Page 107 of Alchemised
He had never called her anything before. “The prisoner” was the only way he’d ever referred to her in all the months she had been at Spirefell. Stroud called her Marino, but Ferron never called her anything. It had been so long since she’d heard anyone use her name.
“I—” She felt foolish. “I thought you were dead.”
She should turn and leave, but he looked so unearthly that she couldn’t tear her eyes away. His expression was one of utter despair, but as he stared at her, a look of starvation filled his eyes.
He stood slowly.
There was an uncharacteristic looseness to the way he moved. She looked past him, towards the desk, finally understanding.
He was drunk. Excessively intoxicated, under the influence of both Lumithia and actual inebriation. With his regenerative abilities, he probably needed the combination.
As he came towards her, she tried to back away, but then the wall met her shoulders, and there was nowhere to go, and then no space left between them.
He raised a pale hand, and his fingers wrapped around her throat.
His eyes were dark, ringed in glowing silver. Her pulse fluttered against his grip as he stared down at her.
It was no wonder the servants had disappeared. Maybe everyone else knew to hide from him on these nights. Except her.
“Oh, Marino.” His thumb trailed along her neck, following the scar below her jaw. “If I’d known what pain you’d cause me, I never would have taken you.”
He sighed, and she could smell the liquor on his breath as his head dipped closer. She had no idea what he meant, if she was supposed to apologise.
“But at this point I suppose I deserve to burn. I wonder if you’ll burn, too.”
His face was so close the words brushed against her lips, and his mouth crashed against hers.
CHAPTER 20
IT WAS A PUNISHING KISS.
The moment their lips touched, he crushed her body against his. The hand on her throat slid into her hair, tangling in the curls, gripping them tight as the kiss deepened, angling her head back so that he could consume her. He kept kissing her, hard enough to hurt but not bleed, like a storm poured down her throat.
When she was gasping for breath, he pulled away from her lips, kissing along her jaw and the side of her neck. His other hand curled around her waist.
Helena stood frozen in shock. Pliant and stunned in his possessive hands.
He pulled at her dress until the buttons snapped, giving way. Her back was against the wall, his knee pressed between her legs, pinning her by her skirts while his hands worked quickly, fabric ripping open, and she was stripped to the waist.
Cool air bit across her skin for an instant before the warmth of his hands and mouth erased it. An ache shuddered through her. His face was buried against her throat, lips pressed below her ear, kissing down the length of her neck to the juncture of her shoulder, nipping, and he reached a spot, and she—moaned.
The sound shattered the quiet.
They both froze. Ferron wrenched himself away.
Helena stared at him, too dazed to move. Moonlight poured through the window, a stark and damning silver path to where she was slumped against the wall, half stripped and—aroused.
Ferron’s eyes were wide with shock, his pale hair falling across his face. As he stood staring at her, his eyes developed that eerie light to them that seemed to illuminate him from within. He ran a hand across his face, combing his hair back, and his jaw tightened, rolling, a look of derision spreading across his face even before he opened his mouth to speak.
Before he could say anything, a sob of horror tore from Helena. Her fingers scrabbled, trying desperately to pull her dress back on. It was rent open, buttons gone, so she clutched at the fabric, using her arms to cover herself, backing away until she reached the door.
She bolted, fleeing through the house as the reality of what she’d done nearly ripped her legs from beneath her.
She’d been receptive to Ferron.
He’d come towards her and kissed her and she had let him. In the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to her to push him away. Instead, she’d melted at the warmth of being held.
Trapped in Spirefell, she was latching on to any glimpse of kindness, any sense of tenderness her mind could fabricate.
