred in her cunny.

She still had enough control of her faculties to understand what he did here. It wasn’t hard to see that his was a ploy to distract her with desire so he didn’t have to discuss anything more meaningful than mindless sex.

The irony wasn’t lost on Addien. Malric wanted to share even less than she did about her past. Also, like Addien, he didn’t want anyone getting close—and that included her.

He didn’t really desire her.

That was why, as he brought one of those ice chips slowly towards her hand, trembling, she pulled away.

“I’m sorry for those things Delilah said about you earlier,” she said gruffly. Addien’s wasn’t an apology for a transgression she was guilty of, but rather remorse at what he’d experienced and been subject to because of her. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to utter those first two words.

His classically beautiful features, befitting the many portraits done of the gods here at the Devil’s Den by her friend Alice, became as terrifyingly tense and menacing as those same legendary gods who weren’t being properly pleased in those murals.

“Do you truly think I care about what she or anyone else has to say?” he asked. The smile in his voice was couched in a warning and a promise: Do not come any closer. I will eat you up.

Addien knew when to walk away from violence.

She knew when to walk away from trouble.

Granted, her temper hadn’t done her good around this man.

But she was as magnetized towards him as she’d been repelled by every other man that wasn’t him.

Certainly, she’d never possessed this all-powerful longing for Roy.

“I do,” Addien said quietly. “Oi believe you do care, a lot, Malric.”

Rage tightened the corners of his eyes. And from another, even from this man days ago, she would have known to back away, but alas, he’d already shown himself.

A man didn’t fight a nobleman for roughing up some guttersnipe, then take on the role of a servant or surgeon to the same guttersnipe if he was the Diggory kind.

A low growling began in Malric’s throat. The sound reverberating from his powerful neck emerged like he was grinding glass between his teeth.

Addien did not back down.

“Ain’t nothing wrong about a gent worrying about his honor and reputation,” she said simply.

He regarded her through narrow, impenetrable slits, danger and warning glinting in the black depths. The message was clear: I’m watching you—and if you make light of this, you’ll regret it.

Despite the fissure in his armor today, and the startling flashes of his tenderness, Addien shivered.

“And do you worry for your reputation and honor?” he asked, the faintest mocking curl returning to his tone.

It was a mechanism of his. How quickly she’d come to know this man. Days ago, she would have used it to her advantage, to humiliate him. The thought no longer held the same appeal.

“No,” she said quietly. “Honestly, I worry about staying alive.”

Unblinking, Malric stared at her a long, very long , moment.

Finally, his guard slipped. “A man’s honor is all that matters.”

Not long ago, she would’ve mocked Malric over that admission. She’d have jeered at him for not knowing what truly mattered in life—safety, security.

Now she made herself acknowledge something she’d not truly known until their time in close quarters: he was no more responsible for his birthright than she was for her far less illustrious one.

Just because it wasn’t her world didn’t mean it wasn’t his—one with its own rules, its own norms, its own governance over what mattered and what did not.

As one who loathed sharing anything of herself with anyone, she could respect Thornwick’s need for silence.

After his admission, she let him resume tending her wound, his head bent over her wrist as he rolled the ice gently across skin that no longer hurt.

His enigmatic touch had long since chased away the sting of Dunworthy’s attack.

“So how does a gentleman who cares about honor and respectability manage to live here, of all places, and work?”

And why would a marquess, destined to be a duke, defend a rookery bird like Addien?

That question persisted, but she kept that part unsaid. Asking it would reveal too much—that she cared, and that it mattered to her that he had avenged her. That he had made her feel as though she mattered.

“I always worked,” he explained. Taking her other wrist, he examined it, turning it gently over in his hand, studying it, probing it for signs of injury.

Addien stared down at his head incredulously. He shot a quick glance up before she could conceal her surprise and gave a wry half grin. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”

Addien shook her head. She wasn’t expecting so much of what she’d learned about the Marquess of Thornwick.

“My father, the duke, made it his life’s mission to make mankind as miserable as possible.

” A muscle in his jaw rippled. “That included yanking a son with a fondness for debating him on the merits of preserving the old order versus championing the natural rights of man out of Oxford, and thrusting him into a government post to learn his fortune would be earned, not inherited.” His lips twisted.

“The bastard never anticipated I’d take to work.

That I’d come to crave it in a way I didn’t his dukedom. That was the only favor he did me.”

She’d have traded her soul for the comforts of a roof that didn’t leak and enough to fill her belly. Hers was not a judgment or condemnation, but rather—

Malric’s voice sliced through. “All you ever wanted was shelter and food. Not much of a bargain for a soul, is it?”

His voice was low, edged with something like regret.

His thoughts followed too closely in line with hers. It unnerved her. It terrified her.

Addien looked him square in the eyes. “I did not say that.” The heat flooding her cheeks betrayed her.

“Ahh,” he murmured, his fingertip gliding over her callused palm and sending a shiver through her. “You didn’t need to.”

She swallowed hard.

When he finally ceased his distracted caress, she breathed easier—though her body still hummed from the closeness.

Malric, to his credit, carried on casually. “Among the duke’s many talents, he excels at whoring, bleeding his tenants dry, grinding hope from his servants. His favorite sport—beating his wife and children—ended only because the wife died and the sons grew up.”

He smiled then, a bitter curve that never reached his eyes.

The sight sent a cold ache through her.

Him. He had been one of those children. He spoke of the beatings with the same detachment she used for her own scars from the streets.

They were alike, yet opposite sides of a coin—and the thought of him as a small boy enduring such cruelty left her shamed for having assumed his title had spared him ugliness.

How far he’d let her in. Did he even realize? Surely not. For if he had, he’d have slammed the panel shut on his darkest memories long before now.

Afraid to move lest he close up and cease sharing parts of himself she was strangely curious about, Addien kept motionless.

“That is why you’ve devoted your life to protecting others,” she said softly, certain she understood him.

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she’d erred.

“What work is it you mean, Addien?” His voice was steel wrapped in warning.

She blinked at him. “Here, at the Devil’s Den. What else? You’ve only ever spoken of your work for the government—not the details of it.”

With a leopard’s speed, he lunged, bracing his arms on either side of her.

Once, in the streets of St. Giles, there’d been a mangy stray that snarled and snapped at everyone, sending them scattering in fear of its fangs. Addien had discovered it was all bluff—just a bark, no bite. Malric was the same.

At least, to her.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know my history, minx,” he snarled.

Addien didn’t flinch. He’d already shown her who he was. He wouldn’t hurt her.

“I know you and your merry band of courtesans gossip about me and my past.”

Without backing down, Addien bared her teeth in a snarl to rival that long-lost dog she’d once searched for after finding her home at the Devil’s Den—searched for but never found.

“You flatter yourself, Malric.” Tell me! She yearned to know. “Other people might find you interesting enough to talk about, but I got more important business and things to worry about than gossiping about some scandal that sent some fancy nob here.”

Addien held her breath, hoping that was enough to elicit more.

Malric edged closer.

“By hell,” he whispered. His gravelly tone was wound tight with peril. “You had better hope to God you aren’t—”