Page 96 of The Devil in Her Bed
The sound he made was so full of pain, it could have been a sob, but he was not weeping. “I’m already there, goddammit.” He bit his knuckle and strode several paces away, as if he couldn’t bring himself to touch her, and also couldn’t stop himself from doing so. “I was born into it and no matter how hard I try there is no escape for me.”
She stepped forward. “Chandler.”
He shook his head. “Now that we’re… that this is… It’s fucking incestuous, his desire for you, and I think he knows it. I don’t know how but he does.”
She flinched, then gaped. “You mean… Kenway?”
“Yes,” he snarled. “Luther fucking Kenway, the king of the ninth level of hell.” He whirled to her, the raw agony contorting his features into something altogether unrecognizable.
“My father.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Hours later, Francesca lay on her belly, stretched next to Chandler as he ran rough fingertips over her bare back still slick with the sweat of their sex.
They’d still not discussed his revelation.
In fact, they’d said very little to each other as he’d wrapped his jacket around her and carried her up into the night. He’d commandeered a police carriage, set her inside, and took her home. All the while furiously, inscrutably silent.
It had taken one more bout of frenzied lovemaking to settle him. And now, they lounged naked in a puddle of tousled blankets, gathering both their breath and their thoughts.
His finger worked in a familiar pattern at her spine, tracing the symbol eternally etched there.
“So fierce,” he murmured, pressing his lips to what she knew was the dragon, a white animal with redaccents in the scales and claws. “I see you identify with the dragon, so why depict the tiger, I wonder?”
She stretched in a full-body arch, shuddering a bit before she turned to face him. He watched this intently, allowing her the space to do so. When she settled back in, he brushed her hair away from her back, revealing more of the portrait and resuming his idle caresses.
“I spent some time in Hong Kong after finishing school,” she answered, loving the warmth of him next to her, relishing a story she could tell with no secrets attached to it.
“To unlearn everything you were taught there, I imagine.”
“To train.” She nudged him with her shoulder and smiled at the fond teasing in his voice. “I met an old man begging in the street, who asked me if I would hear a story he was supposed to tell me in return for some coin, and so I paid him.”
“He wassupposedto tell you?” Chandler cocked a quizzical brow.
“It’s probably the most mystical thing that ever happened to me, before you, I mean.”
“How so?”
“Serana used to say that I was a dragon and you were a tiger.”
“She did?” His eyes had lost the darkness she’d seen in the catacombs, and had become whiskey and moss once again. They shone with interest as he propped his head in his hand. “I never knew that. How does this story of the dragon and the tiger end, I wonder?”
“It doesn’t.”
His fingers stilled at her answer, and he couldn’t seem to meet her gaze, so she continued.
“In the story, the tiger is a being of ferocious energy. He is hard, brute strength and raw power. His attacks are straightforward, aggressive, and unrelenting, all claws and teeth. The dragon, she is smaller than the tiger, so she must understand movement. She must be defensive and circular. Soft but indomitable. She is the representation of all creatures, and is the keeper of secrets and treasure. She must have agility, flexibility, and cunning.”
“Youarea dragon,” he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
“The Chinese man said that many believe the tiger and dragon must be locked in eternal battle. The tiger like stone and the dragon like water.”
“Really?” His gaze sharpened. “Stone and water?” He repeated this as if it were significant, and she was pleased that he followed.
“This battle between them, many believe, balances everything. Light and dark, east and west, good and evil… order and chaos.”
“Male and female?” he suggested with a wicked tone.
