Page 13 of A Harmony of Procellarum

The sight of the meal has me tearing up when a memory strikes me fast and hard of the last time I ate this. Squall was with me in his motel room and I forced him to try something new, laughing when he acted so surprised over how good it was.

Maybe I wasn’t who they were watching then, maybe they’ve always had eyes on Deluge and those guys just think they’re ahead. It’s probably always been a ruse, letting the aged rock stars believe they were slick when really they were nothing more than puppets.

The thought makes me smirk as I grab the tray and sit back in the chair. I dig into the meal as I mull everything over. If the old Luciphia knew what the guys were up to and sent her Vanquisher—which was Sky’s aunt—out to hunt them, maybe that’s where they fucked up. I remember, as I laid in pain on that dais, looking up into her face as she looked at her niece. There was no outward show of affection, but I could see her eyes soften. If she was sent to kill them, but found out Sky was involved, maybe she pulled the plug.

She killed the old Luciphia, taking over the role for herself, and now she’s on a mission to free her niece. My heart beats when I lift the last of the naan to my mouth. Could it be possible that I’m here to attract Sky? Would Luciphia be out to kill the men of Deluge for fucking with her and now her niece?

With a sigh, I let go of all my theories and get up to grab the clothes. There’s a long-sleeved cardigan with a tank top and track pants. I should shower now while I’m alone here, in case Torrent does show up again. The bathroom doesn’t have a lock and I don’t want him to walk in on me naked. Not that I’m his type.

I’m quick to start up the shower and strip off my clothes, the need to be clean overpowering any apprehension lingering inside of me. The hammered glass shower slabs begin to frost as steam coats the surface, the sight pulling me into the stall like a magnet. As soon as my head is under the hot water, my muscles turn to liquid and I lean against the tiled wall, letting the steam surround me in comforting warmth. If I close my eyes I can imagine I am anywhere else but here, trapped in a room with a demon.

I grab the shampoo bottle, noticing there’s no conditioner, but I don’t care as I squeeze a dollop in my hand and work it through my scalp and hair. It’s a generic shampoo, the smell dulled and not as aromatic as my usual ones, but honestly, it’s as close to Heaven as I’ve ever been.

My head is tipped back under the spray as I work my fingers through my long strands and moaning as the soapy water cascades down my body, washing away the stress of the last few days.

Until I hear a low whistle.

I stall, my fingers tangled in my hair and my eyes clenched closed as water runs over my face. I know I heard it. I’m not imagining it. I rub the water out of my eyes and slowly open them to find Torrent standing in front of the stall with the door wide open and watching me earnestly. He’s completely naked from head to toe, his locs looking darker than usual and his face a little drawn, like he’s witnessed something horrible. When my own eyes peruse his body, that’s when shock really settles in. He’s covered in blood.

“Torrent!” I scream and try my best to cover my privates from his scrutiny. “Why are you covered in blood?” There’s so much of it dripping off the ends of his hair and hitting his shoulders, explaining the different color.

“I need to shower, Marigold,” he says, his voice monotone and low. “We’re sharing, or you’re getting the fuck out.”

Without giving me much time to move, he steps into the shower stall with me, his wide body taking up the extra space and then some. His bloodied chest begins to run with pink rivulets as he steps closer to the spray, and I press myself against the glass as I try my best to avoid touching him.

“Whose blood is that?” I ask as I slip around him, my eyes widening when his cock brushes my hip. His veryhardcock. He groans at the contact, making me scurry quicker out of the stall.

“The blood of my target,” he finally answers as he tips his head under the water, and I watch as the drain runs red. “Are you going to stand there and stare at it, or do you need an introduction?” His hand wraps around his cock as he strokes it, making me realize that’s where I’ve been staring.

“Fuck!” I hiss as I spin to grab a towel and slip on the floor. I hear him chuckle behind me as I quickly wrap the fabric around me and turn to find him now fully jacking himself off while watching me. “You’re disgusting!” I exclaim and leave the bathroom with my clothes tucked under my arm.

