Master of Salt & Bones

by Keri Lake

  When I enter the dark bedroom, I find Roark’s sleeping form on the floor, surrounded by his toys. It isn’t unusual for him to fall asleep while playing. It’s why Amelia asked that I check on him. Without anyone physically putting him to bed, he’ll stay up all hours of the night until he crashes.

  I try to shake off the dizziness and cross the room, where I kneel down next to him. Something sits off to the side, and I frown once I realize what it is. A pill bottle. Small blue pills lay scattered on the floor. I lift the bottle, turning it over to find Amelia’s name printed on the label, and below it, Lorazepam.

  Ativan.

  Panic tightens its fist around my chest, and I turn Roark over, immediately taking note of the white pallor of his skin, the blue of his lips.

  “Roark!” I shake his small body to wake him, every muscle in my body quaking with the urge to throw up. “Roark!”

  His eyelashes flutter, his lids opening to show dilated pupils that can’t seem to focus on me. “I’seep, Daddy,” he says weakly.

  “No, no. Don’t sleep.” Stroking his hair, I try to keep him awake. “Don’t sleep, buddy, okay?” I lift him into my arms, pressing him against my chest. “You can’t sleep yet.”

  “I wan dede bew.” His teddy bear.

  I don’t have time to look for it. I don’t even know if I have time to reach my phone. “Help me! Somebody, help me!” My shouts echo down the hallway, bouncing off the walls. Racing back toward my office with Roark in my arms, I find my phone on my desk and one-handedly dial 9-1-1.

  “I’seep, Daddy.”

  “No, no. Stay awake just a bit more, Roark.”

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” At the sound of another person on the other end of the line, all the urgency pours out of me.

  “My … my son! He … he got into my … he took Ativan.”

  “Calm down, sir, is he with you now?”

  “Yes!” I tuck the phone against my ear to grip the back of Roark’s head, and gently lay him down onto the desktop.

  His eyes are closed again, and if possible, his face a ghostlier shade of white.

  “No, no, no! Roark, wake up!”

  “Master Blackthorne, is everything all right?” At the sound of Rand’s voice, I hold out my phone.

  “Talk to her for me! It’s emergency. Roark got into Amelia’s pills!” The moment he takes the phone from my hand, I turn back to my son. “Hey, buddy. You need to wake up.” I give a light shake and gently pat his cheek. “Roark, wake up.”

  “Ambulance is on its way, Master.” Rand’s voice is a distant sound to the rush of blood pounding inside my ears.

  “He won’t wake up. I can’t fucking get him to wake up!” I lean down, pressing my ear to his chest, listening for a heartbeat.

  Nothing.

  “Roark?” When I shift toward his mouth, I don’t feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. “He’s not breathing.”

  “The operator says you need to perform CPR on him, Sir.”

  “I don’t fucking know CPR!”

  “Allow me, Master.” Setting a hand on my arm, Rand urges me aside, placing himself between me and my son, and within seconds, he’s going to work on his chest, while talking to the woman on the phone. Rounding the desk, I watch through a shield of tears as the only thing in this world that ever mattered, that ever gave me purpose, lies slipping out of my grasp.

  Amelia enters the room, darting toward Roark, and at the sight of her, I imagine wrapping my hands around her throat. Squeezing until her face turns as ghostly white as Roark’s.

  “What happened? What’s going on?”

  A muscle in my jaw tics, as she stands beside Rand, stroking the boy’s hair.

  “What did you do?” I grit past clenched teeth. “What the fuck did you do?”

  The rage in my voice must reach her loud and clear, because she slowly lifts her gaze, eyes wide and cautious as if a monster stands before her.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she says in that disgusting meek voice that, in this moment, makes me want to tear her vocal chords right out of her throat. “I swear I didn’t do anything, Lucian.”

  “Your pills were in his room. Scattered on the floor around him.”

  Her body jerks with a sob that she caps behind her palms, and tears spring to her eyes. She shakes her head. “I didn’t leave them in his room. I don’t know how he got to them.”

