Caine’s face darkened. “Help how, exactly? I don’t think you should go anywhere near him.” He glanced at his brother again; Malphus’s face had paled to the color of milk and he lay back on the bed, his breathing labored. “I’m going to find someone to heal you. Just give me one minute.”
Caine rushed from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Malphus clutched his chest, closing his eyes.
Rosalind rose, her legs shaking from fatigue. “Well for fuck’s sake. We could take the iron out in the meantime.” If she could help him, maybe it would be the first step toward redeeming herself.
Malphus’s eyes snapped open, darkening to black. “Don’t come anywhere near me.” The anger in his voice tightened her gut.
Despite the anger on his face, she took a step closer. She was already growing used to the demon-death-stare from Caine. “I’m good with a blade. We had to learn how to remove bullets in the Brotherhood. I’ll get the iron out.” She desperately wanted to take his pain away, to make up for what she’d done as a Hunter.
His breath was labored. “You want to jam a knife into my flesh again.”
“I’m going to help heal you.”
His black eyes locked on her, and his silver aura beckoned her closer. His magic slid over her skin like silk, scented of lilies.
He was definitely looking at her like she was his next meal. She swallowed hard, glancing at Caine’s alchemist table. “I’m going to fix this,” she said. She rushed to the table, her gaze roaming over Caine’s collection of tools. She pulled out a long, thin blade with a silver hilt.
Malphus’s black eyes were on her as she crossed the room to him, the blade in her hand.
She took a deep breath as she approached. I’m good with a blade, but I’ve never done this on a real person before.
“Lie back,” she said, in what she hoped was a soothing and authoritative tone. No one wanted a hysterical lunatic standing over them with a knife.
“Try to resist cutting any deeper than you need to.”
“I’m not a sadist,” she said quietly. She sat at the edge of the bed, leaning down to examine his injuries. “I didn’t enjoy hurting you.”
She scanned his chest. She’d start with the one by his shoulder. It looked the worst, the skin around it swollen and purple—possibly necrotic.
A shiver ran up her spine. She was pretty sure the bastards had rammed iron into an old wound—the one he’d had when she’d tortured him in the prisons. Might as well get that one out of the way.
She swallowed hard, and realized that she needed to come at it from above. “This isn’t the right angle,” she said. “It will be easier if I’m on top of you.”
“Fine,” Malphus said, closing his eyes.
Rosalind hooked a leg over him, straddling his waist. From here, she could lean down and cut the thing right out. She leaned closer, inhaling. Despite his prison sentence, he had a clean smell—like soap and sage.
Rosalind looked at him. “Maybe Cleo knows a spell to numb the pain. This is going to hurt. A lot.”
“I’m a demigod,” he shot back. “I don’t do painkillers. I have my pride.”
Okay, then. Rosalind gripped the knife’s hilt. “Are you ready?” When he nodded, she added, “Like I said. This will hurt.” Carefully, she slid the blade into his wound, to the very bottom of the shard, and circled around slightly until she could scoop it out.
Malphus closed his eyes, grimacing as she forced the iron upward until it protruded enough that she could grab it between her fingers. He grunted as she pulled it from his flesh, and she threw the gore-streaked piece onto the floor.
They each let out a long, slow breath. Malphus opened his eyes, his lips tight. “Can you get the next one over with?”
Rosalind scanned his athletic chest. Three more small chunks of iron were lodged in his body, the skin around them red and swollen. Carefully, she worked one iron shard after another out, tossing the blood-drenched fragments on the floor.
When she’d finished, she ran her eyes over his skin. “Is that it?” Rosalind asked.
“That’s all the iron,” Malphus said, a hint of color returning to his cheeks. She could already feel his aura strengthening, slipping over her skin like silk. Something about the way he was looking at her transfixed her, and his hands roamed up to her waist.
Her pulse raced. Of course. This was how incubi healed—but she hadn’t bargained for this part of his healing when she pulled the iron out.