Just as I’m about to close the door, he lets loose a guttural groan followed by my name and the sounds light my body on fire, making my hair stand on end. I need to get the fuck out of this room and away from Torrent before something happens that will destroy everything.

I drop my clothes on the bed and rush to the door, hoping he’s been lying and he’s not trapped in here with me, but instead, reveling in watching me suffer as his prisoner. Maybe this time he forgot to lock the door.

My hand grips the cool metal handle and I press downward, but a sob escapes me when the thing doesn’t budge. I give it a look over and notice there’s no lock on the inside. We are indeed both being held here against our wills.

I shove off the door and stumble to the bed, my vision blurred by the tears coating my eyes and my heart cracking wide open, creating a rift in my chest. I fall onto the bed as the tears finally crest over my cheeks to soak into the pillow under my head. The water in the bathroom continues as I hear the splashes of Torrent cleaning whoever's blood off of him, and I succumb to the despair that’s been floating around me since I was dumped in here.

TORRENT

She’s lying on the bed with just that towel on, the bottom riding dangerously high on her thighs. She has her back turned toward me and her marigold hair still tangled and wet, the fabric of the pillow soaking up the moisture. I can tell by her heavy breathing that she’s asleep, and I envy her for what must be dreams of poles and music.

I head over to the two large duffel bags that I brought in, sitting at the end of the bed and opening one to pull out a pair of boxers. I look at the other one, knowing it’s packed full of her clothes. It didn’t take much to convince her mother that Tiny decided to have last-minute plans for the holidays, leading me to believe she’s not very close to the only family she has left. And then I envy her that too.

To have a mother and to waste it is fucking selfish. Regardless of what the woman’s vices are, she’s still family. I showed up on her doorstep and explained to her I’d be taking her daughter on a surprise Caribbean trip, but I needed some clothes. She was all too happy to hand me the duffel bag that Tiny had dropped off mere minutes before she ran back out of the house to meet me downstairs.

The feeling of rage works its way from the pit of my stomach, heating along my limbs as I look at her over my shoulder. How much she’s taken for granted, how little regard she has for the type of life she’s led, and how lucky she’s been… Until she met us, that is.

I pull on a pair of boxers and walk around the side of the bed to look down at her reddened face. It’s evident she’s been crying, and again, it makes me want to slap her in the face for whining about being locked in a room. To be fed three full meals a day. To have a bathroom where she can shower until the water runs cold. Despite that, she’ll lie here and cry as if she’s being abused.

I run my fingertips along the soft skin of her leg, following the dip of her knee and then the full swell of her thigh. Much to my dismay, I begin to harden again. When I got home earlier and I heard the shower running, I knew she’d be in there. She was in there enjoying the hot stream and the privilege of having shampoo and a bar of soap. I wanted to make her uncomfortable, but when I stepped in there and saw her silhouette through the hammered glass, I wanted nothing more than to open up that door and watch her touch herself. So I did.

My reaction to her was visceral, almost primal, because I know Tiny is not someone I care about or desire. Maybe it’s her connection to my soul, the one that lives inside Sval. He is the only one that’s ever truly believed that I have a soul, but I think he’s only given me half of his, and now this bitch is trying to destroy that.

Even as I seethe inside, my fingers continue their path upward and when they hit the edge of the towel, they drag it up to her hip. I watch as it falls down into the dip of her waist, exposing her ass. My cock jerks in response and I have to bite into my lip to restrain myself from touching her any further. I don’t want the stripping whore, and I blame these close confines for the way I’m feeling. I’m used to being alone, not sharing my space. So it takes much effort to pull back my hand and fist it at my side to ensure they are not inching toward her skin again.

Exhaustion hits me and I look over my shoulder at the chair. None of it looks appealing. So I move around the side of the bed and lie down beside her, making sure not to let our skins touch. I’m unpredictable after a kill, but throw in a sacrifice and I become near delirious. She’s lucky I possess the restraint I do because otherwise I’d have this towel ripped from her body and her legs forced open. I shake my head to force the images out of my mind and turn on my side away from her to stuff my nose into the pillow, stopping her scent from invading my senses.

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