Page 51 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Katla

Ulysses’s expression is set, his mouth a grim line, the burning of his golden eyes steady. He’s very set on thinking the worst about himself, as if he’s some kind of monster, which he clearly isn’t.

He’s a complex equation, though, and there are many variables in his make-up that I wasn’t aware of such as his protectiveness, his honesty and his capacity for feeling. Especially his capacity for feeling.

There’s fury, desire, fear and pain in him and I want to know where all those things come from.

I want to know why he thinks the way he does, because I’m starting to wonder if he’s actually the kind of equation I’ll never get tired of wanting to solve.

He has so many complexities and contrasts, but it’s not only that.

He’s interesting to my brain, and it’s how he makes me feel about myself too.

My feelings matter to him, I think. They’re important, and the fact that they are makes my heart feel tight with an emotion I can’t name.

I don’t know why the way he thinks about himself is so upsetting to me, and it is upsetting.

It hurts me that he thinks he’s a bad person.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have pointed out that the reason he kept his sister so close was that he didn’t want to lose the only person who loved him.

I think it’s true, but he didn’t like me saying so.

Probably because, like me, he is alone in the world, or at least that’s what I suspect.

Unlike me, though, he does have one person who loves him.

He takes a step back from me, as if he wants to put distance between us, so I let him. It’s important to have one’s own space, even if it feels oddly painful to me.

‘I told you the facts,’ he says coolly. ‘There’s nothing more you don’t know.’

‘You did,’ I agree and then add impulsively, ‘I’m sorry for saying that losing Olympia would mean losing the only person who loves you. That was very insensitive of me.’

He is silent a moment, then he says, ‘Is it true? I don’t know. But there are other are reasons I need her.’

‘What reasons?’ I ask, because I can’t think of any others.

‘I had to turn off my conscience when I became an enforcer,’ he says slowly. ‘I had to strip away the boy I’d once been and become someone else—someone harder, colder. And I had to or else I couldn’t have done what needed to be done.’

I can see how difficult that must have been for him, especially for a man such as him, with so much capacity for feeling. But all I can think is that he did what he had to do to save the person he loved. No more and no less.

‘You saved her, though,’ I say simply. ‘The end justified the means.’

‘That’s not all, ice queen,’ he murmurs.

‘You see, when I got her back, I had to become someone different again because I couldn’t continue in a life of crime with a little sister to look after.

But the damage had been done, don’t you see?

The damage had been done to me . The part of me that I stripped away, the part that cared about other people, I could never put back.

My conscience never switched on again. It died.

But I needed something to keep me on the right path and so Olympia became my conscience. And that’s why I can’t be without her.’

He believes this, I can see. He’s wholly committed to it and right now, cut off from her, his true north, he’s a compass needle spinning round and round with nowhere to land.

And all at once I understand that I want to be his place to land. I want to be his true north.

No matter what he thinks, his conscience isn’t dead. It’s alive and well, if a little rusty with disuse, and if it wasn’t I wouldn’t be standing here right now. I’d be having to deal with John.

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ I say, moving over to where he stands, so tall and broad. ‘A man with no conscience wouldn’t have saved me last night.’

He watches me approach, his golden gaze steady. ‘I told you why I saved you, ice queen. It was out of selfish need, not out of any purer concerns. Also, I knew my sister wouldn’t like me walking past a woman in danger.’

‘So?’ I ask him. ‘Does needing someone to guide you make you totally irredeemable?’

He gives a short, bitter laugh. ‘You think I’m looking for redemption? No, I don’t want that. I don’t need it either. I am what I am. I made my choices and I don’t regret them.’

No, he doesn’t, but they’ve hurt him all the same. Those choices have changed him. ‘Who was that boy, then?’ I ask him. ‘Who were you before you became an enforcer?’

Ulysses lets out a long breath. ‘A rule-follower. The kind of boy who always did what he was told and never argued. I hated violence. I was targeted by the neighbourhood boys to be bullied and beaten up because I never retaliated. Our mother taught Olympia and I that violence was wrong. She taught us to be kind to animals and your elders; to show respect, to never lie.’

