City of Ruin, page 27
But despite chiding myself that it’s too soon, my feet carry me across the room. My hand turns the knob of my door, and my quick and heavy steps take me to Selene’s bedroom.
It’s easy enough to convince myself I am nothing like the men before. I will show her love and tenderness and patience . . . My footsteps quicken, but when I reach her door, I can’t bring myself to knock.
45
SELENE
I wait with bated breath for Greyson to knock on my door. Unlike the last time he stood outside my bedroom, I’m not afraid he will strangle the life from me. And that I yearn to feel his hands on me instead of fearing them makes me tremble with a sudden, irrefutable need.
Please, knock.
But Greyson only stands there. Then, the floorboards creak and he turns to leave.
My heart plummets as he retreats to his room, and the moment I hear his door click shut, I’m disappointed.
Flinging my covers back, I hurry to my robe draped on the trunk at the end of my bed. As I reach for the door, I hear Rosemary and Prudy whispering as they make their way up the stairs, and my hand freezes on the handle. They stop, likely blowing out the lanterns lighting the stairway. When their whispers resume, I heave out a breath. The last thing I want is for them to know I’m sneaking to his room, or worse, to watch me be turned away.
The ever-present draft in my room stirs an alternate option, and I glance at the secret door in the wall.
Anxious to go to Greyson before he falls asleep, I shrug. I’m too eager to see him to question whether or not I should, and after lighting the candle beside my bed, I open the door beside the hearth and step into the passageway.
Whether it’s the cool stone against my bare feet, or unbridled anticipation, I hasten through the corridor. But it’s the adrenaline that gives me the courage to knock, light and timid as it is, then creak Greyson’s secret door open before I can think better of it.
The scent of woodsmoke wafts over me, and there he stands at the fire, arms braced on either side of the mantle, confusion furrowing his brow. His gaping shirt gives me pause.
“Selene?” He blinks dumbly at me, his brow furrowing deeper. “You know about the passageways?” His voice is husky as he straightens.
“Yes.” A chill shimmies over me, though I’m not sure if it’s the disarming tenor of his voice or the cold, and I shiver. “I stumbled upon it one day—”
His eyes narrow on my feet. “You’re freezing.” He walks over, taking the candle gripped between my fingers, and ushers me hastily toward the fire.
Setting the candlestick on the mantel, Greyson glances at me before moving to his bed. He pulls a quilt from the top and drapes it over my shoulders, his fingers lingering on the fabric as he studies me. “Why didn’t you knock on the door?” His voice is softly probing, his body so close, I can smell the botanicals that linger on his breath.
Pulling the blanket tighter, I peer into his eyes. “I heard Prudy and . . . I didn’t want her to see me.”
That gives Greyson pause, and he lifts his head. “You didn’t?”
I swallow thickly, the heat of the fire and blanket nearly too warm. “Servants talk,” I admit. “And I wasn’t sure . . .” Realizing the audacity of my presumption coming here, mortification quickly sets in, chasing away the heat of desire. I clear my throat. “You needed something?” I prompt, forcing my confidence back into place. “You were outside my door.”
A look of guilt lifts Greyson’s brow and his jaw works beneath his scruff. “Yes, I’m sorry if I woke you.” He takes a step back, running his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t frighten me,” I say easily, wanting to ease his look of regret. “I am curious, though.” I glance behind me at his bed. “Can you not sleep?”
He huffs a thought to himself. “No. I’ve been preoccupied tonight.”
“About the Council and Draven?”
With an exhale, long and weary, his eyes meet mine. “Something more pleasant, I promise you.” His irises are gray jewels gleaming in the firelight. But it’s not only desire enlivening them. I see vulnerability. Honesty.
A jolt of delight sends my tummy somersaulting, and a chill rolls over my skin again. Only this time, anticipation accompanies it. “I couldn’t sleep either,” I admit. “When I heard you, I—” The blanket falls from my shoulders as I take a step closer, and Greyson’s gaze rakes over me, heated and hungry unlike anything I have seen in him.
