Eight
Sophie sat on Tristan’s bed, gazing at the life-size carving of herself. She was numb, thankfully. Candlelight flickered over the erotic drawings on the wall, seeming to give them life. Did they freak her out and disgust her? Sure, but she had to look deeper than that. She had to understand him. Movement rustled outside the bedroom door. Was he coming in now?
As soon as she’d arrived at his apartment, he’d ushered her into the bedroom without explanation and locked the door. Why had he done that? She had to pay attention to everything he did. Her eyes probed deep into the details of the shrine. This space was the truth of him. The sickness inside him spilled out and saturated the walls and floor. She remembered how he’d said he was nervous to show her this room. Sophie believed he was completely honest at that moment.
She lay back on the bed and looked intently at the wall of pictures. She narrowed her eyes at the bottom corner of the one closest to her head. He’d dated it. Her gaze jumped from picture to picture. He’d dated them all. She rose up onto her knees getting closer to the pictures. The door opened behind her.
“What are you doing?” Tristan demanded.
“Learning,” she answered mildly.
“Learning what?”
“How you love me. Your desires for us.” She turned to face him and lay back down.
His hard expression eased slightly. “Learned anything so far?”
“Maybe…I’m humbled by you, Tristan. The amount of what you feel for me…well, it’s more than I ever thought anyone would or could feel for me. I’m sorry I didn’t understand sooner.” Her words were so over the top, but she had a feeling his desire for her love was so sick, he would accept this. He would like it.
His demeanor relaxed and he closed the door, leaning casually against it and looking her over slowly. “How was your cousin’s party?”
“As expected. Idle chit-chat, food and drink and introducing everyone to his new life mate.”
“What did you think of her?”
Sophie shrugged, keeping it in her mind that this was normal. She wanted to be here. No, it was more than that. This was her home and her man. Just be easy. Let it come naturally. You’re not afraid of him. “She’s very beautiful. Maddox is a lucky man. I didn’t really get a chance to talk to her much. It was the kind of affair where everyone wanted her attention.”
He sighed and crossed his arms. “It annoys me that I couldn’t have been there with you. I should be with you from now on at any family gathering.”
“Of course.”
His gaze warmed, but that only lasted a second. Everything about him hardened abruptly and he pointed at her bare feet. “I told you to come back here exactly as you had been. You didn’t listen! Where are your shoes?”
“They were hurting my feet. I left them back at home.” Her mind raced for a second. He was too deep in her business and he cared about and noticed things no one else would. “I gave them to my sister. They fit her better. I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t realize it would bother you. I should have known better.”
Some of the hardness left his eyes but his mouth still held a tight line. “I forgive you. But you still have to be punished so you remember not to do it again.”
She swallowed. “Punished how?”
He looked around the room quickly, frowning. “Nothing too serious. Ah, here.”
He grabbed a picture frame off the bookshelf, opened the back, took out the picture and set it down before dropping the glass on the floor. Tristan stepped over the broken glass, grasped both of her hands and pulled her to her feet. He kissed her mouth softly and smiled.
“Stand on the glass.”
Her nostrils flared as she pushed her reaction down deep and ignored it. She looked down and nodded her head once. The first second wasn’t bad, only a few small cuts into her feet, then he pushed down on her shoulders. She swallowed her cry of pain and remained silent as blood pooled on the floor under her.
“You won’t forget your shoes again, will you sweetheart?”
“No,” she whispered. “I promise.”
He faced her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good girl.”
Tristan leaned down, picked her up and carried her back to the bed. He knelt by her feet and began to gently pick the glass out of the cuts. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing. She’d make him eat glass before she was finished with him. He left the room and came back a moment later with bandages. Once her feet were wrapped up, he climbed on the bed next to her.
Great. Here we go. She thought bitterly as he moved on top of her and kissed her neck. She kept her eyes pinched shut and let everything inside her drift. Until she defeated him, sex was something she would have to endure with him. She knew and resigned herself to the reality. But in her mind, it wouldn’t be him. She could imagine she was with someone else, anyone else.
He reached under her and pulled the zipper of her dress down.
“Sophie,” his voice commanded her to open her eyes.
She met his gaze.
