Page 63 of The Hunter
She stared up at him for a long while, her dark, dark eyes swimming in pools of unshed tears. Argent found himself wondering if anyone but his mother had ever conjured tears on his behalf.
Not fucking likely.
When she blinked, they spilled over, leaving mesmerizing tracks in her makeup.
He had the ridiculous notion to lean over and kiss those tears. To lick the salt from her body and digest it, make it part of himself. To swallow her sadness so he could feel some of his own.
It was long overdue, he imagined.
The urge hardened inside of him, reminding him that if he licked that warm tear, it would only turn to shards of ice in his mouth.
“Don’t pity me,” he snapped. “No one wants to fuck a woman while she cries.”
He watched the sorrow dim and the well of emotion dry up with a sense of conflict, that he’d done something wrong, but for the right reasons.
“I suppose that’s not true, there are many men out there who enjoy your tears, who would delight in turning them to screams,” he corrected himself, the hummingbird flutter behind his breastbone freezing and plummeting to its death within the void. “You should count yourself fortunate that I am not one of them.” His gaze flicked to his wound. She’d done an excellent job. “I think you’re finished.”
With a narrow-eyed sniff she looked down. “So I have.” He thought she’d be cruel then, that she’d yank and pull and tear, if only to punish him. But she quietly and calmly snipped at the thread, tied it, and secured the bandage over her handiwork.
It was time, and she knew it as well as he did. He could see that knowledge written all over her face.
Argent stood. “There’s a basin and soap for you to wash.” He pointed.
Wash off the blood. For there was no place for it where he was taking her next.
This was one contract Argent was certain he must see through to the end.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
“If you think foronemoment that I’m setting foot inthere,you’ve taken leave of your senses.”
Argent glanced from the room where he slept, to Millie’s obstinate jaw and crossed arms, then back. If he wasn’t inside of her soon, he was fair certain he’d lose consciousness for lack of blood to his head. “Our agreement is such that you’re mine tonight,” he reminded her through clenched teeth. “That means however, whenever, andwhereverI want you.” He motioned to his bed.
Argent had been watching people for a long time, and he knew with a surety he’d never before encountered the look on her face. It landed somewhere between dumbfounded outrage, and dawning horror. “I should have known.” She took a few steps back. “Youarecriminally insane. Touched. Out of yourmind.”
“What the devil do you mean?”
Her finger jammed toward the door he held open for her. “That! That… dark closet. I wouldn’t keep an animal I liked cooped up in there. It’s barbaric. I won’t do it, I tell you.”
Scratching his head, he took a second glance. It was roughly the size of his cell at Newgate, and they’d slept two to a room. “It’s more than large enough to fit the two of us,” he pointed out. Well, horizontally anyhow. If they were to lie vertically, their feet would stick out of the door.
“I didn’t agree tothis.” Her hand pressed against her chest as though to keep her heart inside of it. She glanced over her shoulder, three times, taking further steps backward. “You arenotlocking me in there.”
“But… it doesn’t even lock from the outside.” He closed the door and jiggled the handle, opening it again, as though demonstrating to a simple child how such a contraption operated. “See?” What was wrong with her? She stared into his chamber as though it contained medieval torture devices. Squinting into the dark room, he frowned. His bed might be nothing more than a thin mattress on the floor and a few blankets, but it certainly wasn’t the rack. Once he’d initially removed the shelves contained within, he thought it had opened up the place exponentially, though not enough for an iron maiden or anything.
He realized, a little belatedly, that he’d chosen this pantry because the rooms in his home were simply too spacious. Once your entire life had been contained in a prison cell, open spaces often seemed too exposed to sleep in.
Of course, Millie wouldn’t have such a view, would she?
“I don’t know what kind of perverted madman would bring me to a palace, and have his way with me in a pantry, but I donotconsent. I’ll take my chances on the streets.” She took a few more steps back, and shuddered.
Argent took a step toward her. “Like hell you will—”
“Master Argent.” Welton materialized from the shadows, his face placid and droll, as always.
“Not now,Welton,” Argent snapped.
“But sir,” the butler insisted. “I’ve come to show yourguestto the chambers I had made up for her.”
