Page 68 of Merciless Queen

She’s always been the break through the darkness.

Elio leads the way into Madre’s home, his arm tight around my quivering shoulders as he ushers me through the doorway.I’d been like this since he came for me in the bar and dragged me away from Padre’s body.

He called Madre from the car so she could expect us, and we’re barely through the door before she’s yanking me into her arms, her tight hold momentarily bandaging the pain.

If only, bandaging Padre would be this easy. If only it was even possible.

She murmurs something in my ear but I don’t hear her. Everything’s a blur of sound and sight, nothing making sense. Elio said this is shock.

Madre continues whispering what I assume are condolences. I wonder how she feels about this news. Does she still love Padre? Once, it was hard to imagine a world with them apart, but Ursin Volkov’s actions created that very world.

Over her shoulder, gentle steps approach the hallway, a four-year-old child with blue eyes gazes up at me. She’s clutching a stuffed bunny rabbit, one I’d gotten her for her last birthday, and somehow the simple sight makes things feel a bit better.

I release Madre just as Serafina runs toward us, despite the fact she should be well asleep in bed. Her small frame slams into my legs, thin arms tightening around my body as much as she’s able to.

Immediately, I react, pulling her away as I drop into a crouch to take her in my arms instead. The blood on my jeans is mostly dried by now and crusting, but still, she shouldn’t be stained by it.

She was born among so much pain and doesn’t even realize it. Padre didn’t do right by her, but I won’t make the same mistakes.

I’ll protect you, Sera, always. You’ll have a life free of war, crime, and scheming. You’ll never have to experience nightmares like I do.

She hugs me tighter, almost like she can read my mind.

Regardless of the despair from hours ago—from seeing my father shot to death and kneeling in his blood—Serafina makes things feel a little less shitty.

Zeno never returnsat any point in the evening, and for all the listening and focus I try to have by sticking close to the bedroom doors and window, it’s absolutely silent beyond the room. Which is damn frustrating.

More so, when my eyelids get heavy and exhaustion begins winning. I can’t sleep—shouldn’tsleep, even if this might be the only time to, given that I’m alone. But allowing myself to drift to a vulnerable place is stupid.

I rub a hand along my face to keep myself up. Considering I’m being held captive, the only thing I should be feeling is the rapid rush of adrenaline, but obviously, my body’s needs are winning. Sleepiness grows until my limbs get heavier and I scoot from the mess on the floor to lean against the bed’s footboard. If a nap is required, it’ll damn well involve me sitting upright.

After a few minutes, my position slips into a slouch, head lowering to the side. The grip around my makeshift stake loosens until holding it requires energy I no longer have, so instead, I rest it on my lap. It’ll be accessible at the first crack of sound.

I’ll rest my eyes for a few moments. A catnap so I’m alert for Zeno’s next onslaught.

A quick nap—not even a nap, because I’m not sleeping.

I refuse to rest…

My hand driftsover his bare chest, tracing the individual ridges of his abs, his pecs, before wandering toward his neck. He tips his head back into the pillow, humming in content.

My hand continues up, thumb flicking over his bottom lip, teasing him. He’s so fun to play with. So responsive. So perfect for me.

For me. It’s a striking thought because until him, there’s never been a man who appealed to me in such a way. Usually, I grow bored after one night, but I feel like I can’t stop touching him. Like it’ll never be enough.

God, I crave doing it all with him. Having him bound to my bed is only one of many ways I want him. I want to see him take itall. To feel how tight he is.

My hand changes direction and nails drag over his chest again, heading toward his waist, dipping into the crevices of his hips. The waistband of his pants stop me, but it’s okay. Teasing him is better than actually touching him, simply for his needy responses.

I continue over his pants, and his breath hikes. I slow my movements when brushing over his cock, feeling him hard and waiting.

“Please,” he murmurs.

I smile, hooking a finger into his waistband while his grip on my hip tightens, pulling me closer.

Closer…

Wait—

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