hid in her room. Her body hurt from her altercation with Ronny, and her pride was bruised at the fact she had failed to fight him off on her own.
Her door opened, and she lurched forward from her spot on the bed. Lauren waltzed in and looked around. Rory’s bathroom door was open and her wet clothes from the night before still hung over the shower door.
The woman’s eyes met hers. “I am here to speak with you regarding a death that took place last night.”
Rory kept her expression neutral. If they blamed her for Ronny’s death, it was a one-way ticket to hell.
“Who died?” she asked as she threw back her covers and stood.
“Where were you last night?” Lauren demanded, ignoring the query.
Rory eyed the woman. “Are you an enforcer?” Only Aatxe could be enforcers unless the rules in Vincula were different.
Lauren stepped back into the hall and wings exploded from her back. Rory stared slack-jawed at her. “Holy aether.”
As quickly as they appeared, they vanished. “I prefer to stay shifted,” Lauren told her. “But I work with Sam and the legion.”
Rory nodded dumbly. “I was here last night.”
Lauren turned back to the wet clothes in the bathroom. “Why are your clothes wet?”
Rory kept her face impassive. “I wanted to wear them tomorrow, and the launderers won’t have them back in time. I washed them myself.” Please don’t be a lie detector like Caius.
“The man who scared you the other night, Ronny, was found dead this morning by the lake in town.”
“That’s terrible,” Rory lied through her teeth. “How did he die?”
Lauren walked around Rory’s room, touching her things. “His throat was ripped out. It looks like an animal attack; the panther maybe, but she is usually gentle.” The Angel paused. “But there are rumors it was you. After all, you have a flair for the dramatic.”
“How would I rip a man’s throat out?” Rory demanded. “He was twice my size.” She paused. “And Lo didn’t do it.”
She couldn’t let the panther go down for this.
Lauren’s perfectly arched brows rose. “How could you possibly know that?”
Damnit, Rory. You idiot. “Because,“ she started, grasping for something to say. “Because she was with me.” Idiot.
Lauren crossed her arms. “I thought you were here all night?”
“I was,” she replied. “But Lo was with me. She roams the palace sometimes. You can ask anyone.”
“And she just so happened to come to your room?”
Rory nodded, confident in her lie. “Yes. She prowled into the kitchen when I was cleaning up before my shift and followed me. Some of the townspeople saw her follow me through town once.” Rory cringed. That was last night, but she would leave out that detail. “She likes me, I guess.”
Lauren nodded, and Rory could have sworn she was fighting a smile. “Alright. If you hear anything, let someone in the legion know.”
Rory’s shoulders relaxed when Lauren turned her back. “Absolutely.”
She closed the door behind the woman and rested her forehead against the wood. That was close.
Rory groaned at her reflection in the mirror. Huge bruises marred the skin of her neck, as well as her arms and legs, where she hit the dock as she struggled on her way down. Her adrenaline had kept the pain away until now.
She had yesterday off, but now, two days later, the bruises seemed to be more prominent than before. Not even makeup helped.
With one last look, she huffed and left before she tried to do something stupid like tie a scarf around her neck to wear in the sweltering kitchens.
Trudging down the empty halls, she thanked the Seraphim no one would be in for another hour and a half, and when she stepped through the door, she screamed like a banshee. There stood Caius in his low slung pajama bottoms, fifty-seven abs, and a pastry in his mouth.
Her hand was covering her racing heart. “Do you wait in here to scare me on purpose?”
He finished chewing and smiled, and Rory almost stumbled at the magnificence of it. It wasn’t sardonic like she was used to, but a brilliant smile that lit up his handsome face. “Would you like that, Miss Raven?”
Before she could answer, his eyes stared at the arm still covering her heart, specifically the side of her forearm that hit the dock. Soon, his eyes scanned her, stopping briefly on her bruised shin. Without thinking, she hid both arms behind her back and the jerky movement displaced her hair.
It was a stupid move that left her neck exposed, and when his eyes found the deep purple bruises surrounding her throat, the realm around them seemed to stand still, as if reacting to his energy.
His look of curiosity turned frigid as he set his pastry down and closed the space between them. Each step was careful and controlled, and her legs threatened to give out. She didn’t know why, but the look on his face terrified her.
“What is that?” he asked so low she almost didn’t hear him.
She feigned nonchalance. “What is what?”
His eyes were virulent. “What is on your neck, Rory?”
She took a step back and hit a wall. “It’s a fashion statement,” she joked.
When he stood a foot away, he stared at the bruises coloring her skin, and his entire body went unnaturally still. She stood like a statue, afraid to make any sudden movements lest it make the predator in him attack.
His anger was barely leashed when he said, “Who did this to you?” He visually inspected the bruises on her limbs, touching each one with his golden gaze.
His eyes met hers, and the danger she saw there made her gasp. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, too scared to speak louder.
He stepped even closer. “It is the only thing that matters. Tell me who did this to you, or I will raze the entire fucking town to the ground.” His face was inches from hers as his rage enveloped her, and she closed her eyes to separate herself from him.
“Look at me,” he demanded. “I am not one to make empty threats.”
Her lashes fluttered as her eyes opened. “His name was Ronny, and he’s dead.”
His chest heaved once before he stepped back. “The next time someone lays a finger on you, their death belongs to me.”
The panic melted from her body, and her mind cleared. “Why?”
