A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire(52)

The last name was Renfern Octis.

Chest aching, I traced his name and then the dates below it. He’d only been eleven.

Eleven.

I placed the chisel against stone and hammered a name and then two more, the last after I thought I was finished. I knew no birthdates, but I added the last date.

Mrs. Tulis.

Her son, Tobias.

And then I carved Mr. Tulis’s name into the wall. His death may not have come at the hands of the Ascended, but it was they who’d driven him to his death.





Chapter 19





How could—?

Momma!

Jerking upright with a scream lodged in my throat, I reached out blindly, my hand smacking on the nightstand until my fingers closed around the handle of the wolven dagger.

“Poppy,” came Casteel’s sleep-roughened voice from beside me, startling me. When had he come back? It had to have been after I’d fallen asleep. “Is it a nightmare?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded as I closed my eyes. Immediately, I saw my mother’s horrified face and the pain in her gaze. There was so much blood—running down the front of her gown, pouring from the wounds in her chest. Not bites. Not—

Chest squeezing too tight, air wheezed from my lungs. My eyes flew open, but I could swear I heard the screams. Not shrieks. But screams, and the scent…the scent of burning wood.

The bed shifted as Casteel sat up. Gently, he pried my fingers from the dagger. “I’m just putting this down. It’s still within reach in case you want to stab me.”

I watched him lean over me, placing it on my other side. “I don’t want to stab you,” I croaked out.

“That would be a first,” he teased, and I hiccupped a shaky laugh. “Try to remember you said that later when I’m sure I’ll give you a reason to stab me.”

I shook my head, lifting shaking hands to my face. “I’m sorry.” I dragged my hair back. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I know we have to leave early.”

Delano had returned after the awkward dinner in the banquet hall, where people either stared or whispered until Casteel’s cool gaze silenced them. The roads were clear enough that Casteel felt it was safe to leave New Haven.

“What did I tell you before?” Casteel asked. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

That was easier said than done.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

“Yeah.” I lay back down, curled on my side. The flames in the fireplace rippled softly, and the longer I stared at them, the more images from the nightmare started to piece themselves together. The mist…it had been as thick as smoke. It had almost smelled like burnt wood and something pungent. Wasn’t that what Ian and I had thought it was at first? Was that why I’d left to find my father? I tried to picture his face, to see his eyes, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. All I could see was red. So much red—on the walls and pooled on the floor, bodies shredded open. But no Craven. There had been no Craven feeding on those bodies. Why? Why was there so much blood—?

A surge of restless energy poured back through me, drumming up the residual fear and panic. I couldn’t lay here. I couldn’t close my eyes.

Sitting up, I started to move from the bed, but Casteel hooked his arm around my waist. “I can’t lay here. I can’t sleep. I just need—”

“To forget.” In the fire’s glow, he touched my cheek, bringing my gaze to his. “I know. I get it. I do.”

Sucking in too-shallow breaths, I knew he of all people did understand. I folded my hands over my face. “I don’t want to think about that night.” Tears burned my throat, and I hated them—hated this glaring weakness. “I want to forget.”

“But you need to feel to do that. You need to replace that fear with something else. That’s why you used to explore the city at night,” he said, pulling my hands away from my face. “But there’s no city for you to run off to. All you have is me.”

All you have is me.

My heart twisted itself up into a knot.

“Let me help you replace the fear and helplessness. I can erase it. I promise,” he whispered, guiding me back until I was lying down once more. “Let me be enough, at least for tonight.”

“I…” I ran out of words as he shifted so he blocked out the fire’s glow, leaving me in the darkness of the room.

“There’s just us. No one else.” His lips brushed my cheek, causing me to gasp. “Like earlier, in the pantry, we can pretend.”

I closed my eyes.

“Right now, in the dark, I’m just Hawke.” His arm eased from my waist as his hand drifted over my hip and down my thigh, to where the gown tangled around my legs. “You’re just Poppy, and I can help you.”

