Page 113 of Shattered & Returned

I would have taken her anywhere, in any realm, before any audience. But my mate was shy. A smirk tugged at my lips. In our first life, she’d insisted on propriety, always retreating to our marriage bed. Mortal now, she’d shed some old habits, but that preference remained. She followed rules until she didn’t. I loved unraveling her, watching her rigid upbringing war with the hunger I dragged from her depths.

I was Death itself, but my love for her was eternal. Lifting my head, I studied Bloom’s still, lovely form.

There’s so much I want to tell you, darling, but I haven’t been able to tell you my love and feelings for you for thousands of years.The words were a breath, too quiet to wake her.

My cock hardened as I drank her in. The urge to sheath myself inside her, to lose myself in her, nearly cracked my control. Just the thought of her softness, her warmth, her lovelyflesh clenching around my cock, made every drop of my blood boil with relentless need for her.

I exhaled sharply and stood. If I didn’t walk away now, I’d fuck her while she slept. And she deserved more than that.

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

Bloom

In His Bed

Iopened my eyes to a vast four-poster bed that wasn’t mine. The silk pillow beneath me carried Nero’s scent of sandalwood, winter rain, and brimstone. This was his room.

Overhead, arched wooden beams bore runes and symbols, their meanings beyond my grasp, but I knew they were protection wards, their power undeniable.

The air held the crisp tang of the lake outside, layered with wood incense.

Soft golden light glowed from the walls, as if magic hummed beneath the stone. The floor was dark marble streaked with veins of red and orange, like frozen hellfire. Across from the bed, flames flickered in a black marble hearth, burning in unnatural shades, purple and blue twisting through the gold.

Two plush velvet chairs faced each other over an ornate table, set on a Persian rug woven with pomegranates and dark blooms. Every detail spoke of old wealth, of a refuge made to last.

I pushed back the silky sheets and sat up slowly. A pitcher of water stood on the side table, a crystal glass beside it. I fetched the glass and took a swig, the cool water soothing my parched throat.

Morrigan must have healed me. The pain that had nearly consumed me was now no more than a faint ache, like an echo.

The thirst eased, and I noticed I was wearing a black silk shirt that fell to my thighs. Nero’s, no doubt, as it carried his scent. The familiarity of it was strangely intimate and comforting.

I checked my arms and legs, seeing no marks on my skin, as if the wounds had never existed. I lifted the shirt to check the old scars beneath my breasts, relieved to find them still there.

Someone, either Morrigan or Nero, had cleaned me, but I still needed to scrub away the terror that clung to my body. Once I felt like myself again, I’d find Nero or return to my room in Ravencrux Tower.

I padded toward the side door, looking for a bathroom.

A vast tub of black-and-white marble stood against a diamond-paned window, overlooking the dark lake. Steam curled off the water’s surface, already drawn and scattered with rose petals. Candles lined the marble ledges.

I slid into the tub, heaving out a satisfied sigh as the heat of the water sank deep into my muscles, expelling the chills from my bones.

Nero had prepared this for me. I hadn’t expected such thoughtfulness from him, this kind of tender care. When we first met, I’d assumed he wanted nothing more than a few rough fucks. I’d been wrong.

Beyond the window, storm clouds rolled over the lake, swift and heavy. Then the rain came, a hushed rhythm against theglass. For a moment, it was almost poetic, almost peaceful, though the peace was a lie. I’d nearly died today.

If Nero hadn’t found me, I’d have bled out by that well, my Weaver magic grabbing the throats of my enemies as I dragged them to hell with me.

My chin lifted. I was still here and they were not. My jaw clenched. I was harder now.

Footsteps approached. The water rippled as I tensed, rose petals swirling around me. Shit, I’d left the door open.

I surged from the tub, water sluicing off my skin as I lunged for the door. But Nero was already there, filling the doorway before I could reach it.

I froze.

He was ruinously beautiful, the kind of beauty that inspired ballads or bloodshed. His eyes flickered between emerald and frost-green, shifting with the light, depths swirling with ancient power and barely leashed hunger. His hair, black as a starless sky, was tousled like he’d been dragging his hands through it. The armor was gone, replaced by a black shirt and slacks that clung to the lethal grace of his body.

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