Page 21 of Heirs of the Cursed (A Curse for Two Souls #1)

20

Bellmare

Three bodies hung from the gallows in the square. The word ‘traitors’ had been carved into their exposed backs, and the ink markings of two tigers stained with blood revealed their affiliation with the rebels who had been working for years to overthrow the king.

Naithea had believed that people would hide in the safety of their homes, but that hadn’t been the case. Either way, she was relieved, for the clientele at the tavern had increased and, therefore, so had the brothel’s profits. The plan to steal in order to pay off her debt to Madame Dimond had also been a success.

Yet that night, the Grumpy Dwarf was so crowded that it was impossible to take turns stealing and distracting the soldiers.

She swept the tavern with her gaze, pausing over her sisters who hid their faces behind the ornate veils. Their mistress, unnerved by her new agreement with the Fiend, needed her hetairas to look dashing. And so she’d bought them new attires for the evening. Naithea hadn’t been surprised when she handed her a garnet-colored translucent dress that accentuated her best attributes and exposed every inch of her skin. It was part of the punishment she hadn’t yet been spared of.

Used to her exposed body, it was the thin mask that covered her face from the bridge of her nose and mouth that made her uncomfortable. It itched, but were she to raise a single hand toward the cloth, Madame Dimond would later on spank her for ruining everything. So Naithea resumed her movements above the circular platform she was in, dancing seductively to invite the drunk customers to her cold bed.

As if their souls called to each other, Naithea found Commander Ward standing at the side of the tavern with a tankard of ale in his hand, practically untouched. His dark blue eyes were focused on the citizens that walked in and out of the tavern, ignoring the hetairas that danced in front of him.

Ignore him, she ordered herself.

Three long weeks had passed since Ward had defended her from Madame Dimond’s punishments. Three weeks since he’d spat the word ‘whore’ for everyone to hear and know that was the only way he saw her kind.

Still, Naithea couldn’t help but keep her attention on the man each day as he left the camp they’d set in Pixies’ Forest and marched over the streets of Bellmare with soldiers at his heels in search of the princesses.

She was drawn to him, to the darkness he hid underneath the surface. But she didn’t give in, even when the tension that pulsed inside her with imperious need persisted.

The soldiers around Ward drank and played with the deck of cards a woman had painted for them as a sign of good faith. Their laughter filled the air, over the conversations of the other customers and the music to which the hetairas danced provocatively.

“I’ve seen many whores in Lên Rājya, but I must admit, none compare to the Bellmarians,” Soldier Edgerton declared, wrapping his arm around the waist of one of the hetairas. “Marvion, come. I’m sure you’d love to have a taste of her.”

The soldier shook his head. “Unlike you, Vylan, some of us are faithful to our wives.”

“It sucks to be you, my friend.”

“Speaking of beautiful whores . . .” Eames Cranner intervened and pointed toward Naithea. “Her exotic beauty and sharp tongue are about to reject Leo’s ass.”

The commander’s attention shifted from a group of men heading toward one of the dark, private rooms of the tavern to where Eames and the rest of the soldiers were now staring. His jaw tensed as he found Soldier Ramsdean making his way through the people and heading toward a particular woman.

Naithea danced and swayed her hips to the music of the harp, atop one of the eleven elevations where the hetairas remained until one of the customers claimed them for the night.

The attire that hung from her shoulders left little to the imagination, revealing much more than just her skin. It was transparent enough for him to glimpse her pink nipples against the fabric, the silky curve of her waist and her flat stomach until the only thing covering her center from hungry gazes was a thin underwear the same color as the dress.

Predatory jealousy seized Ward with a desire to cover her body from the eyes of his men and everyone else in the tavern.

“That woman could very well be my undoing,” one of the soldiers teased.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Soldier Edgerton whispered to the hetaira on his legs as he stroked her back. “Do you think your friend would like to join us?”

Caisen brushed her wild orange mane behind her ear and smiled. “I could ask her.”

Another soldier rolled his eyes. “Stop joking around, Vylan. You don’t have enough money to sleep with two of them. Much less the skill to satisfy them.”

The soldier threw one of his cards in his direction in response, causing Caisen to nearly fall to the ground. She managed to cling to Vylan’s neck before that happened.

“We should get out of here before one of my comrades steals you from my arms.”

“I take that as a defeat,” Eames said, stretching back in his seat and resting his arms on the backrest. “As soon as Leonel walks away from her, I’ll make a move.”

“Not so fast,” one of the soldiers stopped him. “Looks like young Leonel is doing better than we give him credit for.”