Suddenly, I’m acutely aware I’m alone with the Collector in his room, that I welcome his appraising stare—no, I yearn for it—and I will him to look at me like that again.
Instead, he takes a step back, rolling his shoulders as if he’s trying to control himself. Running his hand through his hair, Greyson turns back to the fire. Whatever connection there is between us is broken. Something is still holding him back, and I deflate a little.
Silence has never been so alarming as he stares into the flames. “Forgive me,” he finally says, his deep voice riddled with indecision. “Coming to you, standing outside your door . . .” He runs his teeth over his bottom lip. “I was going to knock, but then I wondered how many times that must have happened to you before, and—” He grips the mantle until his knuckles turn white. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I shake the incoming memories of Master Orson away. “You didn’t frighten me,” I promise, reaching for his arm. Greyson’s eyes shoot to my hand on his bicep, the muscles trembling with whatever emotions simmer beneath the surface of his skin. “You don’t frighten me,” I whisper, realizing the truth is far more terrifying: everything about Greyson exudes power, from his infamous reputation as the vile Collector to his barely restrained temper, and, somehow, it makes me feel safe. I drop my hand. “I haven’t been truly frightened since Collins told us you’d been injured,” I admit, willing Greyson to understand me. “On the contrary . . . you make me feel safe.”
His eyes shift over my face, his chest heaving a little. “Your safety—for you to feel comfortable here—is all I want,” he says, so low it’s nearly swallowed up by the crackling flames.
“All you want?” I murmur, unable to help myself.
The wind howls outside the window.
“No,” he confesses, but the word sounds like it’s pried away from him, as if he’s ashamed of the thoughts churning behind those stormy gray eyes of his. “I want more from you than I should, Selene.” It’s the first time he’s said my name with such anguish, so much longing and uncertainty, it rivals my own. “I don’t want to rush you,” he continues. “I don’t want to pressure you. But the man in me . . .”
Licking my lips, I offer him the same truth. “I had hoped you would knock,” I tell him, emboldened.
Greyson’s eyes flash, but still, there’s reservation as he battles with himself.
“Why are you—”
“I don’t want to be like . . . him,” he forces out. After all Greyson has done, that he could lump himself in with any man I’ve ever known, makes me desperate to show him just how wrong he is.
His nostrils flare as I cup his cheek. “You are nothing like him, Greyson.”
His eyes linger on my mouth and he licks his lips, a growl rumbling in his chest. “I don’t think that’s entirely true.”
That he will not press me is proof that he’s not, and confidence makes the next words come easily. “It is,” I promise, and drop my hand. “Because you have already shown me more tenderness than any person ever has.” I think of our first kiss in his study, and how I have never felt more cherished. “I’ve never wanted to be with any other man—never longed for anyone the way I long for you.”
Greyson’s jaw ticks, his pupils dilate. His gaze is hungry and daring, and the heat of his body this close blazes hotter than the fire at my side. But I see he needs my reassurance far more than I need his.
“You worry you will overstep,” I whisper. “And I worry—” I place his palm on my chest, the press of it against my thin nightgown making my pulse thrum. To be touched with any care at all makes my heart full. “I worry you won’t take the leap at all.”
Greyson’s attention slides downward to his fingers splayed against my breast, and I wonder if he can feel my pounding heartbeat. His hand burns, a brand on my soul, and as his eyes return to mine, I match his stare, giving him no cause to question me.
Leaning in, he claims my mouth in a punishing, eager kiss, and I nearly stumble as the weight of his body presses against me. His arms wrap around my waist to hold me close, my breasts aching against his firm chest. And as his tongue dances with mine, I think I could die happy, even if this is all we ever got.
Greyson’s fingers press into my flesh to almost bruising before he breaks our kiss. Gasping for air, he rests his forehead against mine, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’ve awakened something in me,” he says hoarsely.