He pauses and his gaze on me sharpens. ‘And then she died and the state came. I was certain that they would take care of us. That we would be together, because that’s what they promised us. Only, people don’t keep their promises, do they?’

‘No,’ I agree. ‘No, they don’t.’

‘But I do,’ he says. ‘And that boy couldn’t have saved her. He couldn’t be the man I had to become in order to keep my promise. So I killed him.’

He’s blunt, harsh, and I think it’s because he’s trying to push me away. Either that or maybe he’s trying to convince himself that the boy he once was is dead. Except, he’s not. He was twisted by circumstances and an enduring, fierce love into something he was never meant to be, but he’s not gone.

‘No, you didn’t,’ I say to him, just as bluntly. ‘That boy is still there. I see him in your kindness to me, how gentle you are with me. The way my feelings matter to you.’

He stares at me fixedly, the fire in his eyes burning brighter and more intensely. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says, the words rough on his tongue. ‘The past doesn’t matter. I am who I am. And it doesn’t change what I want from you or what you’ll give me.’

He’s right—none of this will change what I give him—but he’s wrong in thinking it doesn’t matter, because it does. He thinks he lost something, something that makes him human and worthy, but he hasn’t lost it. It’s still there. It’s intrinsic to him, it’s part of him; I know it is.

He’s like me in many ways. Persistent. Stubborn. Committed. We both tried to become something we weren’t and, while he has managed to change his world to fit his new view of himself, I’ve been trying to change myself to fit the world.

But both of us are wrong, I can see that now. Both of us are denying the people we really are. He wasn’t born different like me, but trauma has changed him irreversibly. And so, like me, he finds himself on the outside. He’s not alone, though, that’s what I want him to know. Not now I’m here.

‘Good,’ I tell him, meeting his gaze head-on. ‘Because what you told me doesn’t change anything either. What I told you about yourself is still true, and nothing alters that in the slightest.’

This time it’s he who closes the gap between us, the fire in his eyes leaping high. He reaches for me, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me close to the intense furnace of his body.

‘You really have to stop looking at me like that,’ he orders, low and rough.

‘Like what?’ I challenge, staring up at him.

‘Like you think I’m a good man.’ His fingers dig into my hips, and I’m almost on the edge of pain, but I ignore it. He’s given me some pieces of himself and now he regrets it, I think. He’s trying to frighten me away, but I’m not going to let him.

I told him I wasn’t afraid of him, and I’m still not.

‘You are a good man,’ I tell him, looking up into his eyes. ‘You’re a good man who had to do some awful things, that’s all. And I know this because it bothers you.’ I lift a hand and lay it against his cheek, the roughness of his five o’clock shadow prickling against my palm.

‘It doesn’t bother me,’ he disagrees.

‘Then why are you telling me to stop looking at you that way?’ I ask. ‘If it truly didn’t bother you, you wouldn’t care.’

His jaw is hard, flames leaping in his eyes. ‘You need to stop talking,’ he growls.

‘Make me,’ I dare him.

So he does, his mouth coming down hard on mine, hot, hungry and fierce.

It’s as if he’s let himself off a leash, his kiss savage, giving no quarter.

I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to show me the enforcer, ruthless and hard, conscienceless.

But what he doesn’t know is that, over these past few hours spent in his company, I’ve seen the boy he once was.

I catch glimpses of him when he smiles, when he touches my face, when he saved me from John.

He’s a ruthless man, and I’m not blind to that. But he’s also a man with a huge amount of empathy and a tremendous capacity for caring, and I know that because why else would he be so angry?

What he also doesn’t know is that I’m stubborn and persistent, and when I want something I go out and take it. And, right now, I want him. I want to show him that the boy he once was and the man he’s become both live inside him, and they can become one. He can be whole.

I kiss him back, just as fiercely, letting him know that I’m still hungry for him no matter what he’s done—that hasn’t changed.

I bite his lower lip hard and then suck on it, making him growl.

He slides his hands beneath the hem of the shirt I’m wearing, running them all over my bare skin before jerking open the front of it, buttons raining down as they come off.

One hand slides into my hair as he pulls my head back, his mouth moving down the column of my neck, his teeth against my skin pressing hot kisses and small bites all the way down.