Maybe it was the nightmare. It could’ve been the darkness and the sudden, throbbing ache that sprang to life. Or perhaps it was because in the darkness we could be Hawke and Poppy, with no past and no future. And pretending…pretending made none of this real. Maybe all of those things were the reason I turned my head to his. Our lips brushed.

“Pretend,” I whispered, and I…I kissed him.

Casteel let me explore his mouth, holding himself still, all except for his hand. He slowly drew his palm up my hip, my stomach, and moved it between my breasts, dragging the hem of the gown up until it gathered below my neck. Cool air followed, teasing my exposed skin.

I kissed him, trembling when I felt his palm on my breast. The tip hardened to an almost painful point. His thumb moved lazily over the peak and then to the other as he said, “I wish you could see what I’m about to do.”

I wet my lips as he pulled away, his thumb dragging over the rosy, puckered skin. Then he did something with his thumb and forefinger, causing my entire body to jolt, and a rush of wet warmth to pool between my thighs.

“Gods,” I gasped.

“Mmm.” His mouth coasted along the skin of my neck again. “You like that?”

There was no point in answering that. He knew it, and he did it again. My hips moved on reflex, spurred on by the rapidly building ache between my thighs. He hadn’t—we hadn’t—touched like this since the woods after I’d stabbed him, but my body hadn’t forgotten. I was blossoming with heat.

His mouth closed over my breast, and the combination of his tongue and the sharp rasp of his fangs caused me to kick my head back. A breathy moan left me as my eyes peeled open wide. He tugged at the skin with his mouth as his hand drifted down my stomach and lower, over the very center of me. It was the lightest, softest touch, teasing and taunting.

“You’re very wet, Poppy,” he murmured against the aching peak of my breast. “I like that. A lot.”

Incapable of embarrassment or being shocked by the rawness of his words, I could only whimper as his finger moved in slow, lazy strokes.

“I also like how quickly you respond to my touch.” He nipped at the skin of my other breast as he swirled his thumb around the sensitive flesh. “Want me to do something about it?”

I panted for breath. “Yes.”

Casteel answered by pressing down on the bundle of nerves. Crying out, I arched against his hand, and I felt like I was drenched, drowning already. Just as his mouth closed over my breast once more, he slipped a finger inside me. A strangled sort of sound left me, and there was no room for thoughts of a night from long ago or worries for the morning that was quickly approaching. My heart thundered in my chest.

He dragged that finger in and out as he lifted his head, and even though I couldn’t see, I knew he could. I knew he watched his hand between my spread thighs. I knew he was fixated on what he was doing, on the way I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts. He watched as he eased another finger into the tight wetness. My eyes drifted shut again, and I knew this was what he’d wanted to do earlier, in the pantry. I gave in to this, into the wet heat and the darkness and the wickedness of his touch. Casteel groaned as I ground my hips against his hand.

“That’s it.” His voice was rough. “Ride my fingers.”

I did just that, rocking against his hands as the stirrings of release ratcheted up. Then tension, still painfully unfamiliar, spun and spun until it felt like too much. “Oh, gods, I can’t…” I pressed my hips against the bed.

“You can.” He kept going, thrusting his fingers inside me. “You will.”

It was too much, too intense, and there was no escaping it. He hooked his fingers deep inside me, and lava flowed through my blood. And just when I thought I would surely erupt into flames…

“That’s it.” His voice was gruff and thick.

Biting down on my lip as the tension curled and twisted deeper, tighter, I buried my face against the crook of his arm. His lips brushed my cheek as he pressed his thumb to the tight bundle of nerves. My hips lifted from the bed as all the tension shattered. It was like lightning in my veins. The sweetest kind of agony, scattering my thoughts as the release rippled and eased as he withdrew his fingers. Sated and stunned, I went utterly boneless, exhausted and limp as Casteel gathered me close. The blanket settled over me—over us—as he pulled me against his chest. Under my cheek, his heart thudded steadily.

The heart I’d pierced not all that long ago.