Fated (13 page)

“I don’t remember.”

His stomach tightened. He didn’t even know if she was still immortal, or if the board had stripped her of her status. She suddenly felt very fragile in his arms. “Will you let me take care of you?”

She gave him a wary, fearful look. “I can manage by myself.” Her palms pushed against his chest, creating distance between them. “Please.” She looked away, like she couldn’t bear the sight of him.

It hurt worse than the gash in his arm. “As you wish.” He released her and let her close the door in his face. He turned around and leaned against it, then slowly slid to the floor, propping his arms on his bent knees and bowing his head into his hands.

The water in the shower switched on, and he pictured her stepping into the spray, rinsing the dirt and dried blood from her skin.

No matter how hard he wished it, he knew the lies that had been forced on her wouldn’t wash away so easily, especially when he heard her start to sob, a sound so drenched with defeat that it sent shocks of anger straight down his spine. Was he really going to sit here and surrender, allowing her to put up a wall between them? Was he going to allow his siblings to win?

“Remember who you are,” he muttered to himself. “Remember who
she
is.”

Because he knew exactly who she was—someone he wouldn’t let go without a fight.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

H
er head jerked up as she felt a wave of heat wash over her. She’d curled up, still fully clothed, next to the tiled shower, where steam billowed from the top of the shower curtain. As much as she’d craved it, the water seemed too far from reach, clean and fresh when all she felt was ruined and torn. And now a monster was descending on her, his eyes blazing and his hands hard as he hoisted her from the floor.

She struggled, instant hatred welling up inside. This was the man who’d killed her father, the one who’d convinced her siblings to turn against her, the one who’d clawed her face and left her a wreck.

Are you sure that was real?

She was sure. Wasn’t she?

Moros pulled her close as she kicked at him. “Is this how you want it to end, with you in a huddle on the floor? Have you given up?” His eyes sparked with ruby as he wrenched her sweater off her shoulder, the cashmere tearing like tissue.

She yelped and grasped at the fabric as he stripped her down, yanking the shredded garment from her body before deftly unfastening her pants. Before she could blink, she was down to her bra and panties, but those were gone in an instant as well, ripped apart by his merciless hands. His jaw was set as he tugged the shower curtain open and curled his hand around the back of her neck. “You’re going to get cleaned up, and then we’re going to talk.”

“Let go of me, you bastard!” she shrieked. Why was she even surprised he was treating her so callously? He’d told her she meant nothing to him, that she was merely a pawn in his plan to eliminate the Ferrys.

Did he really? Are you sure?

She spluttered as he plunged her face in front of the spray. Her feet slipped on the wet tile, but his arm was around her instantly, keeping her from falling. “You were kidnapped by your brother Rylan,” he said in a razor-edged voice as he held her in the stream of hot water. It splashed over her hair and ran down her naked body, washing away the blood from all her injuries.

She glanced down at her breasts and belly. She’d been sure they’d been torn open, that the Kere had eviscerated her at Moros’s command, that he’d laughed while they’d smeared her blood down their faces. But she was untouched. Her palm ran down her side, smooth and unmarred. “I-I’m not hurt.”

He flinched, but his grip remained unrelenting. “Your body is whole. Your mind is a different matter.”

“My mind is fine,” she snapped.

He let out a harsh laugh. “Prove it.”

“Let me go.”

“Not a chance.”

She rammed her elbow into his hard stomach, but it didn’t budge him. If anything, he only held her tighter, his arm an iron bar around her waist. She could barely breathe for the steam and the closeness. His shirt and slacks were soaked, and he was still wearing his shoes, but he didn’t seem to care as he grabbed the shampoo and dumped a generous dollop on her head, then began to scrub at her head with rough fingers. “I can do that,” she said irritably.

“Be my guest.”

His hand moved from her hair to her hip, and she shuddered, remembering how that hand had slid up to her waist, how beautiful his lazy smile had been, how silky his voice before he’d stomped on her heart. “Is this the part where you tell me I mean nothing to you? Because I got the message the first time.”

“No, this is the part where we rinse your hair.” He shouldered her forward, forcing her head into the spray again. Shampoo suds stung her eyes and ran down her face, but the smell, clean and fresh, was comforting in a way that brought strength to her aching limbs. Water dripped in sheets from her blonde hair, and for a moment she just stared, caught by how normal it was.

Well, not quite. A fully clothed man was holding her up—and was now briskly soaping her back. “I can do this myself!”

“Really? Because all you seem able to do is whine.”