The door slammed open, and Rosalind’s head turned. Caine stood in the doorway, his eyes flashing with pure ice. The room chilled, the long shadows deepening across the walls. It took only an instant for Caine to cross the room and grab her off Malphus. He pushed her against the wall, his fingers tight on her shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was a low snarl.
Her heart pattered fast, and she stared into his wrathful face. Obviously, he didn’t trust her around his brother, not after what she’d done. She’d seen him angry before—but not like this.
Except in my dream.
Fear slid over her skin at the completely inhuman look on Caine’s face. “I was just healing him.”
“Healing him? And what happened in the torture room—was that some kind of fucked up foreplay to you?”
She shoved him away, glaring at him. “I was just taking the iron out. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
Malphus was sitting up now, completely ignoring his brother and looking at her like she was completely naked.
Rosalind cleared her throat, the tension in the room so thick she could hardly breath. She was getting the impression that coming between two incubi was a very dangerous idea. She folded her arms, shooting a sharp look at Caine. “Did you find another human for him?”
Breathless, Aurora ran into the room, clutching a fistful of yarrow. “I got the herbs. What’s happening? Is Rosalind going to heal Malphus?”
“No.” Caine was doing that eerie thing again where he didn’t move, and only his aura whipped around him. “Not Rosalind. She’s still in a weakened state from her ill-advised battle with the harpy, and I’m going to need her power when we go into Maremount.” He turned to Malphus. “There’s another human woman for you downstairs.”
Malphus rose, his eyes still on Rosalind as he crossed the room. “I know my brother has good taste.”
Caine nodded at Aurora. “Take him to the Orion room downstairs. There’s a bath for him there, and you can staunch the bleeding with the yarrow. Lola will heal him. She’s very good.”
Who the fuck is Lola? Rosalind crossed her arms. And why does it matter?
As Malphus and Aurora left the room, Rosalind went back to the armchair and dropped into it. She desperately wanted to rest her burning limbs, but her muscles had gone completely tense. Caine’s fit about going near his brother stung quite a lot. “What was that all about? You know I’m not going to hurt him now.”
Caine crossed to a table below his window and uncorked a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses. “I just didn’t want you near him. That’s all.” He moved to her, handing her one of the glasses.
She took a sip, trying to blink away her tears. Caine’s angry outburst, combined with her complete exhaustion, had her feeling overwhelmed. The battle with the harpy, followed by the use of all that powerful magic, had completely sapped her energy. She took another sip of wine, her muscles finally relaxing.
Under the pale, glowing light of the starry dome, her eyelids drifted closed, and her breathing began to slow. She didn’t want to dream, but she couldn’t fight it anymore. Sleep enveloped her.
Her mind spun with silver, gold, copper, and green auras, and when they disappeared, she was staring at a stunning vault of stars. Frothy waves lapped at the rocky shore. A warm sea breeze whispered over her skin, soothing her, and it smelled just like Miranda. She started to turn slightly, but something tugged in her middle, keeping her from turning all the way. I don’t want to see what’s going to happen.
Pale blue wildflowers, like the ones Malphus had given her, dappled the seagrasses. She glanced down at her toes, sunk deep into the sand.
But a cold feeling of dread began to crawl over her skin. I know what’s coming. This is where I die. She braced herself, forcing her head to turn. That familiar wave of horror slammed into her. Four stakes stood by the shore, their wood old and rotted in the sea air, like decayed piers.
As sure as death, Caine appeared in a vortex of menacing silver and shadow, moving like a storm wind. He gripped the woman and slammed her against the stake. Her brown eyes—Rosalind’s eyes—snapped open with horror.
Rosalind opened her mouth to scream.
Instantly, a cool, soothing presence rushed over her skin, caressing her body. Muscled arms wrapped her in a masculine embrace. She was dimly aware of a strong body carrying her, chasing away her nightmare. Her eyes slid open, bleary with sleep, and she stared at the smooth skin on Caine’s neck.
Bending down, Caine gently laid her on the bed. She stretched her arms over her head, staring as Caine carefully unzipped her boots, pulling them off. She’d felt it like it was her own death, but this couldn’t be the man who would kill her.