And while he might fear such a thing, knowing I could make him feel something other than pain and heartache makes my heart soar.
“Good,” I say, running my hand down the side of his face. “You deserve to feel alive again.”
Whether it’s my reassurance or his growing impatience, all hesitation slips away and Greyson’s restraint snaps. He grips my hips and pulls me against him, his mouth descending on mine once more, a savage claim that promises pleasure and pain.
When he lifts me against him, Greyson swallows the moan that escapes my lips. I welcome the hard press of his body, and the raw power and the need he exudes. He wants to shield me, but I want to feel every inch of him until I’ve reached his soul.
I wrap my legs around his waist, knot my arms at his neck, and clutch onto him tighter, unable to stand a shred of space between us a second longer. My fingers roam his shoulders and rake through his hair, exploring every muscle and curve of his body I can reach as he walks us to his bed.
He lowers me onto the feather-stuffed mattress, his chest heaving and eyes so wild, a delicious shudder ripples through me. “Selene,” he rasps. “Swear you will tell me if—”
I press my finger to his lips, shaking my head. “Please,” I whisper, but it’s more of a command.
Greyson stiffens against me. I know he’s in there, the beast, lying in wait, and it’s his unrestrained passion I need—fire and flames and burning desire. I can barely contain the keening, delirious need thrumming inside me, and I want his touch to scorch every unwelcome memory away, leaving only him in its wake. “Hold nothing back.”
A heartbeat passes. A breath. A moment so long, I fear I’ve gone too far, when finally Greyson’s hands move to my nightgown, tearing it down the middle. Cool air pricks my skin, tightening my nipples, and I grasp his hands, my nails digging into his flesh. He growls, eyes devouring my body and leaving fire trails from my breasts to my navel as I writhe under the heat of his stare. Down, down, down his gaze goes, and Greyson licks his lips, before finally, he tugs his shirt over his head, readying himself as if he’s about to devour his prey.
My fingers twitch, and I reach for the hard plains of his stomach and the dark dusting of hair that glistens in the firelight.
“Selene—” He stills, silently demanding I look into his eyes. Our breaths, ravenous and frenzied, mingle as I read his soul. Feel his promise. He will consume me, and banish the monsters in the darkness, making me his in all ways.
I nod, biting my lip in acquiescence, desperate to sate the blood-surging, intoxicating ache between my legs.
Greyson’s nostrils flare and he claims my mouth once more, rough and unyielding. His scruff feels primal, dangerous and daring, and I revel in it.
I’ve barely caught my breath when his large palms grip my thighs, his fingers pressing into me with bruising pressure before he tugs my body down to the edge of the bed. His length, straining in its confines, presses against me—teasing me—and I arch against him. A low moan of pleasure escapes my lips, and when Greyson’s wild eyes flick to mine, it’s with warning and the delicious promise he’ll leave me in ruins.
46
SELENE
I wake in Greyson’s arms, his warm body pressed against mine, his breath fanning the back of my neck as he sleeps. His arms are like a weighted blanket I never want to shed, and though I wish I could stay like this all night and wake beside him at dawn, I’m not ready to answer Prudy’s questions, or try to explain my leaving Greyson’s room to Paige. Not when I’m still processing all of this myself.
Closing my eyes once more, I memorize the sound of Greyson’s deep breathing in my ear. My heart flutters anew as I remember every caress and every kiss. I can still feel the graze of his teeth, the press of his fingers, and the weight of him over me, and I know it was not a dream.
With a silent groan, I carefully extricate myself from his arms so as not to wake him. Peering over my shoulder, ensuring he still sleeps, I smile. I’ve never seen him look peaceful, or so young, and an unfamiliar feeling—almost giddy—spills over me. I try to curb the dizzying realization that this could be what our lives are like together. In his bed, in his arms, in his home.