Ward could almost taste the blood in his mouth as the interaction between the two became more intimate. There was no fear or annoyance in Naithea’s face as there had been every time their paths had crossed. On the contrary, there was amusement and a hint of happiness as she approached the soldier.

He looked away before he saw something that would haunt him later.

“Or not . . .”

The commander’s eyes lifted once more to notice Leonel turning away from Naithea and heading back to the table, where his friends awaited him with jeers and questions.

“Great failure, Leonel!” A dark-haired soldier patted him on the back. “Clearly, the hetaira isn’t satisfied.”

“Come now. That’s enough torture for one night,” a middle-aged soldier said and handed a glass of ale to Leonel, who thanked him with a half-smile.

“No, no,” Stephas interrupted him. “Tell us. What’s she like? Is she as good in bed as she looks on that little altar?”

“I’ll keep those memories to myself,” Leonel responded.

“Oh, come on! Give us some details,” Eames insisted. “If I had ridden a woman like that, I’d want to brag about it all over the kingdom.”

“Or if she was the one who rode me.”

The creak of a chair rose above the soldiers’ laughter before their table fell into a deafening silence.

Ward rested the iron tankard on the table, tipping some of the contents onto the played cards. He could feel their gazes on him, curious by the hard expression on his face and trying to figure out his next move. Fawke stood up, thinking his commander had noticed something suspicious.

Still, he did the last thing he had planned to do that night.

After a gesture to stop them in place, he made his way to the young man standing by the tavern door, whom he recognized as Madame Dimond’s nephew. If he wasn’t certain news would rush to the capital, Ward would have cut his face with his dagger for what he’d done to Naithea in the brothel.

The commander shoved a bag of vramnias against his chest, making him recoil, before pointing to Naithea with his head. Senan frowned with intrigue and shook the leather sack to hear the gold vramnias tingling inside.

At once, the madam’s nephew moved among the customers who whistled toward the hetairas every time a part of their attire revealed their skin. Ward kept his blue gaze on Senan, who grabbed Naithea’s wrist to drag her down from the platform, her happiness draining away. His lips moved quickly in a smirk that concealed the unspoken threat and, when his hand pointed to the place where the commander stood, she froze completely.

She nodded, masking her emotions behind that burgundy veil before carefully descending from the circular altar. Naithea received cheers, whistles and leering from the Bellmarians, but she didn’t stop to speak to any of them as she walked toward him.

And toward a night that could be their end.

Ward had come to collect what he could take, for according to his narrow mind, a hetaira’s body always belonged to others to do with as they wished. And Naithea, as the whore she was doomed to be, could do nothing but obey.

“Commander.”

“Ausra,” he said with amusement. That made Naithea even angrier. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?”

“It was.”

Senan cleared his throat by way of warning. “She’s all yours, Commander,” he told him with a cold, unwavering gaze. “I hope you understand the importance of returning her in one piece.”

“It wasn’t in my plans, but I can make an exception for your madam.”

Ward gestured down the path, and Naithea walked past him, her prideful arrogance intact.

The icy breeze of Salismar Ocean tucked them in as soon as they left the tavern. Naithea was grateful that The Grumpy Dwarf was located nearby the brothel, for she wouldn’t endure a long and tense walk in the company of the ice-hearted commander.

Reaching the bedroom door, Naithea paused at the sound of Jehanne’s voice in the room across the hall.

When had she left the tavern? she asked herself.

Something inside her stirred as she heard a dark voice just across the hall. Her magic reverberated in warning; something was wrong. Yet she could do nothing, as Ward had already entered the room. Like she’d been trained to do, she closed the door behind her, locking herself in with the Commander of Death.

Naithea took deep breaths, without breaking away from the oak door. She’d been in the company of people she didn’t want hundreds of times; she’d even slept with disgusting dryadalis, fearing for her life during every second of the encounter.

But that night was entirely different. She wasn’t afraid of the commander’s presence, but about what she desired him to do. Even after walking away from him on the Night of the Tides, her heart had ached with a possibility she refused to acknowledge—that he cared for her. In his own twisted way, Ward had protected her from the madam. He’d set his priorities aside to defend her against the Bellmarians who had refused to allow her entrance to the library.

Despite the anger that coursed through Naithea’s veins, a twisted, dark part of her craved him enough to set her morals aside. She was anxious because she’d fantasized about this moment for a long time and had gone to sleep mad at herself over the guilt of yearning for a man who hid a beast.

Because somehow, he was a reflection of her.