His gaze met hers, and the way he looked at her made her pulse speed up. He leaned in closer, his eyes lingering over her clothes, still soaked in Hunter blood.
He traced his fingertips over her shoulder blades, whispering a spell. His light touch sent shivers over her skin, and the Hunter’s blood lifted off her body.
“I was having a nightmare,” she said.
He leaned in closer, stroking her cheek. “I know. You can tell me about it when you wake up. Don’t think about it now.”
He smelled amazing—that beautiful, loamy scent. It was hard not to stare at his exquisite beauty: his pale eyes and full lips, his eyebrows dark against his skin. She felt electrified under his gaze. A lock of his dark hair hung in his eyes, and she pushed it away, listening to his sharp intake of breath.
He let his eyes run up and down her body like he was memorizing it, and she had that feeling again, that he could see right through her black clothes and her lacy blue underwear to her bare skin, taking in every curve.
She stared at his beautiful mouth. Reflexively, she licked her lips, and he caught the movement, his eyes flashing hungrily. She wanted his lips on hers.
There were a million reasons she should turn away from him—not the least of which was his angry outburst just minutes ago—but right now she didn’t care. She just wanted to feel his bare skin against hers. She was burning up in her clothes, and she wanted to strip them off.
Caine slid his hand under her shirt, then his fingers roamed just below her waistband, sending a hot thrill through her belly. “I want to explore every inch of your body.” When his thumb grazed the hollow of her hip, just along her hipbone, her back arched. Her breath quickened. He leaned in closer, his breath warming her neck. “But tonight isn’t my night.” Another slow, lazy stroke of her hip, lighting her on fire with his touch. “Tonight, I need you to sleep.”
He pulled his hand away, and she nearly groaned with frustration.
Staring into his pale eyes, she took a deep, shuddering breath. Her whole body was damp with a light sweat. Gods below. She was burning up.
She bit her lip, trying to marshal some control over herself. “Whatever you say, Caine. But in the meantime, I’m not sleeping in leather. It’s far too hot.” She unzipped her pants, sliding them off her sweat-dampened legs. They dropped to the floor.
Caine’s eyes flashed with pale light, his gaze slowly tracing up her bare legs, lingering on the thin blue lace of her underwear. She pulled off her top, and heard his breath catch. His carnal gaze devoured her, and she could see him warring with himself for control.
Rosalind leaned back, letting him get a full view of her body before she slid under his covers. “Are you going to sleep next to me again?”
His eyes fixed on her, he exhaled slowly. He rose, pulling off his shirt.
She swallowed hard, gazing at his muscled torso—the tattoos of constellations, the moon’s cycle, and the pointed alchemical symbols that covered his skin. For the first time, she noticed a tattoo on the inside of his arm that stood out from all the others. Not a magical symbol—more like a thin, sharp blade with a design at the top. I’ll ask him about that later, when I can remember how to talk again.
He pulled off his pants and, clad only in his black boxer briefs, crawled in bed next to her.
With him so close to her, electricity still rippled across her skin. I am never going to sleep with him next to me.
“Sleep,” he said quietly. He reached out to touch her forehead, and his aura caressed her skin, soothing her muscles like a gentle wind.
She felt her eyes drift closed—but when she did, an image slammed into her mind like a brick: Caine, bestial and enraged, driving an iron nail right into her heart.
She gasped, her eyes flying open.
Caine propped himself up on his elbow, dark hair hanging into his eyes. “What the hell was that?”
Swallowing hard, she stared at him, clutching the covers by her shoulders. Maybe it’s time to come clean. Her heart banged against her ribs. “I’ve been having the same nightmare. Repeatedly. About you.”
His entire body went rigid, and his aura sliced the air around him. “Tell me.”
“It’s not something from the past. So I guess it’s from the future.”
His eyes flashed. “Tell me.”
She looked down at her shaking hands and took a deep breath. “There are four stakes on a shoreline. It’s night, and there are waves lapping the rocks. The stakes are old and rotted, like an ancient pier. Then you show up. You’re with a woman, and she looks like me. Only older.” She shook her head, her pulse racing. “I thought it was me.”