Quietly, I find my nightgown on the floor, freezing when I eye its torn remains. I nearly giggle, a girlish noise I’m not sure I’ve made, before I search for his shirt to wear instead. Billowing and hanging past my knees, I decide it will do for now, and don my robe over it. Ruined fabric balled beneath my arm, I pad over to the candlestick I brought with me, the wick almost completely burned away. With a final glance at Greyson, his form sprawled across the sheets, I sneak back into the secret passageway, pulling the door quietly shut behind me, and head for my room.
My cheeks heat as I replay the past few hours over and over in my head, barely able to believe how much everything has changed. But the moment I step from the corridor into my room, my breath catches, my heart stops, and my hand flies over my mouth to silence my impending scream. Martin lies in a heap at the foot of my bed, and holding out the waning candlelight, I see the crimson soaking his tunic.
I glance around the room—at my closed bedroom door and into the shadows, looking for the intruder. But I see no one, and I don’t know whether to scream or remain silent and run back to Greyson’s room.
There are footsteps in the passageway, and I scream as a rough hand clamps over my mouth just before I can turn. The candlestick drops to the rug, and viscous breath presses against my cheek. “Look what we have here,” a slimy, familiar voice I can’t quite place snickers. I try to scream against his hand, but it’s pointless, and just as I wrench myself from his barrel-like hold and spin around, I see the bandit from the woods.
Flames lick up the drapes.
Something strikes the side of my head.
There’s searing pain, and then . . . nothing.
47
GREYSON
I stir awake. Woodsmoke and the scent of something floral fills my nose, so faint, I inhale again as my consciousness rouses. Lilies. A warmth spreads over me as the night’s activities spur to life, but I open my eyes to find I am in bed alone, and my contentment quickly fades. Lifting to my elbow, I rub my eyes, feeling the gratifying ache of my body. Surprised by Selene, I can’t help my smirk as I glance around the room. It’s dark, save for the dying fire in the oversized hearth.
Selene’s candlestick isn’t on the mantle, and her discarded clothes are gone. My smile widens as I consider the tatters her nightgown was left in. But my amusement subsides as I realize she snuck out. I chalk it up to propriety, perhaps a little humility, but I’m unable to convince myself she might regret our lovemaking, enthusiastic as it may have been, when she was the one spurring me on.
With a deep exhale, I run my hands over my face and drop back onto my pillow. I’m not sure if I feel more alive or exhausted, and I find the happy conundrum diverting. As I lie in bed, my body easing back into much-needed sleep, I hear a muffled cough and male voices inside the wall.
Sitting up, I stare at the hidden door beside the fireplace for the briefest of moments as I register something is very wrong.
Selene.
Leaping to my feet, I tug on my trousers and grab a pistol from under my side of the bed. There’s a curse from inside the passageway, and I lean my ear against the doorway, straining to listen.
“—damn smoke,” a man whispers.
“Quiet,” another replies.
With only moments before they are inside my room, I glance around in search of a plan. I could await them here with a welcome gunshot to the chest the moment the door opens, but I don’t know how many men there are, and they would not come for Selene or me unarmed.
I reach my bedroom door, opening it slowly and quietly, gun ready for anyone who might await me on the other side, but when I find the landing empty, my instinct is to run to Selene and Paige and secure their safety first. It’s only when I step fully out of my room and register the intense scent of smoke that I note the hallway is thick with it, and firelight flickers under Selene’s bedroom door.
“No!” As the gravity of the situation catches up with me, the secret door in my room creaks open, and before I can give it a second thought, I step in and shoot the first man I see in the back. The one beside him whirls around, shooting without aim, just as my bullet hits him, and I barrel toward him, chest heaving as I ensure there are only the two of them. Smoke wafts in from the passageway, and I’m painfully aware it just saved my life.
“Selene!” I shout, spinning around. “Paige!” I run out of my room, bellowing their names. I hear distant voices as the house rouses in alarm, and while I pray everyone else is okay, I know Selene is not. I shout for her again as I lunge across the landing. “Prudy—Martin! Arm yourselves and get everyone out!” I call as loudly as I can. “There’s a fire!”
