Page 96 of An Unexpected Ascension
“You asked last night if I would use you as you used me. I answered no because I don’t find pleasure in hurting women. However, I did promise you torment and ruin for all eternity and I shall deliver.”
His mouth closes in on mine in a sensual kiss as his fingers tanglein my hair. Those lips demand a moan as they move from my own down to my neck, his shadowed scruff scraping along my sensitive flesh.
My fingers ensnare his shoulders, sinking down into his already battered skin. His body doesn’t even flinch at the violent warning, his attack on my neck only building in fervor. Though my hands fight, palms pushing him with a weak attempt to break free, the rest of my body floods with heat. My hips lift to meet his as I tilt my head further to the side, conceding to the torment he’s promised.
I don’t even know if I can tell myself I hate this any longer. My hearts been splayed open and in it shoved his morbid truth forcing me to see what I wish I did not. The moment I saw the malice reflecting in those horrific green eyes, it all clicked. His hate, his insatiable desire for vengeance, his need to ruin me. But while I understand it all, I realize I’m still just a weak remedy for an eternal sickness.
“And what if I said I don’t hate this at all?” I counter, trying to play him at his own game.
He chuckles, his breath tickling my skin. “I might believe you.”
“Then why bother?”
A tuff of dark hair falls forward along his forehead as he lifts his head to meet the challenge in my gaze. The unnatural navy coloring of his irises gleam with regalement.
“Because, Angel, I love watching you hate yourself for liking every moment I bring you pleasure. Especially after a night of festering guilt for something you had no hand in.”
“If you admit I had no hand in your tragedy, then why am I even here?”
He brings himself to his knees, sitting on his haunches between my thighs. I lift on my elbows, waiting for his response. He trails his gaze over every inch of my body before deigning me with an answer.
“It seemed befitting to defile the only female Fentonelli to ever exist. It’s too bad Damien will never get to see how I’ve turned you into my little pet.”
My blood begins to boil, my veins burning so hot I have this desperate need to rip them out of my own skin. To unthread myself of this searing fury he loves to ignite in me.
I shift myself away from him, flinging my legs over the side of the bed and toward the corner where my belongings lie.
“Fuck you.”
That damn chuckle rumbles through the tent, mocking me.
“I’d ask how a dirty thing like you ended up in Heaven, but I think we know the answer.”
Three days.
We spend three days trudging through the Silva Timoris. Fighting through wicked branches like fingers holding us back. Tripping over rotting tree roots like limbs of the dead jutting from their graves. Ignoring the ever-present whispered promises of every fear to raise your blood pressure. All while bickering with each other relentlessly.
“How much further?” I groan.
The end of the third day grows in the form of burgundy rays peeking through the tops of the trees. Even without the shade of a full set of leaves, the light rarely makes it down to us as if the forest itself rejected it.
Fears are best found in the dark.
Pulling the map from his back pocket, Hermes eyes it again for the fifth time today.
“Can’t be much.” He snaps his head up, looking for anything to mark where we are, but honestly, it’s all just trees. Nothing has changed since we stepped foot in this forest. “I’m thinking maybe another day, if that.”
“This seems like a good spot to settle for the night.”
Really, it seems like the same spot as all the others.
He grunts, materializing our tent and even some food. The smellmakes my mouth water, and my dead stomach suddenly roars to life. Inside our tent, Hermes sets a small table lain with flawless etiquette, the utensils strategically placed for use beside the plate. A plate that holds a lean meal meant for fuel.
“No wine?” I jest, sitting across from him.
“It wouldn’t be in our best interest to be stupid with drink should danger decide to show itself.”
He stabs the chicken breast on his plate with a fork, cutting into it. I watch as he aggressively devours the food. Each movement is laden with an underlying anger, like the disdain within him controls his every act.
