House of Kings(8)

“THAT WAS…” I STRUGGLE FOR words as we shut the door behind us. I linger by it, just as I did a few days ago. “Unexpected.”

“If you are to be restored to full glory, you will need a full House,” Cyrus says.

I turn to face the room and him. I lean against the door, observing him in my space. Someone has already fixed the broken window and placed the bed back in its proper place. Cyrus stands in the middle of my bedroom. His expression is open. Observant.

“Your reputation does precede you,” I say as I take one step toward him. Two. I’m terrified by what this night—day—might bring. But Cyrus does have a way of putting a spell over me and making me forget myself. “I have no doubt you have something more sinister up your sleeve. Parts two and three, right?”

“You are equal measures beautiful, a leader, and intelligent, aren’t you?” he asks with that crooked smile. It makes my dead and resurrected heart do a little backflip.

“It’s what I was born to be, right?” I say. I step forward, walking past him with a smile.

“Correct,” he says, and he says it distractedly. I look back at him over my shoulder to see him checking my ass out with a very approving look.

I step into the bathroom and turn to shut the double sliding doors with a devilish smile of my own.

I strip out of my dress, leaving it in the middle of the closet. I stand naked in front of the mirror, wetting a washcloth and cleaning the blood from my chest and between my breasts, moving my father’s key out of the way from where it hangs from my neck. Once I’m clean, I toss the cloth in the trashcan.

My eyes linger on my necklace for a long moment. The skeleton key was given to me in an envelope with my father’s only letter to me, with no explanation as to what it opens. I’ve tried every lock in the house. Every chest and wardrobe. I’ve convinced myself it does not open anything in the house or I surely would have found it by now.

I change into a nightgown. It’s a simple black cotton number. Nothing too seductive, but nothing too dowdy, either. As I look at myself in the mirror once more before exiting, I search myself.

What will the King expect tonight? Sex? Cuddling? Pillow talk?

Am I really ready for any of that?

No.

But I’m desperate to wash Ian’s rejection away with something strong.

I suppose that reveals something about myself that I never knew before. I’m a rebounder. Replace the hurt with something that will make me numb.

It’s wrong. But I’m desperate.

And I have no choice either way in this situation.

I turn back to the doors and open them. There I find Cyrus. He’s facing away from me. His jacket lies across a chair, and he finishes unbuttoning the last two buttons of his shirt. I know he knows I’m here as he pulls the shirt off. Its absence reveals toned back muscles. Defined shoulders. A narrow waist.

Cyrus is not an overly large man. He’s not huge and ripped. But he is cut. There’s not an ounce of fat to his body. And it is a beautiful body indeed.

He looks over his shoulder at me, and that seductive smile grows once again on his face. “Do you like what you see?”

I realize how much I’m staring. And I still can’t take my eyes away when he calls me out. “It’s certainly nothing to complain about.”

He turns around and walks slowly toward me, giving me time to appreciate his chest, his defined abs. The captivating face. He closes the distance between us and places his hands on my hips. He studies my eyes for a moment, and I can see he’s holding a lot back.

Finally, he presses a kiss to my forehead, and it leaves me feeling frustrated and defeated. He walks away into the bathroom.

I join him, and we brush our teeth side by side. He keeps looking over at me and I look over at him. It’s too natural. Too…cute, and couple-ish for what this situation is in reality.

Yet, I’m finding it hard to care.

From the small wardrobe of his that’s been inserted into my closet, Cyrus produces a set of silk, black pants. I leave the space to give him a moment to change. A minute later, he walks back out.

“It will be difficult to sleep for a while,” he says as he walks to stand before the fireplace, which bears rolling and licking flames. I realize for the first time: it doesn’t feel freezing anymore. It’s been impossible to keep the house warm enough the past week since the curse storm began. And while I know the temperatures have not improved, I am no longer cold. “So, I thought we could keep each other company for a while.”

“And see if I begin remembering anything,” I say. It kills some of the confusing, lusty feelings that are building up inside of me.