Evermine: Daughters of Askara, Book 2 (18 page)

“How could you have?” He pried my hands from his shirt. “I don’t blame you for what happened. I chose my path. The consequences were mine to face.” He poured water on his shirttail and cleansed my cuts. “You can’t keep blaming yourself.”

“I can’t stop.” Yes, I’d said the past was past. I’d lied. The past was now. It stood at my shoulder and dug festering claws in the ragged wound where my heart beat. “I want to let go. I want forgiveness, forgetfulness.” Finally, truth poured from me. “I want…”

He touched my cheek. “If you want my forgiveness, you have it.”

A feral sound rumbled from my throat.

“I don’t want your forgiveness, I want
mine
, and I can’t have it because I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.” Once the dam broke, the words exploded from the cracks, fracturing their container until I knew every wrong thing we’d done would soon stand in this room between us.

“I dated men. I didn’t like them. I used them like napkins to wipe away the loneliness.” I grabbed his forearms and held on for the ride. “I hated when they touched me. It was wrong and disgusting and everything you didn’t want for me. Yet I allowed them to use me. I
begged
them to fill me. Then I asked for another and another until I was too raw to stand or move or do more than take it and embrace the bliss of finally being free from choice. When I had to endure what they gave, then I almost enjoyed it.” I swallowed. “And while Roland kept me drunk on magic, part of me enjoyed it. I wanted out, I wanted
you
, but I still craved the kind of peace he offered.”

“You want to talk?” Between one heartbeat and the next, Harper’s eyes turned ice cold. My bones froze. I couldn’t shake the chill. I had the impression he saw inside of me, to where it hurt most, that he’d hurt worse and scoffed at the pathetic innards of my misery. “Let’s talk.”

Precise, clipped, furious words followed. I shivered against his arctic tone of voice and the way he emptied himself of every scrap of my Harper. The male across from me was a shell. I saw now how he’d survived Eliya.
He
hadn’t. This…mask, this…husk, had done it for him.

“My queen,” he all but spat, “enjoyed my performances. She commissioned them often by offering me food or drink after I’d begun to gnaw on my fingernails or bite the flesh off my arms.” My gorge rose as he continued his account. “I entertained her several times a day. Some of my partners, I recognized. Most I didn’t.” He dared me with his gaze. “Select few, I enjoyed.”

Pleas for him to stop filled my mouth. I bit down, through my lip, and caged them.

“I could have fought Eliya’s drugs and persuasions harder. I didn’t. I wanted an end so badly, I embraced her false bliss and let her compulsions swim through my mind and erase the details of your face one beloved feature at a time.” Disgust saturated his voice. “You don’t deserve me? I don’t deserve to know your name, let alone how it tastes on my tongue.”

Agony so acute I would have thought it an archer with a target pierced my heart.

Why had I thought I needed even a taste of his pain? Hadn’t we shared enough agony? Endured enough humility? Why had I thought jabbing him with barbs of my uncertainty would make him real? He
was
real. I was the one drifting through life in a haze of my own making, using his trials to distance him from me, then failing in courage to glance beneath the lies he ate for my comfort.
Every little thing
with us had been fine. He forced our lives into that mold,
for me
.

A hard shudder made his corded forearms tighten beneath my hands. He peeled away his façade, the cold words and an even harsher reality. Then he reapplied his mask layer by layer.

Pressing a finger to my lips, he said, “I’ve never deserved you. This—us—we’re past that. We’re two halves of the same person who somehow didn’t make a whole. And I’m glad.” His large hands cradled my face. “I like that you’re soft where I’m hard. You give when I won’t. I’ve imagined how it must feel to burrow in your warmth so many times reality blurs.”

“Harper…” My cheeks flamed.

His thumb swiped across my jaw. “Have I really never been inside you?”

I placed his palm over my frantic heart. “You were from the first. You will be, always.”

“It’s not enough.” He leaned in, replacing his thumb with his lips, nipping my chin.

His touch spread fever through my limbs, melting my heart and my resolve. My core wept at the thought of our bodies entwined. I was ready, finally, to stake my claim. His frank assessment made me self-aware. I hadn’t washed in memory. I smelled of horse and desperation.

