Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,50

her pitiful little secrets spill out.

This desire unsettles me. And still, I can't deny it. As I walk down the corridor, I forget about going straight to my study and continue to her suite. Work will not come until I have looked at her at least once. This much, I think is a logical indulgence.

The lock unbolts, and the door creaks open, and I am greeted by only a few waning flames from the candles nearly gone. The room is silent and still, a sliver of moonlight slicing in from the window to bathe the silhouette of Ivy's body in the large bed.

I move closer to examine her, noting the way her dark hair spills across the silk pillow. She is curled into herself, and even in sleep, she appears tormented. It puzzles me exceedingly as I consider the reasons. Beyond myself, I am certain other things haunt her dreams. But I am not yet sure what they could be.

I sit down beside her on the bed. She does not stir, even as I smooth a strand of hair away from her face. She is beautiful. I will give her that much. Already, my groin is tightening in memory of the way she felt around me last night. The way her body came alive for me, despite how much she wanted to resist.

The question is why. Why did she marry me without a fight? Why did she give herself over so willingly? There must be a reason. And it will eat at me until I uncover it.

She murmurs something in her sleep and then clutches her stomach as if it pains her. My brows furrow, and I don't realize my hand is moving to touch her until it's already there. On top of hers.

The cold of my skin against hers startles her awake, and she gasps as her eyes fly open to meet mine.

"Santiago." My name falls from her lips like a curse.

She pulls herself upright, curling her knees into her chest, peering back at me with an innocence I want to despise. But when I see the gash on her forehead, an unidentified emotion rolls through me like a black cloud.

"What happened?" I reach out to touch her and she dips her head.

When my fingers fall across her skin, she does not flinch. She does not close her eyes or shudder. Instead, she seems to draw in a sharp, shaky breath as if to fortify herself. I suppose she is trying to be brave. To prove she is not frightened of me. But her silence is grating at my last nerve, and the clawing desperation to know who hurt her is poisoning me from the inside out.

"Ivy." My voice comes out so sharply, she does finally flinch. "Tell me."

"Don't act as if you care." She yanks away from my grip and glares up at me with watery eyes. "Why should it matter? You are the biggest hypocrite I've ever met. Starving me all day and then coming in here to act as if a cut matters to you."

A deep grimace settles over my features. "Starving you?"

Her lip trembles and she looks away. "You hate me. I can see it in your eyes. I don't know why you want me here. Just so you can torture me? Then go on and do your worst. Show me how terrible you truly are."

I should. Because she's right. I do hate her. I hate her more than I ever knew I could hate anything. Yet I can't bring myself to prove it at this moment. I can't allow her cutting remarks to slide as if they are of no consequence. There are so many ways I will apply my cruelty to her. But she is to carry my child, and if she thinks I would starve her while she does so, she is mistaken.

"Tell me what you ate today." I grip her chin and force her gaze back to me.

She looks at me as though I'm teasing her. "You know the answer to that."

"Tell me," I growl.

She wavers, trying desperately to hold onto her stubborn refusal, but is still tethered by the values ingrained into her. She knows she is to please her husband.

"I ate the only thing they brought me!" she hisses. "Toast and orange juice. Does that satisfy you, Lord of Darkness?"

My fingers bite into her skin under the force of my anger, and she cringes. When I realize the power of my grip, I soften it and close my eyes,