Trained to act and not feel.

Ordered to obey, but never truly free.

A few steps away, Ward scanned the room intently, is midnight-blue eyes taking in the emerald walls and the uneven white streaks of skipped paint above the headboard. He took a few seconds to admire the bed, spacious enough for two bodies to fit and do all sorts of perversions during a night of passion and lust.

Naithea was frozen in place as she watched him discard his weapons and lay back on the mattress. His gaze swept over her body under the revealing dress. In them, she found something more than desire: a struggle within himself, one that he didn’t seem ready to fight.

“Let’s get this over with,” Naithea said, moving away from the door.

The mist in the commander’s eyes dissipated just in time to see Naithea moving her hands up her body until she reached the sleeves of her dress. The fabric peeled away from her skin and revealed her firm, round breasts.

Naithea walked to him with ponderous slowness, pulling the veil away from her face to drop it next to her feet. But before she could take another step, Ward lunged forward to catch the fabric of her dress, stopping her from exposing the rest of her body and pushing one of the sleeves back into place.

“As much as I desire this, it won’t happen.”

She looked at him with wide eyes and arched eyebrows. “So you paid for my services to belittle me?”

Ward placed the other sleeve over her shoulder, taking all the time in the world to caress her skin with his fingers. Her stomach turned in anticipation.

“I don’t plan to touch a hair on your head until you really want me to, love,” he whispered next to her ear. “And you will. You’ll be so desperate for my hands that you won’t be able to find pleasure in yourself without thinking of me.”

Naithea’s heart raced at his words. He hadn’t even touched her and she could already feel the heat growing between her legs.

Her job had ruined sex for her. While she had had some pleasant encounters with men before, none had ever ignited that consuming, primal pleasure her sisters whispered about. Yet she couldn’t escape the sharp, exquisite ache at her core, the burn that only deepened the more she crossed her legs in her failed attempt to stifle it. In vain, because all it did was intensify the desperate longing to feel the commander’s hands, the weight of him against her.

“You have a disgustingly filthy mouth,” Naithea whispered.

“There are many ways this filthy mouth can please you,” Ward assured her, looking down at her lips. “Far more than any dryad man has before.”

“You think you know everything about my sex life because I’m a whore, but maybe you’re wrong, Commander,” she blurted out, haughtily. “I don’t like you, so don’t think this is anything but my obligation.”

“Is that why you’re crossing your legs, Naithea ?”

Her toes curled in her heels as she heard him utter her real name.

Naithea folded her arms over her chest, not knowing what to do with her hands. “I thought you wouldn’t call me that.”

“We’re alone. And the truth is, I want to get used to the sound of your name on my lips before you moan mine,” he admitted with satisfaction.

“There are many names I call out every night and I can pretend to like you as much as you can pretend to care about me.”

Ward watched her silently as she brushed aside the strands of onyx hair covering her shoulder blade to reveal the reminder of her punishment she wore with pride despite it all.

“I suppose words leave less ephemeral marks than scars.”

“The last thing I thought about that day was my image, because all that kept torturing my mind was that I couldn’t bear to watch you suffer. Because, of everything I’ve had to endure, seeing the pain on your face as you surrendered to her was the worst.”

His words ignited a fire in her chest. There was brutal anguish in them, as if he were unfamiliar with such emotions and it was the first time in his life that he’d dared to admit them aloud.

Naithea scanned his face, waiting for him to burst into laughter so she could remind herself the beast he was. If the commander wasn’t a monster, her heart could be in great danger.

A danger she wasn’t ready to surrender to.

“I don’t trust you,” she said in a whisper, and that revelation was as painful for her as it was for him.

“Oh. I know, love.”

“Then stop.”

Ward frowned. “Stop what exactly?” he asked, walking toward Naithea until the wall rose behind her and she had nowhere to run. “My insinuations toward you? The fantasies that cloud my judgment every time I see you and have to keep my composure while I hear my men say what they’d like to do to you? My own fantasies that keep me awake at night?”

“All that,” Naithea answered breathlessly.

The distance between them was suffocating. Naithea could feel his breath against her soft lips, smell the sweet ale in his tongue. Her eyelashes fluttered with delight at each phantom caress he traced over her body. For a moment, she entertained a dangerous thought—what if she let go of reason, gave in to the darkness Ward had so effortlessly awakened within her?

She wanted to run her hands through his moon-white hair, tangle it between her fingers until it was completely out of alignment. She wanted to lose herself in his arms and let him guide her to the bed, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss in which the other’s breath was all the air they needed to survive. She needed to lose herself in the pleasure he was so willing to give her, even if it was just for one night.