I refused to go to him with residue from another male’s hands on me. I wanted to be cleansed. I wanted his scent to replace mine so I smelled him on my skin. I wanted…a bath.

Chamomile oil swirled in eddies around my breasts as Harper used a dropper to perfume my bathwater. My lids were half closed to better watch his unguarded fascination with that particular part of my anatomy. He hadn’t touched me since drawing my bath, except to hold my hand and guide me into the massive copper tub, the safe house’s one luxury. I’d bought the unique creation from a local artisan to round out the house’s amenities. Smitten, I’d bought a second for the consulate and commissioned a third as a gift for Nesvia’s last birthday. Its circular lip rested flush with the floor. Its curve enticed you to stay awhile. Buried in the ground, it stood five feet deep with narrow steps notched down one side, and a bench seat circled the interior.

What I’d thought of as practical shined in a whole new light once exposed to Harper.

I sneaked a glance at where he sat cross-legged next to me. “Want to come in?”

“Hmm?” His hand submerged, checking the temperature for the third or fourth time.

He jolted when I grabbed his wrist and tugged. “I asked if you wanted to join me.”

With obvious effort, he dragged his gaze to mine. “I thought you wanted privacy.”

I didn’t mention he hadn’t left after pouring my bath, or that private meant one, not two.

“I wouldn’t mind the company.” I scooted across the bench and made room by the stairs.

He brushed the buttons of his shirt with his fingers but didn’t unfasten them.

“What’s wrong?” The cozy atmosphere bumped down a degree.

“It’s nothing.” He worked the front of his shirt open.

I made my way toward the edge closest to him. “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be stalling.” Grabbing his hand, I stopped him from undressing. He frowned up at me. “Tell me.”

He held out his arm and his glamour dropped. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

His natural skin looked the same as always. I brushed my hands down the network of veins from elbow to wrist, taking his hand. “I don’t understand.” I smiled. “What am I missing?”

“This.” His forearm shimmered, and another layer of glamour peeled aside.

I lost my footing, slipping as my gut plummeted. The lines and scars I remembered, multiplied. Pockmarked craters scooped out chunks of his flesh, their rims littered with bite marks. Some were too small or in the wrong location to have been made by him. I forced my mouth shut, made my claws retract and my lips smile. “You have nothing to hide. Not from me.”

He shivered when I traced the same path, lingering over unfamiliar grooves.

“I wanted to be how you remembered me.” Shame thickened his voice.

I stroked his hair from his face where steam plastered it to his forehead. “Is there more?”

He nodded, staring at the floor between us. “It’s like that. All over.”

“Can I see?”

His pause lasted longer than a simple decision should have taken.

“Are you sure?” His fragile self-esteem crumpled when he spoke. “It’s not… I’m not…”

Now I understood why he allowed me to pull away, why my suggestion of a bath was met with relief and not his usual growling impatience. I’d forgotten his station, a mistake.

Sthudai
traded on their beauty. Their lives were defined by their appearance. Their worth was measured by it. I failed him yet again by neglecting this consideration. He simply
was
to me.

I appreciated his beauty. I didn’t judge him by it or consider he might judge himself by it.

“I’m sure.” I tugged his shirt from his shoulders, earning a grimace from him.

Focusing on the hammered lip of the tub, he let his glamour drop—all the way. When I touched him now, the low-level hum of magic was absent. He bared himself to me, stripped as naked as if he wore no clothing. This was him, all of him, without any enhancement or artifice.

He had been foolish to think more scars, even the vicious ones, would detract from his appeal. I decided I saw him as my favorite version of him, with or without his glamour. I’d known him too long to change my perceptions. He was Harper. I was Emma. It was that simple.

Swallowing my own self-loathing, I dismissed my glamour. Every blemish, every scar, everything I had, I gave him in return. I hated the lavender adornments inked into my skin. They were lovely, in a cruel way, but I didn’t want to be judged by them, either.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” I grabbed his pants, tugging at the top button until it popped off and
pinged
against the wall. His laces frustrated me. My claws took care of them. I pulled off his boots, his socks, so when he stood, his clothing fell away. I gasped as he stepped from the pile of fabric.