Caine had gone completely still, and shadows seemed to draw up behind him, cloaking his body. Only his wintry eyes shone.
Rosalind bit her lip, suddenly unsure of herself. “But I figured maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s Miranda.”
Not a single muscle seemed to move on Caine’s body. His eyes were locked on her. He wasn’t pressing for details anymore, and she had a strange sense that he might know what was about to happen.
“You take the woman—me or Miranda—and thrust her up against the stake.” The words came out in a rush. “She’s scared. And then you shove a nail into her heart. You nail her to the stake, so she’s stuck there, dying.”
Caine’s eyes darkened. A chill fell, frosting the room. Goosebumps rose over Rosalind’s skin, and she suddenly felt completely cold in nothing but her underwear.
“Go to sleep, Rosalind,” he said softly.
She frowned, disbelieving. That’s it? “What do you think it means?”
“It means you need sleep if you want to fight whoever is tormenting you.”
Now that she’d finally got this out in the open, he just wanted her to shut up about it? “I thought dreams meant something. Do you think you’re going to kill Miranda? I feel like this deserves a theory, at least.”
The gray returned to his eyes, and he lay down, folding his arms behind his head. “I’m going to kill you if you don’t stop talking. When day breaks, we have to transport into another dimension and fight our way through the wilderness, probably plagued by bone wardens and all manner of lethal creatures, and then defeat an unknown enemy to rescue your sister. We’re not going to stay up all night discussing dreams that probably don’t mean anything.”
“Right. If it didn’t mean anything, why did you go all weird and shadowy?” Her whole body was tense. “This is feeling a lot like when Orcus pulled the book out of my hands and threw it in the fire because he didn’t want me to know things.”
“I really liked you better when you were just sitting there in your lacy blue underwear and looking at me lustily. With your mouth shut.”
Anger flared, and she glared at him. Dickhead. She rolled over, her chest tight. No way am I g
oing to sleep now.
She could feel Caine shifting in the bed. He wrapped an arm around her. She had half a mind to elbow him away, but he folded her into the curve of his body so gently, his smooth skin pressing against hers. Her hair stuck to her damp cheek, and he brushed it off her face.
“Sleep, Rosalind,” he whispered.
Despite herself, his soothing aura whispered over her skin, sending her into a deep sleep.
She dreamed of a starlit field of wildflowers, completely devoid of stakes.
Chapter 21
Rosalind woke, tangled in Caine’s bedsheets. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and surveyed the room. The first rosy blush of dawn glowed through the dome, washing away the darkness—and with it, the strangeness of the night before.
Caine was nowhere to be found, but someone had left a silver tray on his dining room table.
Rosalind stood, letting the sheets fall, and crossed the floor. She pulled off the top of the tray to find a pot of herbal tea on the silver platter next to fresh bread, butter, and jam. Her stomach rumbled, and she sat in the chair, slathering a pat of butter over the bread. She ate her way through three chunks of bread, washing them down with the tea. Hunger and fatigue wouldn’t slow her down today.
When her belly was full, she stood, crossing to Caine’s silver-framed mirror. At least she looked strong and rested now, but she still had ragged hair.
I’m not going to turn up to fight my estranged family looking like I’ve clawed my way out of the grave.
She grabbed a towel, a fresh bra, and a pair of underwear from the bag of clothes—red this time, the color of war—then crossed to the bath. Leaning down, she turned on the faucet, then stripped off her underwear. She let them drop to the floor and stepped into the bath as it filled.
She leaned back, breathing in the steamy air. She had no idea what lay ahead for her in Maremount—only that she would have to confront her own family. Her parents were dead. But how many other Athertons would she find in Ekur Fortress?
She grabbed the lavender soap, lathering up her legs and under her arms. The shallow bath water filled with pale lilac bubbles. She scooped up a handful of water, splashing it over her skin to rinse off. All the aches and pains of yesterday had subsided. For the first time in a while, her body felt amazing.
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