Page 38 of Spark of Madness

Inappropriate.

That was the word she used to describe the thin line between authority and an abuse of my power. And indeed, that line was thin—thin, faded, and broken in places. The sight of her bare is what snapped the line for me, and it’s my own damn fault because I neglected to purge. If I had, I wouldn’t be seduced by her strong will, her starlight hair, or her sultry curves.

I need to pray.

I needed to purge at the lastfull moon.

That’s the true issue at hand. It has nothing to do with her and everything to do with my failure to purge. Yet, it was her who held me so rapt with attention that night that I neglected my impulses.

I cross her room and sit in the ivory armchair facing the foot of her four-post bed. Her accommodations are fit for saints, and far too good for a sinner like her. She should consider herself lucky to spend what’s left of her life here.

My eyes are fixed to her bed, to the cream-colored comforter threaded with gold stitches that create a floral pattern throughout. I hear water rolling and lapping as she moves in the tub, and I press my eyes shut, trying to focus on something else, anything else. My fingers curl around the armrests, my leather gloves soaked and uncomfortable against my skin as I dig them into the fabric of the chair.

I should just take them off, but I’m feeling vulnerable in the moment, and they serve as a shield. It’s not as though I have an issue with her seeing my scars, but I’m not in the mood for her curiosity about them right now. I’m not inclined to share personal details from my life with her. I refuse to let her in, especially now when I’m reeling with urges I should’ve satisfied with her when I was allowed to under the full moon. If I had, I’d be thinking clearly now.

Eventually, I hear the whoosh of water as she exits the tub. I open my eyes and watch the open doorway, my pulse thrumming with the anticipation of her arrival.

My eyes want to take her in, to see her standing there, bare.

God help me.

I let out a breath when she finally appears, relieved to see her wrapped in a white towel. Her hair is dripping, and I watch droplets fall to her feet, landing on the tile and echoing in their splashing sadness for no longer mingling with her starlight tresses.

She looks at me expectantly, and I cast a glance toward the bed. “You can get dressed.”

She looks at the dress I’ve laid out for her on the bed. Before, she only wore black—as all the servants wear—but as a trial participant, she’ll now wear red, the color of blood and sacrifice. She’ll have to sacrifice pieces of herself in the ultimate acts of service.

She takes a few slow steps toward the bed and reaches down, running her finger beneath the fabric. “It’s beautiful.”

Sweet sin.

The way the word flows from between her rosy lips makes something twist inside my chest.

Beautiful.

She looks up at me. “I’m supposed to wear this?”

I press my elbow into the armrest as I lift my hand, leaning to rest my chin against it. “Yes. You have a wardrobe full of gowns to wear.”

“Why?”

“Would you rather parade around naked?” My fingers curl into a fist at the thought, and I lift my head before slapping my palm on the armrest. “Just get dressed, Mercy.”

“I can’t get dressed with you sitting there staring at me.”

“Try.”

She glares at me for a beat. “So the line is completely broken, then.”

The line.

The thinfucking line between authority and abuse.

“Get dressed.”

The same defiant look she had when she leapt into the tub and buried herself beneath the water touches her features. Without warning, she drops her towel, her bewitching eyes locked on mine. I force myself to hold her gaze, though my eyes beg to drop. She stares for what feels like the longest time—as if she’s testing whether that fucking line still exists between us—before finally letting go. With a sneer and a frustrated huff, she shakes her head before turning toward the bed and reaching for her clothes.

I cover my mouth to conceal the heavy, heated exhale that rushes from my lungs, swiping my fingers over my short beard.

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