  “He got to them because you’re fucking careless. Care. Less.”

  “Master, please.” The desperation in Rand’s voice bleeds through his words as he resumes his compressions.

  There’s no movement from Roark. No sign that his efforts are working.

  Rand lifts the phone for the operator. “It’s not working. He’s not breathing, at all.”

  “Keep with compressions until paramedics arrive,” I hear the operator say through the phone.

  “Oh, God, Roark!” Amelia lowers her head to the table, her hand clutched to his face, and her sobs are nothing but an irritating distraction from the pain that waits to swallow me up. The agony that I can’t bear to face, for fear I’ll do something stupid.

  Minutes tick until two men in uniform enter the room, followed by my mother.

  “Lucian? Lucian!” Her voice is frantic, and when her gaze slides toward Roark, she collapses beside the couch across the room, holding her chest. “Oh, no. Oh, not my sweet boy. Not my sweet, baby boy!”

  More minutes pass while they hook him up to machines and tubes and a contraption that pumps air into him. One of the men finally speaks into a radio comm, and all I pick up from that conversation is asystole and no pulse. He ends the conversation with, “I’ll notify dispatch. Thank you.”

  “What’s going on? What’s happening? Are you taking him to the hospital?” The desperation and despair in Amelia’s voice is enough to curl my lip, and I fear what I’d do, if not for all these people standing around us.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nothing more we can do. An officer is on his way. They’ll gather information for the coroner.”

  “Coroner? As in … he’s … no. No.” She falls into one of the chairs behind her, wailing into her palms.

  “He was talking. An hour ago. He told me he felt sleepy.” I can’t see through the blur of tears. “He asked for …” At the memory of his last request, I stride through the small crowd and out of the room, down the hall, to Roark’s bedroom. Scanning the toys lying about, I find his Dede tossed onto the bed. Snatching it up, I race back down the hall to find Amelia sobbing beside Roark, stroking his hair.

  My father stands off to the side as emotionless as I’d expect.

  I make my way around the desk, away from Amelia and the paramedics, and lower to my knees. Taking his small, cold hand in mine, I wrap his teddy bear in his limp arms.

  “Roark, you have to wake up.” For a moment, it’s as if there’s no one else in the room except me and my son. I press my face to his soft baby cheek and inhale the scent of him. The lavender soap of his bath from earlier. “I should’ve left the paperwork. If I’d known …” The pain in my chest is unbearable, like an animal eating me from the inside out. The air turns thick and suffocating, and suddenly I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. I slide him off the desk, clutching him against me as I fall to the floor. The agony rips through my chest as I rock him, just as I did the first time I held him in my arms. When he stopped crying. When he looked at me with trust and wonder in his eyes. And he stopped crying.

  A broken sound of rage and suffering echoes through the room, and I realize it’s coming from me, as I clutch my son for the last time.

  Voices reach the void inside my head.

  I don’t even know how long I’ve stared at the spot on the desk where Roark’s body lay before he was taken away. An officer outside the office talks with my father, finally drawing my focus away, and in the thick of conversation, he makes eye contact with me and offers a sympathetic nod. When I lower my gaze, I notice the signet ring he’s wearing, and
the conversation sharpens to clarity.

  “We’ll make sure not a word of this breaches these walls,” he says, shaking my father’s hand. “Not a single word.”

  I push to my feet, my body moving on its own, and I exit past the officer, who pats me on the back. Down the hall, then staircase, until I finally reach the foyer.

  “Master?” Rand asks from behind. “Where are you going?”

  I don’t answer him. I swipe the keys from the console where I left them earlier, and make my way toward the door.

  “Master, you shouldn’t go anywhere right now.” The warning in Rand’s voice fails to breach the haze of determination, as I head toward the door. “Lucian!”

  Once outside, I hustle down the staircase, toward my bike still parked on the drive. I need something, I don’t even know what. Speed. Air. Adrenaline. Something that will take away this intense pain. The massive hollow in my chest that’s doubled in size over the last hour. The emptiness and numbness that waits to devour me the moment I let down my guard.