Rage zinged through her, and she stomped her foot onto his toes, which accomplished nothing at all except making her feel like a petulant toddler. She rolled her eyes and twisted to grab the soap from him. A flash of dark red in her periphery drew her eyes down, and she froze. “You’re hurt.”

“How astute,” he said cordially, though she could detect the tightness in his voice. “And would you like to know how it happened?”

She stared at the gash in the fabric, beneath which lay a wound nearly as long as her hand, deep as the muscle. “Who hurt you? Did I do that?” She looked up at him, reminding herself not to be fooled by his gorgeous smile and lethal charm.

“No, you didn’t do it. Unless you consider that I was protecting you at the time.”

Her fingers closed over his sleeve. “You were protecting me . . . I was . . .” Where had she been? “From your Kere? You told them to attack me!”

Pain flashed across his face. “Aislin, I would destroy any Ker who laid so much as a finger on you. Do you remember being in the tent with Eris? With Apate? I came for you.” He pulled her against his chest. “I would never have left you there. I should never have left your side in the first place.”

She was panting, trying to sort out the confusing barrage of memories. How much of it was real? She remembered fighting for her life, but she also remembered knowing she was in the grip of the original liar himself. She had fought as hard as she could. And she’d been determined to help someone . . . Was
that
real? “Was Trevor there?”

Moros nodded. “You defied Eris and grabbed his soul—and it nearly got you killed.” He chuckled. “When I saw you come up with it in your hands, I was sure you had fooled us all, that your hatred for me was just a ruse.” His jaw tightened, and he looked away.

The hot spray of the shower fanned across her shoulder blades as she watched him. His fingers were spread over her waist, skin to skin. She wanted this touch . . . or did she? She was naked now, and that always happened right before he struck, before he slammed her to the stone, before he bared her for all to see, before he humiliated her. She clamped her eyes shut and bowed her head. Was this just another trap?

Beneath her fingers, his heart beat, solid and fast. “When was the last time we were together?” she asked.

“In your office. I believe I apologized for blurring the boundaries of our business relationship.” Amusement had crept into his voice.

She glanced down at her breasts pressed to his soaked button-down, keenly aware of his warm hand resting on her hip, his arm clasped around her waist. “But then you . . . you came to me and . . .” Then she’d made a fool of herself, begging for him when he’d had no interest in her at all.

He leaned down, his black hair tumbling across his brow. “Aislin. I left you in your office, and I didn’t see you again until I stopped Apate and Eris from torturing you. Whatever you remember, it’s not real.” He touched his forehead to hers. “However you think I hurt you, I didn’t. Whatever cruel words you think I said, you’re wrong. If you find me guilty of anything, it’s of not protecting you well enough. And for that, you can punish me as severely as you like.” His eyes bored into hers. “But I refuse to surrender you to Lies.”

“So I didn’t . . .”

His eyebrows rose. “Didn’t what?”

Her cheeks burned as she thought about what she’d done, spreading her legs for him, begging him to be inside her, her body aching to feel his weight. “Nothing.”

He froze. “I’ll kill him,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?”

“My brother. He exploits every hidden vulnerability. He twists until the truth is so mangled that it can’t be distinguished from a lie. And Nemesis told me he’d done exactly that to you.”

“Knowing that she told you only makes it worse. I made such an idiot of myself.” She let out a breath. If she was going to move forward, she couldn’t hide from it now.

“You have feelings for me. And they used them against you.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “And you didn’t return them.”

He took her face in his hands, the hard edge of his jaw softening as he looked down at her. “Lies,” he said simply. Then his mouth was on hers, unrelenting and hot. She melted under the heat, parting her lips to allow him entrance, rising on her tiptoes to meet force with force. This wasn’t the soft, seductive kiss from the betrayer who’d given her up to his Kere. It was jagged and frantic, teeth and tongues, a challenge, a plea. His fingers burrowed in her wet hair, and she tilted her head back, exposing her throat.

If he wanted to tear it out, there had never been a better time. His mouth slid down the column of her neck, and she felt the hard edges of his teeth, the stroke of his tongue. His hand slid up across her ribs to palm one of her breasts, his thumb toying with her pearled nipple as she tugged at the buttons on his shirt. Water dripped from his ebony hair as he drew at her neck, hard enough to bruise but not to harm. It felt real. It felt true. It felt necessary.

