Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,85
casting twin shadows over her cheeks, I feel downright condemned. “Rowena,” I start, only to clamp my mouth shut when she turns around and presents me with the slope of her naked back.
Salvation.
I taste it on my tongue, foreign and holy.
Bowing her head, Rowena thrusts the bandage over one shoulder. “Apology accepted,” she says, “because I have no doubt that if our roles were reversed, I probably would have castrated you first and asked questions later.”
I give a short bark of laughter. “Would you have at least taken pity and sterilized the knife first?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Godwin. Someone once told me that self-pity isn’t a good look.”
Jesus, this woman.
Plucking the bandage from her fingers, I shake my head with the ghost of a grin on my lips. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a twisted sense of humor?”
“Generally speaking,” she drawls, “people tend to find out when it’s already too late.”
I want to taste that sharp mouth of hers.
A new addiction to devour. A new flavor to learn. The thought of crushing Rowena to me and lowering my mouth to hers feels as dangerous, as forbidden, as the cigarettes I continue to smoke, knowing all the while that I’m damning myself with every inhale.
My fingers curl around the bandage, the latex edges crinkling.
Don’t do it, Godwin.
Sweet, fucking temptation.
When she hums my name, I force myself to look away from her profile to the expanse of her back. Up close, with sunlight streaming in from the window, the gravity of the scarring is undeniable. The affected skin is textured, raised. With every intake of breath, they ripple like water tucked away behind a shard of glass.
“You lived,” I say, carefully fitting the fresh bandage over her back, “when so many others didn’t. How?”
She doesn’t ask me to elaborate.
With her head still bent, she waits until I’ve finished and then reaches for a new shirt from one of the wardrobe’s many hangers. “I ran.”
I feel one side of my mouth curl. “A habit of yours.”
“It comes in handy. Sometimes handsome men even catch me.” Snapping up a pair of denim trousers from where she slung them over the wooden door, she adds, quietly, “It was my nightmare come to life. Windows were shattering and the smoke was so thick that I could have choked on it. But I didn’t hear a single scream. It felt like . . . I had this sixth sense that, for the first time in my life, I was running in the wrong direction.”
“You didn’t think to leave Margaret behind and save yourself?”
She tugs her trousers up the curve of her thighs, all while vehemently shaking her head. “I’m loyal to a fault.” She gives a low laugh. “Foolishly loyal, even. It’s what I thought as I was running toward Margaret’s apartments. But I couldn’t not save her. I keep such a small group of friends—just Mags and . . . and well, there was Ian.”
Ian, who tried to strangle Isla, only to end up strangled and dead in return.
Lifting a hand, I scrub my palm over my jaw. “You have the people in this house, don’t you? The doctor? Gregory?” My molars grind together as I bite off, “And Hugh.”
Buttoning her trousers, Rowena leans back against the closed door of the wardrobe. Her violet gaze is unerringly astute. “I pay their wages, Damien. I appreciate them all, and I treat them like family, but we aren’t friends.”
I narrow my eyes. “You pay their wages.”
On a slow nod, she replies, “I do, yes.”
“How?”
“The usual way, I guess.” The blasé shrug she gives me reeks of unspoken secrets. “I have their IBAN numbers and I deposit money into their accounts like the rest of the—”
“How, Rowena?” Despite the fact that she can’t see me, I gesture toward the bedroom. “How do you afford this house and their wages and—Jesus.” I rake my fingers through my hair. Only last night, they stormed the Palace. The drawbridge being down worked in their favor, but even if that hadn’t been the case . . . “And the weapons,” I growl. “The lot of them had grenades, which don’t come cheap.”
Her jaw works side to side as she drums her fingers against the wardrobe. “I don’t feel comfortable saying so.”
“You don’t feel comfortable? Rowena, you just had your mouth on my—”
“Don’t you dare say it.”
“—cock,” I finish, gritting out the word. “I think we’ve reached the point where being comfortable is second-only to our good mate transparency.”