His other hand cups my breast, his thumb brushing over my painfully hard nipple, and I shudder as pleasure sizzles down every nerve.

I want to touch him, but it’s all I can do not to lose myself in what he’s doing to me with the slide of his hand, the pinch of his fingers around my nipple, his mouth at my throat making me gasp and tremble.

He wants to do this hard and fast. I can already tell.

But I don’t want that. I want to show him that he’s worthy of reverence just as much as I am; that he’s as unique and as rare as I am.

I twist out of his grip and he doesn’t reach to pull me back. He only stands there, his breathing fast, his eyes glowing like twin suns. The shirt I’m wearing—his shirt—is hanging open and I’m wearing nothing beneath it. He’s a hungry wolf. He’s not going to allow me much more time, I know that.

So I back over to the Christmas tree with the lights shining down, and I beckon him over. He comes, lithe as a panther, and when I point at the rug in front of me he growls, ‘I’m not a dog, ice queen.’

I only stare at him. ‘Do you want me or not?’

He lets out another growl, but sits on the floor where I point. He gazes up at me and, when his eyes meet mine, I shrug off the remains of his shirt then step over to him and lower myself down to sit in his lap, facing him.

‘Better,’ he murmurs roughly, his hands on my hips.

Sitting on him is like sitting on sun-warmed stone; he’s so hot and hard everywhere.

I want to lick all over his bare chest, but I stop myself.

This is important. He was gentle that moment in the plane, when he showed me the passion inside me, and now I want to be gentle with him.

I want to show him the kindness and worthiness that lives inside him.

I lift my hands and take his face between them. ‘Close your eyes,’ I whisper.

At first I think he’s going to resist, because he’s not a man who does as he’s told, not any more. But then slowly his eyes close, the pressure of his gaze veiled for a moment, so I take the opportunity simply to look at him.

He’s beautiful, his face the most perfect ratio, with long, silky black eyelashes and a proud blade of a nose; with his high cheekbones and perfectly carved mouth.

I lean forward and kiss his closed lids gently, then move on across his cheekbones and his nose, raining light kisses down on his warm skin.

I hear his breath catch as I kiss his strong jawline, and he whispers, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Honouring you,’ I say, moving to the other side of his face. ‘Honouring what you did for your sister and what you gave up for her. Honouring all the things you sacrificed for her and honouring the boy you once were—that you still are, deep inside.’ I kiss his jaw again, moving towards his mouth.

‘Katla,’ he breathes, but by then I’m at his lips and I cover them, a light, gentle taste of a kiss that stops whatever he was going to say.

Then I deepen it, tasting his mouth, because I love kissing now, I love kissing him. He makes a rough sound deep in his throat. His arms wrap around me, my breasts pressed to the hard wall of his chest, the heat of him a fire I continually want to warm myself against.

I reach down between us to the button of his jeans and undo it, freeing him. He’s not wearing underwear, and neither am I, so it’s an easy thing to lift myself up slightly and guide him inside me.

I’m already wet and needy for him and he makes another harsh, masculine sound as I settle down on him.

We had sex like this up in the jet, and then I wanted to watch what I did to him, because I wanted him to be at my mercy the way I was at his.

But not this time. This time I want something different.

Now, I’m scared that he can see what he does to me. I want him to know. I want to show him that he means something to me, something more than I ever expected him to. He’s got himself under my skin so much that I don’t think I’ll ever get him out again.

His hands slide to the curve of my back and he spreads his fingers apart, as if he wants to touch as much of me as he can get, and then he opens his eyes, staring straight into mine.

The shock of the eye contact with him makes me tremble deep inside, but I don’t look away. Instead I begin a slow rise and fall, and he lets me set the pace.

‘Katla,’ he murmurs, watching me as if he can’t see anything else. ‘My ice queen…’

Pleasure begins its slow and delicious build as we move together, perfectly in sync.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me and I can’t look away from him.

He’s all heat, all fire, blazing beneath me and in that moment, in his arms, I’m fire too.

We blaze together, he and I, both of us creatures of flame.

And, just before the end comes, before I’m lost in the pleasure he’s giving me, I am suddenly aware of one thing.

I think I love him.