It was also terrifying. Every second was like dancing on the edge of a blade. Water poured down on them, drenching their kisses. Her body was alight with desire for him, but her mind was a storm of fear. Would this be the moment he pulled back and laughed? She clung to him, her hands shaking as she finally managed to unfasten his top button. As soon as her fingertips caressed his collarbone, Moros pulled back and yanked at his shirt, abruptly tearing it open. Buttons ricocheted off her belly, the floor, the walls. His hand slid around her back to press her bare chest to his, and as their skin met, his head fell back and he moaned. It was the opposite of cold and detached.

She wanted more of that sound, animal and full of need. Vulnerable and hungry. For
her
. Her fingers followed the trail of dark hair down the center of his taut stomach to his belt, and then further down to explore the thick erection beneath the fabric of his slacks. But as soon as she touched him, he spun her around and pressed her against the shower tiles, his chest heaving against her back. “What are you after, darling?” he whispered between breaths, his arousal pressed against her backside.

She felt savage and desperate, a beast caught in a trap. She prized her ability to think through every possibility, but now she wasn’t even sure of her own mind, of her own reality. And so she surrendered to instinct. She wriggled against him, needing his unsteadiness to steady her. His hand slapped onto her hip, holding her still. She could feel his heartbeat thumping against her back as he leaned against the wall and captured her wrists, trapping her. The ragged sound of his breath made her smile.

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to conquer him or submit to him. Perhaps both at the same time. But either way, as she looked over her shoulder and found him staring at her, his half-lidded eyes laced with pure lust, she knew they were in for a collision that would change everything.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

H
e was teetering on a high precipice, seconds from diving over the edge. Being in a shower with a naked woman was a temptation he should be able to bear. But it was
her
. The Mark of the Ferry spread across her back, the wings of the raven shifting as she undulated against him. Her platinum hair and pale, smooth skin were soft and shining. And when she looked over her shoulder at him, the fierce challenge in her eyes set his blood on fire.

Walk away.

She wanted this for all the wrong reasons, he was sure. Her mind had been violated and ransacked, and he couldn’t blame her for trying to regain her sense of control—but this? There was no tenderness in her eyes. Suddenly he wanted to reach straight into her chest and pull that tenderness out, much as he would a soul. He had wanted her to ask him for comfort, to let him help. He’d spent the last several hours wild with worry for her—it felt as if he’d been with her the whole time, suffering at her side. It had sanded away all his control and patience, and now he wanted her to meet him in the middle, to offer him part of herself because he had already given more than he ever had. He’d never felt so off-balance.

Fury flowed hot over his skin. How dare she make him feel this way? Weak and confused and wanting. His fingers dug into the swell of her hip, and she gasped and pushed back against him. Teasing him.

The gash in his arm blazed pain from his shoulder to his elbow, but he ignored it, a new urgency seizing him—the need to punish her for making him care so damn much. His hand traveled down the flat of her stomach until his fingertips met the apex of her thighs.

“Be careful what you ask for,” he said in a low voice. “Because I might just give it to you.” And then he slid his fingers between her legs. He clenched his teeth at the sound of her moan, at the way she widened her stance to give him access to the softest, most sensitive part of her. His body throbbed with need as he toyed with her, circling her clit before caressing the delicate folds of skin around the entrance to her body. She was slick with desire and whimpered at his touch, and it turned his vision red. He held her wrists above her head with one hand and slid two fingers inside her tight, silky channel. Even with his hips pressed against her ass, it wasn’t even close to being enough.

This is a mistake. Stop now.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He pulled his hand from her body and had his pants undone a moment later, freeing his aching cock. Here he was, dripping wet, his shirt hanging open in tatters, his arm flayed and bleeding, his pants slipping down his hips to his thighs, his custom-made shoes soggy and squeaking. He had to be inside her.

He took himself in hand and stroked the head of his erection between her delectable mounds of flesh. With her wrists still trapped, all she could do was writhe as he probed at her wet pink slit, teasing her. “Do you feel in control now, my dear?” he asked in a rough voice. “Is this what you want?”

She
laughed
.

Frustration seared through him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around, wanting to shout at her, planning to stop this farce. But instead of looking him in the eyes, she dropped to her knees and flashed him a defiant, cool look as she ran her hands up his thighs. His cock jerked as he felt her breath on his skin. Before he could summon the will to step back, her fingers encircled him, and she ran her tongue up his shaft. The sight of her lips stretching around the head nearly shut his brain down, except for one stinging thought—she was on her knees, his cock in her mouth, and somehow she
still
had the advantage.