  “Boss!” Makaio calls, as he and Rand plod down the stairs after me.

  I start up the bike, rev the throttle, and take off down the drive. Cool air whips past me, stealing my breath, as I pass through the gates of this hell. Flickering images of Roark slip through my mind, and I feed the bike more gas. Trees zip through my periphery, the buzz of the bike the only sound over the distant memory of Roark’s sleepy voice. Before I know it, the trees give way to the seaside, the winding road ahead calling to me.

  More speed.

  I think of the moments earlier, when I stood in the doorway, watching him play. What if I hadn’t bothered with the paperwork? What if I’d dropped it all and played with him right then?

  More speed.

  The visual of picking up the bottle and finding Amelia’s name on the label sends bullets of rage through my veins, and I clench my teeth together.

  More speed.

  I curse God for giving me something so meaningful, so crucial, only to swipe it right out of my hands.

  Lights ahead approach fast, and somehow, they’re coming right at me. That’s when I catch sight of the line I’ve crossed on the road, and I swerve to avoid the crash. My hand slips from the throttle, flying into the air. The pavement crashes into my shoulder and tears into my face, as I drag across the concrete. Fire streaks up one half of my body, while the rest of me goes numb, and red gathers in my periphery, the world stands tilted on its side. A white hot pain rips across my skin. I see lights. Shadows looming over me.

  Standing in front of them is Roark, clutching his teddy.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  Chapter 44

  Lucian

  Present day …

  “Roark!” I snap out of the nightmare, momentarily disoriented as I search the room for familiarity.

  My son. Gone. Dead.

  Bile rises in my throat, my head spinning out of sleep, while my surroundings come into view.

  The dark chandelier, white curtains, dark Victorian décor, all tell me I’m in Amelia’s room.

  Amelia.

  Turning to my side, though, I find black raven hair fanned out against the stark white pillows, her equally black lashes fluttering in dreams. Not Amelia. Isa.

  Isa.

  Shaken to my core, I drag her body into mine, where her small frame perfectly melds into my much larger form. With my face pressed into her nape, I screw my eyes shut, mentally pushing away the lingering images of my nightmare. My son. Pale and cold and dead.

  Her scent penetrates the chaos inside my head, the warm and inviting aroma that’s a mix between sweet vanilla cream and her own personal fragrance. I drag my lips over her soft skin, kissing her shoulder, while my breaths calm, my pulse slows. Wrapping her tighter against me, I feel her body tick with life, her heartbeat and steady exhale like a metronome that lures me back to the present. I’ve had nightmares before, and woken up to cold sweats, sleepwalking, sometimes swinging out at nothing but shadows. Tonight, I’m grateful for Isa’s presence. The way she soothes the restlessness that claws inside of me. The wretched demons of my past spoiling for their usual nightly torment.

  With her back to my chest, she shifts and moans, and I kiss behind her ear to settle her. For years, I’ve shunned the idea of sharing a bed with a woman. But Isa is delicate. A fragile bird in the palm of my hand, whose vicious bites are the result of cruelty and neglect. She needs direction and guidance, security and protection. Things I could give her, if not for my trepidations.

  I’ve been careful to avoid repeating the mistakes of my past, of tangling myself in another web of commitments and responsibilities, but this girl is different somehow. I can feel my defenses crumbling when I’m around her, and as much as that might frustrate the hell out of me, I don’t hate it, either.

  Thoughts of her story from earlier come to mind, the way my body reacted to her distress, tense and shaking with anger. There’s more to what happened that night, something she’s leaving out, but I didn’t push it. I wanted to punish those who put the panic and fear in her eyes, while she spoke through detached words, trying to convince me that she left that party unscathed. I know better than that. A girl doesn’t sleep with a blade under her pillow and cut up her arms in the name of a friend. I don’t care how close they were. Those boys hurt her, too, and in turn, I wanted to hurt them—still do.

  I would find joy in their misery, pleasure in their suffering, while gifting them with a slow and agonizing penance.