Leather wings snapped in frustration. The room was too small to hold them, and they ruffled in displeasure at the confinement. The filmy skin shone pure crimson. Each flutter seduced. Every twitch enticed. I stared, captivated and immobile while he chuckled darkly.

The sight of him naked etched my retinas with his perfection. His muscular shoulders called to my claws, begging them to sink into the meaty flesh there. His hard chest led to harder abs that rippled as he breathed. Working in the mines had been kind to his body, and I salivated.

We stood at an impasse. In order for him to get into the tub, I had to move. I couldn’t feel my legs. They were weak, useless. Part of me wanted to drink in the sight of him. The other part wanted to lure him closer, so I could taste his semihard interest before he rose to full attention.

His bold step toward me sang of shared inspiration.

“Come here.” I knelt on the bench seat, which put me eye level with his knees. I patted the edge of the tub, and he sat on the floor, flinching when cold tile met his bare ass. I grinned, spreading his legs so they encased either side of my rib cage. My claws lengthened, and I scratched at the thick hairs covering his legs. Then I teased the ticklish creases behind them.

Lowering my face, I nuzzled his abdomen, licked at his navel. For a moment, I buried my face in his side and inhaled. Mouth watering for a taste, I took it, trailing my lips downward and nibbling at his hipbone. He groaned, tilting his hips up in a guttural plea I couldn’t resist.

My heart clamored, suspended on the edge of a precipice where I’d never stood before.

I hadn’t touched him, yet. Not there. Oh, I wanted to, but once I had, we could never go back. We could never be friends who loved one another but missed their connection again.

“This feels permanent, doesn’t it?” he asked. The same thoughts must have rattled him.

“I think it’s supposed to.” I hadn’t mentioned my plans in case I lost my nerve.

He angled my head back and gazed into my eyes. My heart blossomed under his stare.

“I’m tired of waiting,” he admitted. “I’ve waited so long, if I don’t have you soon, I think I’ll starve from wanting you.” He made the first move, palming one of my breasts. His thumb flicked across my nipple, and it drew so tight only his lips could ever suck out the sting.

Cupping his jaw in my hands, I arched my back and dragged his head toward that pain. His lips closed over the tight bud, and his teeth scraped the tip. His mouth was as hot and wet as I was. His hand sank beneath the water, and I caught his wrist as his fingers traced the seam of my sex.

I shoved at his shoulder before he touched me where I wanted to feel him most. He fought me, growling deep in his throat. His hand clamped onto my hip, so possessive I melted. My demon was eager, but so was I. One stroke of his finger on my clit and I would explode into pieces too small to reassemble. This Emma, the guilt-ridden and broken one, would shatter.

I wouldn’t miss her, but if I didn’t rally, I would miss her shatter Harper first.

Rubbing my chin against his cheek, I said, “I want to taste you.” I dipped my tongue in his ear so he got the hint, and he stiffened. This time, when I shoved at his shoulder, he went.

I steadied my breath, closing my eyes for a moment. When they opened, I drank him in.

The trail of hairs I’d followed earlier ended at the base of his thick erection. His cock jutted away from his body, straining toward his navel. I licked my lips and thought I heard him groan. I lowered my head, pressed a kiss to the flushed crown, and I finally tasted him.

His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me down as his hips writhed. I let him guide me.

“Emma.” He rocked into my mouth and sighed. His grip tightened, and I thought…but his fisted hands used my hair and tilted my head back. “Enough.” His lips locked on mine. Our tongues tangled. He broke the kiss and a hungry edge crept into his tone. “I want more.”

Forgetting the stairs, he braced his palms on the floor and lowered himself into the tub. Water sloshed over the edges. His feet didn’t reach the bottom before I was smoothing my hands across his shoulders, shoving him down before me. He hit the seat with a grunt, splashing water onto the floor behind him. I didn’t care. I crawled onto his lap, a knee to either side of his hips.

His lashes fluttered when my sex slid over his. I dipped my hips, teasing. His wings sliced through water, enfolding me. They were fever hot and blood red, heating the lukewarm water. They slid like silk across my back. The clawed hands tangled in my hair, jerking my head back so Harper could reclaim my mouth. He bit my lip, and it hurt until he nursed away the sting.