His fingers raked through her hair, his intention to pull her off him, but then he felt the flutter of her tongue, the pressure of her mouth, and his body refused to obey.
Just another second,
his thoughts whispered.
One more second, and then I’ll end this.
But then that second passed, and he was more caught, more addicted. Her fingers tightened on his hips and then slid around, her fingernails digging into his ass. The pleasure and the pain twisted inside him as she sucked and licked, each firm stroke of her tongue and fingers pulling him a little closer to release. She welcomed each little flex of his hips with a soft noise that he longed to hear again and again. His breath caught as he looked down at her, so exquisite, so fragile. Something black and deadly inside him wanted to break her—he wanted her to submit completely.

And the rest of him wanted her to cut him open and take out his heart.

He let out a ragged groan and pulled her up, his grip so tight it would bruise. Heavy tingling spread from his groin up into his lower back and belly. Being able to touch her was both a miracle and a curse, and in this moment he was sure it would destroy him. Her lips were swollen but cast in a mischievous smile, and his mouth crashed down on hers, taking ruthless possession. His fingers dipped between her legs again, stroking until she whimpered with need. And as his hand fisted in the hair at the nape of her neck, keeping their kiss deep, he stroked her thigh and lifted it, anchoring it against his hip. The length of his erection nestled against the slick flesh between her legs.

Point of no return.
Even through the haze of rage and confusion and need, he knew this. Nothing would be the same after he’d been inside her.

Just this one time, and then the novelty will be gone. She won’t affect me anymore.

He pulled back from her mouth and set his forehead on hers. Her back was against the wall of the shower, and she was pinned against him. There was no escape unless she begged for it.

And there was no way he could stop unless she did.

Instead, she reached down and guided the head of his cock to her waiting entrance. She dragged it through the slippery evidence of her desire, but the veiled look in her eyes didn’t make it feel like an offering—it felt like another challenge. Driven by animal lust, unable to fight the endless desire that rushed through his veins, he flexed his hips and entered, making her cry out. Her hands settled on his waist as he pushed himself farther inside her. He reveled at the tight resistance, the press of her breasts to his bare chest, the way she buried her face in his neck as he pulled back and thrust again, hard and unrelenting. Her breath puffed against his skin as her hands dipped lower, guiding his hips, urging him on. The two of them were tangled, dripping, bucking, and gasping. Fighting. Struggling. Refusing to give in.

But her body was rapidly undoing him. With one palm braced against the tile and the other holding her leg to his hip, Moros was lost in Aislin, the hot, heady scent of her skin, the flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes squeezed shut as she felt him moving inside her. He ground against her, and she clutched at him, clawing at his back. He smiled as he did it again and felt her clench around him. He wanted her screaming; he wanted her mindless. He wanted her to know he’d gotten to her.

He needed her to come before he did, dammit.

Aislin’s fingers wound in his hair and pulled as he invaded her, crushing her against the wall. All his good intentions had been burned away along with his gentleness. Anger hardened his thrusts. Her whimpers became cries, rising in pitch, drawing his insides tight, threatening to finish him. But, oh, then every part of her went stiff and her inner muscles contracted around him, squeezing rhythmically as she stifled a scream against his shoulder. It was too much to bear, too much like surrender, and it stabbed through him in one final slice of ecstasy. He let go, burying himself to the hilt as his entire body throbbed.

For one moment, caught in blinding pleasure, everything was perfect. The fog of negative emotion cleared, revealing what could only be the truth. They were part of each other, and nothing could separate them. This was right. He held her impossibly close, and her arms were wrapped around him like she couldn’t let go. It seemed obvious—they belonged with each other, bound by heart and mind. He’d been stupid to try to shield his heart when it had been rightfully hers all along. She was his match in every way, and together they were unstoppable. The feeling was as brilliant and honest as any future vision he’d ever had. He was going to love her forever.

But then he collapsed against her, panting, as the elation swirled away like so much water down the drain. He slipped out of her body and they were separate once more, two beings with a vast canyon of mistrust between them. No longer entwined with Aislin, those fleeting thoughts of safety and sacrifice, of offering himself to her because he trusted that she’d accept him and then offer herself in return, faded, leaving him edgy and strangely tired. What had felt like fate was nothing more than a foolish, euphoric notion. He looked down at Aislin, needing to read the expression in her eyes, but she was leaning against him, her muscles going slack, her arms hanging uselessly at her sides.

He realized she was losing consciousness just in time, and caught her before she could fall to the tile. Clutching her against himself, he turned off the water and hoisted her into his arms, panic eating at the edges of his sanity. “Aislin?”