  Perhaps I am a sadist, after all.

  I would’ve destroyed every last one of them for her.

  My raven beauty.

  My Isa bella.

  Chapter 45

  Isadora

  The intoxicating scent of cologne rouses me from dreams. A rich woodsy, masculine flavor dances through my senses, and I stretch against the solid body pressed against me. His strong palm slides over my belly at the same time as a deep, growly sound rumbles in his chest, and I turn to face him. Eyes still closed, he seems to fight waking, but the small bit of early morning light coming in through the curtain is hard to ignore in the otherwise dark room.

  The steady cadence of his breathing expands and contracts his back, where resting muscles protrude beneath his skin. Broad shoulders taper down to narrow hips and tight buttocks, his magnificent body shamelessly on display. Everything about Lucian, from this angle, oozes unearthly perfection.

  Full irresistible lips beg to be kissed, and I lean in, feeling the light tickle against my mouth as I brush mine over his. His hand slides lower, lips quirking to a half smile, and he turns to his side, dragging my leg over his hip.

  Pressed against his naked form, I feel the enormous shape of his erection prodding my belly. When I shift against him, he finally lifts his eyelids, exposing those beautiful golden irises. The scarred half of his face lies buried in the pillows, and from my angle, all I see is the flawless half. The side of him that he doesn’t turn away when I stare at him, like I am now.

  I reach up to trace his perfectly trimmed hairline, down to his chiseled jawline. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very handsome when you’re not being a jerk?”

  He snorts a laugh, turning his face into the pillow, away from my touch. “There she is,” he mumbles. “The smartass.”

  “It’s true. It’s like the clouds break open to the heavens and …” I make a choir sound that scratches my throat, knocking out a barky cough.

  Face still buried, he shakes his head. “Should’ve stayed in my own bed.” His voice is muffled by the plush fabric. “At least I’d get another hour of sleep.”

  “There’s plenty of time to sleep when you die.”

  “Which will be long before you.”

  “I heard sex keeps you young. Virile.”

  Turning to face me again, he raises a brow, the sight of him ruffling the butterflies in my stomach. “And if she happens to be over a decade younger than me?”

  “You’re practically a god.”

&nbs
p; His grip tightens like a band around me. “Then, I’ve no reason to leave this bed. And neither do you.”

  “I actually have to pee, so …” As I twist away from him, an arm reaches out, dragging me backward. Long, deft fingers dig into my sides, and I howl with laughter, the urgency to pee squeezing my bladder. “Lucian! Please! I’m going to pee my pants!”

  “You’re not wearing pants.”

  “I swear to God I’ll wet the bed!”

  “After last night, it’s due for a change of sheets.”

  “Lucian! Stop! Right now!” I giggle, squirming and twisting in his unbreakable grasp. “I’m begging you. Please!”

  “Yes, I like to hear you beg. It warms my bastard soul.”

  Reaching back, I take hold of his swollen balls and squeeze, giggling when he groans and the tickling stops.

  “That was a dirty move.”

  “Sensitive this morning?”

  “As a matter of fact they are. Take your piss and get back here, before I decide to take my chances on a golden shower.”

  Wearing a smile, I slide on his discarded shirt from the night before, not bothering to button the front, and scamper across the room toward the bathroom. Lifting the fabric to my nose, I breathe in the scent of his cologne as I relieve myself quickly, followed by a cursory brush of my teeth and hair. When I return, Lucian is propped on his elbow, a vision of divine masculinity, his muscles all bunched up while he stares down at something in his hands.

  As I approach, I notice the picture. The one I found beneath the nightstand.

  “I’d forgotten about this day.” The somber tone in his voice echoes the expression on his face that I recall from the picture.

  Crawling into the bed beside him, I slide in close, trying not to disturb whatever thoughts have his eyes so fixed and contemplative.

  “It was one of Amelia’s good days. A rarity.”

  “You look so unhappy? Why?”

  “I never liked pretending, and when she was happy, the lies just became more obvious.”