“Because no one hurts you but me,” he murmured as he stepped into her space once more. A shadow slithered up her side and caressed her cheek. “Your pain belongs to me.” The shadow left her face and grazed over her breasts on its way to the apex of her thighs. Her body trembled with anticipation, but the shadow stopped. “As does your pleasure.”
He watched her as he walked backward before turning to leave, and Rory stood shaking against the wall. “What was that?” she whispered into the empty room.
He was mercurial, and it was confusing as hell. She’d been so taken aback, she forgot to confront him about the file on her sister. She knew it was proof he was guilty, but there was still a small seed of doubt that hoped it was something else. Why was she trying to make excuses for him?
She didn’t know herself anymore.
Caius stepped into the garden and released his all-consuming rage. Shadows skittered away from him as he walked, and he knew if he didn’t get away from her, he would lock her in his quarters to ensure no one came near her again.
He froze mid-stride as pieces of a puzzle slid into place.
His nightmares. He’d had one about drowning the night he found Rory soaked to the bone in the hallway. That was two days ago—the same day the inmate was executed by the lake. “It can’t be,” he whispered.
If what he suspected was true, it would explain everything, including his obsessive protectiveness. How did he not realize it before?
He could be wrong. There was only one way to be sure, but he already knew the answer.
Rory was his eternal mate.
He stalked back to the kitchens and threw open the door. Rory rose from the ground with a screech as she breathed hard.
”I knew you did it on purpose,“ she accused. “It’s not funny.”
He ignored her and strode across the room. “What do you see when you look at me?”
“An asshole,” she replied. Her answer was immediate, and he frowned.
“That was rude,” he muttered. “What do I look like to you?”
She planted her hands on her hips defiantly. “Are you fishing for compliments?”
He growled in frustration and looked around. Grabbing a red bowl from the counter, he held it in front of her. “What color is this?”
Her eyes flicked from the bowl to his face, and anger colored her cheeks. “You are an asshole,“ she seethed.
“What color is the fucking bowl?” he thundered.
She flinched and looked at the bowl again. “Grey.”
“Fuck,” he swore, dropping the bowl to the ground. “What color are my eyes?” he whispered. The pleading in his voice should have embarrassed him, but it didn’t.
She looked away, and the red in her cheeks turned from anger to embarrassment. Her voice was so quiet, he barely heard her when she said, “Gold.”
Caius grabbed the counter for stabilization as his knees nearly gave out. He turned, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he walked to the sink to splash water on his face. A steady rhythm shook his ribcage as his heart beat harder than ever before.
“How old are you?” he croaked.
Rory fidgeted, and he could almost taste her confusion. “Twenty-five.”
His head hung over the sink, and he closed his eyes.
“Caius?” she said with uncertainty. “What’s going on?”
He turned to her and drank her in. She was beautiful, wild, and his. On shaky legs, he ate up the distance between them and reached his hand out. He hesitated before placing his palm against the smooth skin of her face and watched her realm explode.
When Caius’ hand touched Rory’s face, a jolt knocked her off her feet, but he caught her before she hit the ground. She screamed as she fell, and when she looked around, an overwhelming sense of dread and awe coursed through her.
“Wha… how?” Her eyes roamed everywhere and the more she saw, the faster her breaths came until her limbs were tingling and heavy. “What did you do?” she choked out.
Caius pulled her into his lap, and had it not been for the chaos running through her, she would have pushed him away. He looked down at her and murmured, “What color is the bowl?”
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as they found the bowl still lying on the ground. “Red.”
Caius opened the door to Rory’s room with her cradled in his arms. She welcomed his help because her legs refused to work, and her eyes were engrossed in the scenery.
Bright orange flames lighting the hallway, red and gold ornate rugs lining the floors, bronze door knobs, and brown wooden doors.
Caius placed her on her bed, and she ran a hand over the bright yellow comforter. Looking around her room, she noted that her furniture was grey, but the rug in her room was a deeper shade of yellow that complimented her bedding.
The king was silent, and she turned to him with wide eyes. “Thank you.”
His brows creased. “Why are you thanking me?”
How could he be humble when he just changed her life for the better? “You did this somehow. Did you know?” she asked. “Did you know I had grey-scale sight that you could have fixed?” If his answer was yes, she was too enamored with her surroundings to be upset.
“I didn’t.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “You should have told me.”
“Why would I tell you?” she retorted.
His eyes were sad. “I would have fixed it sooner.”
She saw him in a new light as she regarded him carefully. There was more to the king than she thought. “You brought me food.”
For the first time since meeting him, he looked uncomfortable. “I do not let my inmates want for anything.”
Yet another show of kindness from the notorious king. It confused her. “Thank you.”
He opened her door with a final glance back. “You’re welcome.”
“Wait,” she called after him. He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. “I broke into your office.”
He turned fully with a wry smile. “Is that so?”
“And your desk,” she added. “Why do you have a file on my sister?” Her voice broke as she fought tears.
“I wanted to know why you accused me of her murder,” he answered simply. “I sent an enforcer for a copy of the emergency report. It said you saw it happen.” His eyes softened, and she resented his pity.
“I saw you murder her,” she protested, but her voice lost its edge. Had she been wrong, or was her gratitude taking over logic?
“I am sure you did, Miss Raven. You should sleep.” With that, he left her.