Her head lolled against his neck. She was as limp as a rag doll. He kicked off his ruined shoes and stepped out of his pants, then carried her into his bedroom and laid her on the bed, naked and dripping. He closed his eyes and focused, listening for her heartbeat. It was steady and solid. Her chest rose on a breath, and her skin was still rosy and flushed from exertion.

She was fast asleep. He bowed his head and chuckled. Ferrys and their odd sleep needs—he should have guessed. For one dumbstruck moment, he’d thought that this tryst had ended like all his others had, with the woman dead in his arms. Aislin
was
fated to die, after all; it was somewhat of a shock that she was still alive, especially after what she’d been through. But Aislin seemed healthy and exquisitely alive. She’d merely succumbed to her body’s demands.

He leaned over her, brushing her wet hair away from her face. “You didn’t even have the decency to stay awake long enough to tell me I won,” he said, unwanted affection seeping into his chest as his eyes traced over her lips, her nose, the pink tinge on her cheeks. Then he looked away as the truth broke the surface.

He hadn’t won. He had barely held his own. Now was the time to walk away, to keep his heart behind a wall. If he could do that, victory was his. She wouldn’t be able to hurt him or distract him from what he had to do. Their summit was looming, and Eris and Apate were still on the loose. They had the Blade of Life and an unknown number of Shade-Kere at their command. Kidnapping Aislin had pulled her away from Boston at exactly the wrong time, and Moros’s desperation to save her had kept him from eliminating Hugh and grabbing the Charon’s Scope for safekeeping.

He had work to do.

He allowed himself the luxury of kissing Aislin’s forehead, letting his lips linger against her skin, listening to her breathing. “You are not special to me,” he whispered. “Not at all.”

The lie was like acid inside him, and it reminded him of his brother. He could lie to everyone else, but he shouldn’t lie to himself: he felt something for Aislin, and it was primal. Fundamental. But whatever Aislin had felt for him before had been stripped away by Moros’s brother and sisters, replaced with something hard and cold. And while it still turned him on, infuriatingly so, it wasn’t what he wanted from her.

He shouldn’t want
anything
from her, though. He needed to crush this longing beneath his heel and move on.

He pushed back from the bed, his arm throbbing with new intensity. The pain was so foreign and yet so intimate, winding along his bones, whispering danger, the threat of losing his physical form here in the real world and appearing weak and vulnerable before the Keeper of Hell. The thought of it sent a chill down his back, so he once again let his eyes stroke over Aislin’s sleeping body, knowing it would warm him. Protectiveness surged inside him as he watched goose bumps roll across her skin, and he gently lifted her once more and tucked her beneath the blankets.

“You have to stop this,” he muttered, then pivoted on his heel and walked into his closet, where he shed his ruined shirt and donned a new pair of slacks. He pressed the torn shirt to his arm and stifled a groan. The wound would heal in its own time—mortal time. Too slowly for his liking. Fortunately, it didn’t seem that deep. But it was still bleeding, and it would slow him down. It would also be a signal to his enemies that he was weak, and that was something he couldn’t afford.

He closed his eyes and called one of his Kere to him, the one he needed most right now. Then he headed out to his patio overlooking the city. From here the canals were actually pretty, the water glinting beneath the moonlight, darkness concealing the disorder and violence. What would happen to it if Chaos reigned?

“If you brought me here because you changed your mind about executing me, I’m gonna be pretty disappointed,” Trevor said as he materialized next to Moros’s chair. Then he saw Moros holding his bloodstained shirt to the gash on his arm. “Oh.”

Moros cleared his throat. “I was actually hoping you could provide me with some medical assistance.”

Trevor blinked. “Why isn’t that healing?”

Moros fixed his eyes on the Psychopomps tower. “The weapon Eris was wielding is an ancient one, and it has been dipped in the Spring of Life. Let’s just say I’m allergic to it.”

Trevor’s eyebrows shot up. “No wonder they wanted it so bad.”

“They didn’t tell you why?”

The look on Trevor’s face was pained. “I-I can’t really remember. It’s a little hazy.”

Moros leaned back in his chair, wincing as his wound pulled. “They probably told you to forget.”

“They could do that?”

“If they possessed your soul, they could make you do anything.”

Trevor stared at him. “Have you ever done anything like that to me?”

“No. I expect my Kere to obey me, and to know there are consequences for defiance. But I have never controlled your minds. All of you are warriors. Fighters. You have my respect. I might own your souls, but I won’t steal anything else.”