He seemed utterly confused.
“How many people have you killed?”
“Um…”
“You can’t remember, can you?”
He was silent for a long time, and his grasp on her arms loosened. It didn’t release her—he wasn’t going to let her go, that much was clear—but it stopped aching, at least. “Hope. Let’s sit down, eat something, and talk this over.”
“I would rather not.” She turned her head down to try to hide her expression.
“I’m afraid, sweet girl…” His hand moved from her arm to cup her cheek and tilt her face toward him. “You don’t have a choice. Now come on.”
He slung his arm over her shoulder, turning her abruptly to face the same way he was. He had her tucked against his side as he began to walk casually away from the burnt human remains on the ground behind them. “What would you like for breakfast?” He sounded so chipper already. “Waffles? Pancakes? Sausages?”
She stayed silent. She didn’t know what to say. He was half dragging her along with him as they made their way to what must be the dining room. She felt utterly out of control of her life, and for good reason—she was.
“Don’t make me guess, Hope. Remember, I’m always right.” When she refused to answer, he let out a long, beleaguered sigh. “Actually, you strike me as a fruit salad kind of girl.”
He was right.
It would have been amusing. If it had come from anyone else.
He brought her to a chair and, pulling it out, turned her and pushed her shoulders down until she sat in it. She obeyed, not knowing what else to do. Even if she hit him again, she couldn’t really defend herself. First, she didn’t stand a chance against him. And second, she was a thrice-damned slave. She was powerless.
He knelt, and she didn’t know what to do. She felt him there, his legs to either side of her feet. He pulled her hands into her lap and, holding them between his, and began kissing her fingers. Slowly, one by one.
It would have been loving. If it had come from anyone else.
“I’m sorry this has all come as a shock. I know it must be quite a change from temple life. I’m sure you haven’t had to step over bodies before.”
He paused between each sentence to kiss the next finger. The gesture was so gentle, it made her tremble for a different reason than fear.
“I’ve done bad things. I do bad things. But this city—this whole world—balances on the tip of a knife. Bad things need to be done to keep good things happening. If I let people push me around, everyone’s worlds would fall apart. Yours. Mine. The whole Dominion would collapse.”
And still, he kept kissing her fingers.
It would have been seductive. If it had come from anyone else.
“Why kill him like that…?”
“Because I can. Because I have a gift. Because it’s theatrical, and it’ll make people afraid to repeat his mistake. I have to do it to someone now and then just to keep the rest in line. They think because I like to lounge in hot tubs and drink expensive wine that I’m weak. They think I’m insane—well, I am, I suppose—but they think it means they can get away with things behind my back.”
“Do you enjoy it? The killing?”
“Hm? No. Maybe a little.” He paused, and she could tell he was looking up at her by the sound of his voice. “I won’t lie to you, sweet girl. I don’t hate it. It just is. It’s like someone chopping the head off a chicken. It’s what needs to be done. I do love burning things, though.” He chuckled. “I love a good bonfire.”
He stood, and she felt him over her. His hands were on the armrests to either side, caging her in. His breath washed over her cheek, and before she could stop him, he placed a gentle kiss there. At least it wasn’t her lips that time.
She opted not to slap him. Probably best not to slap a pyromaniac who had just murdered a man in the middle of his own home.
He smiled against her and rested his forehead on her temple. “You’ll get used to it. I promise.” He sounded so sure of himself. His lips trailed close to her ear, and he placed a kiss at the hollow of her throat just beneath her earlobe. She shivered despite herself. When he whispered to her, his voice low and dark, she felt faint. “You’ll get used to me.”
“And if I