Page 30 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

Instead, what was in front of her was the picture of elegance.

It was refined. And while it was dramatic in its shades of black and crimson, it was…

comfortable. Cozy. The bed had a heavy velvet blanket on it that spilled off the edges and onto the floor and made her want to burrow into it and never come back out.

The curtains were half drawn, casting the dim morning light of the dawn across the warm oak floor through the haze of the sheer shades underneath, showing off the black lacquered furniture scattered about the room.

A large black casket was against the wall, inlaid in brass.

She wondered why he had both a bed and a box.

But even the coffin seemed tastefully done, and… somehow homey .

The whole room seemed designed for curling up in front of the fireplace that dominated one wall with a drink in one hand and a book in the other.

Raziel had left her there to take in the space while he opened the door to another room and flicked on a light.

After staring at the room for another moment in surprise, she followed him. The bathroom was just as tasteful and moody as the bedroom, this time done entirely in tones of black, gray, and copper.

While Nadi couldn’t get the stitches wet, that wasn’t going to stop her from sitting in the tub and scrubbing everything else. And washing her gods-damned hair. “Where’s the soap? I can handle this.”

“Turn around so I can get that mess off you.” By his tone, it was clear he wasn’t answering her question. No, he was issuing an order. He folded a few washcloths and dropped them on the edge of the tub.

“What?” She shot him a look.

He straightened up to his full height, towering over her. The change in his demeanor was instant and unforgiving. “Turn. Around.”

She swallowed. Instinct warred in her. Two halves wanted two very separate things.

One very primal part of her wanted to obey instantly—to do what he asked without question.

Yes. The other part of her wanted to claw his face off with her fingernails.

To hiss and show him just what kind of feral beast he thought he had tamed.

Reason won out.

This wasn’t worth a fight. She was already wounded, and her head was still spinning.

She turned her back to him.

“Good.” He smoothed her hair out of the way, tangled mess that it was. “You and I will have to come to a…very complex understanding of each other, I feel.”

“I’m starting to get that sense.” She kept still as she felt him unzip the back of her dress.

It had been mostly cut to pieces by the doctor, but he hadn’t removed it all to stitch up her wound.

He had only opened the part of it that he’d needed to.

Naturally, the zipper stuck halfway down.

Raziel didn’t hesitate to rip it open. The dress was entirely trash, anyway. “For as long as it lasts, at any rate.”

He hummed. “Indeed. Tell me what you’ve heard of my reputation with my lovers.

The harsh truth of it.” He slipped the shoulders of the dress off, careful to avoid the cut on her left arm that was now bandaged.

It wasn’t bad enough to need stitches, but it was yet another thing that couldn’t get wet.

“You break them.”

“Be more specific.” He crouched down, urging her to step one leg out of the dress, then the other. It was nothing more than dirty, sliced-up bloody rags at this point. She was in stockings, her corset, garter belt, and underwear.

“You find a man or woman you like—then you use and abuse them, mentally and physically, until they’re shattered and broken. Sometimes, they’re found dead. Sometimes, they’re found worse than that.” She wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but if he wanted the truth, she’d follow along.

“Hm.” He unclipped her stockings. They were torn and in the same state as her dress. “Well, that’s mostly true. But it’s missing a key component, my dear.” He rolled them down her legs, and had her step out of them one at a time before tossing them aside, into the pile with her dress.

“I’m sure it’s the part of this that secretly makes you the good guy.” She smirked down at him.

He snorted in laughter, and shot her a sarcastic smile. “Naturally.” His smile faded as he stood back up before he began to unlace her corset from the back. “No, what you say I do to them is accurate. What the stories are lacking is the simple fact that what I do to them, they ask for.”

She furrowed her brow. That made no sense. She twisted her head to look at him. “What?”

“Some people wish to be broken. Some people want to feel as though they match how they believe their soul was formed, perhaps. I honestly do not know. I…do not fully understand it myself.” His expression fell flat.

Lords below.

He was telling the truth.

“My partners have always been willing. They climbed into my bed knowing their next destination would be either a casket or a madhouse.” Glancing at him, she saw his cruel and vicious sneer.

And in a sudden epiphany, she realized…it was directed entirely at himself.

“Mother always told me I was the creative one in the family.”

When he removed her corset and tossed it aside, she turned to face him. He watched her, the same guarded, cruel smile on his face. But she wasn’t buying it. “And what about the lovers you’ve had who don’t want to be broken?”

“Oh, my dear. Everyone wants to be broken…” He took her jaw in his hand, placing his thumb against the hollow of her chin, his nail just gently resting against her lower lip.

He leaned in closer as if he were going to kiss her.

“It’s all just a matter of degrees. And whether or not, in the end… they wish to be rebuilt.”

Her reply was little more than a whisper. “We’ll see about that.”

“Yes. I very much think we will, my little murderer.” He smiled, settling his hands on her hips. He slid her underwear down her thighs, dropping them to the floor. “Now.” He pointed to the tub. “Sit.”

She wanted to strangle him with the hose that ran to the removable shower head.

But she refrained.

Letting out a long, ragged sigh, she did as she was told.

Raziel sat on the edge of the tub and began to bathe her. Yet somehow, despite the fact that he was the one tending to her, playing nursemaid, shampooing her hair and tending to her like she were his princess, she couldn’t help but feel like this was a warning shot.

As he gave her a satin slip to wear and tucked her into sleep, kissing her gently and vowing to wake her in four hours to ensure that her concussion wouldn’t trouble her…

She still somehow knew .

That Raziel Nostrom had just declared war.

And now the game was truly on.