Ward’s hand closed around her hip with hunger while the other gently cupped her neck. He caressed her lips slowly, admiring the flames of longing in her boreal eyes as he let out a painful sigh.

“What is it about you that I can’t stay away?” he asked, more to himself than to her.

Their lips were mere inches apart, making Naithea shiver at their invigorating touch. And when she let her head fall back to plunge into the kiss that could be her doom, a piercing scream chilled her blood.

Naithea pulled away, familiar with its owner. All hetairas had grown accustomed to each other’s screams after years of living together. Her heart raced again, but this time not with desire but with fear.

She didn’t stop to make sure Ward was following her.

She darted out of the room and across the wide hallway until she reached the knob of the mirroring door in front of her own. The door slammed against the wall, though not even the loud noise alerted the man hovering over her best friend.

What Naithea saw was horrifying.

Jehanne was naked, crying on her knees. Tears slid down her pale cheeks, down her chin, and onto her exposed breasts. There were ropes around her wrists that kept her arms stretched out to either side and prevented her from covering herself from her client’s attacks.

When the man raised his fist to deliver another blow to Jehanne’s wounded and aching body, Naithea didn’t hesitate. She leapt forward—not to attack, but to defend. She covered her friend’s body with her own and took the hit.

She would no longer be a coward.

She would no longer be weak.

His fist impacted against her face and Naithea raised a hand to her cheek to fix her deadly eyes on the man in front of her.

The air she’d been holding disappeared from her lungs as she faced him—the man she and all her sisters had heard about for years. The man who visited Bellmare occasionally to collect Madame Dimond’s earnings.

The Fiend .

Understanding crossed her face. Regnera had the night off because of a high fever, so the Fiend had been left without his preferred hetaira and had chosen Jehanne to fulfill a new fantasy, which the madam had allowed.

The Fiend scanned Naithea’s face in astonishment. However, his mask returned to its place as he began to advance in her direction, a devilish smile tugging the corners of his lips upward. In his eyes, something dark flashed, like an ancient hatred that dated back to years of disdain.

Naithea waited for the next blow to hit her, still protecting her sister. She’d take it, she knew she could. Taking the blows and punishments was easier than seeing her loved ones’ agony . . .

But it never came, for two strong hands closed over the Fiend’s throat and pushed him against the furthest wall of the room.

“Touch her again and you will bleed for it,” Ward growled.

The Fiend’s only response was a low, ghoulish chuckle.

Jehanne’s uncontrolled crying reached Naithea’s ears, drowning out the conversation between the commander and the debt collector. She turned to embrace her friend and scan her body for injuries that required immediate attention.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Jehanne simply nodded as Naithea untied the ropes with shaky hands. Once freed, her arms fell limp at her sides, then instinctively moved to shield her naked body.

“Let me take a look, Je,” she asked, worried. There was blood everywhere. “I need to know how deep the wounds are.”

“I-I upset him . . .” Jehanne stammered without moving from the floor. “I thought if I touched him, he would finally undress . . . But he tied me up and threatened to kill me if I didn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“Shh, you’re safe now.” Naithea pulled her to her arms to stroke the length of her back and appease the spasms that took over her body as she sobbed. “We must get out of here. Can you stand up?”

“He struck me,” her friend continued. “He . . .”

“Please, we have to go.”

Nothing Naithea said seemed to calm her friend, so she held her tighter and whispered soothing words in her ear, trying to pull her onto her trembling legs to carry her out of the bedroom.

Ward returned in a matter of minutes, and the anger that had hardened his face was now replaced by an unfamiliar sense of grief.

“I can carry her,” he offered.

She was scared of how Jehanne might react, but trying to carry her on her own had been fruitless so far. Naithea nodded in approval, her gaze steady as she watched Ward carefully lift Jehanne into his arms, covering her with the torn fabric of her dress. Once they were in the other room, he laid her on the mattress to examine her wounds.

It was hours before Jehanne calmed down and fell into a deep sleep.

The commander remained motionless in the single chair he’d pushed next to the bed. Naithea held her best friend’s hand tightly, not taking her eyes off her for fear that something bad would happen if she did.

“You can leave now,” she said to him in a trembling whisper.

But Ward didn’t move from his seat. “I’m not going anywhere, love.”

Their gazes met one last time, challenging each other. And when sleep overcame Naithea, she allowed herself to sink into it with the certainty that Ward would protect her, even from her darkest nightmares.