“I love you. Don’t be scared. This won’t be like the first time. I’ll be gentle.”
She reached up and touched his cheek. “Thank you.”
He moved slowly. She wished he’d just hurry up and get it over with but he seemed hell-bent on drawing it out and playing the patient and skilled lover. She would have to find another measure of strength she hadn’t yet considered. If she had a hope of deceiving him, she would have to engage in bed. Passive, with her eyes shut, wasn’t going to work. Damnit. But this time, no, not this time. He had to prove he would be gentle like he said he would. She could be reserved and nervous this time. She could close her eyes. She had a good enough reason. He had to prove himself and his prowess.
“I’m nervous…” her voice was quiet and shaky.
His touch slowed, the pressure of his hands more comforting than a caress. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
A piece of her broke loose when he entered her, a fragment detached and dissolved like mist in a breeze. I am a sacrifice. Her mind moved to the dark entity she encountered in the forest. It was what she wanted to be. Free, honest, feral. Sophie took comfort that it was her creation. Some part of her roamed the world and did as it pleased. I want to be her. While his body was joined with hers, every internal scream of rage and denial in her head she ignored. My body is nothing. The real me, my true face, my soul, my art, he can never touch. The screaming quieted as though muffled. My body is nothing, she thought again and again. Nothing about sex was what she’d imagined it would be like. She’d certainly never had any aberrant fantasies of being forced. This wasn’t what physical love should be. This wasn’t what she longed for. There was something else. She clung to a new type of fantasy now, gaining a stronger opinion on what kind of partner she wanted. Her mind drifted on the wish she had a destined life mate and the shred of comfort that Tristan was not him.
She exhaled in relief when he finished and moved off her. Making her stand on broken glass beforehand aside, he had been gentle. He ran his fingers lightly over her skin, a frown on his face.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know your tastes yet. I’ll learn how to please you.”
She offered him a weak smile. “I know you will. It wasn’t you. I was just too tense, I think.”
“Will you be open with me? Will you tell me what you like and don’t like in bed?”
“I don’t know any of that yet. I’ve never been with anyone but you.”
“Oh.” Instead of this news giving him pleasure, his face fell. “If our first time had been different I would have realized that. I was preoccupied.”
“Sure. Rape has many elements,” her tone was acidic but she was too raw to care if he hurt her again. It felt good to say it.
To her amazement, he laughed. “That’s true.” After a moment, he stopped laughing and looked at her seriously. “I don’t want to rape you again. So don’t force me.”
“Me force you to force me?”
He chuckled. “That’s funny.” His mood shifted quickly and he was serious again. “I’ve been with other women, lots of them, but it was never like this. And it was never here, in this room. No one has come into this space except you. My heart is yours. It has been since we were children…you remember when we met, don’t you?”
A cold warning spiked in her blood. Her life might hinge on the next thing she said. His eyes filled with desperation. Slow. See what you’re really dealing with. Behind the beautiful blue of his irises swirled the sickness and the heartache. She couldn’t discount his pain. His insanity didn’t invalidate or cancel his emotions. His love for her was real. Sick but real.
The moment dragged out as she strained her memory. Slowly she reached up and framed his face with her hands.
“I can’t remember how old we were, or the season. Remind me of the details.”
“I was seven. My parents had just died. Your mother came to me. She was trying to comfort me and make sure I would be taken care of. She was doing her duty to a displaced child within her pack.”
Her mind jolted.
“Yes. I remember. My mom brought you to our home for the afternoon…you were so sad. I wanted to cheer you up. We played a few games on the floor.”
He leaned over and kissed her deeply, his tears fell on her face. “Yes,” his whisper was full of relief. “I knew you remembered. I just knew it. I fell in love with you that day. I determined, no matter what happened, one day you would be mine, and we would live together at the top of the mountain. Do you remember what you said to me?”
“No.”
His smile was warm and full. “You said I could be anything I wanted if I set my mind to it. You said I could have anything if I fought for it with all my heart.”
She returned his smile. “Those were the things my parents always told me. It was all I had to offer you…but I believed that. Then and now, Tristan.”
He laced his fingers through hers. “You see, you were right. I have fought for you with my whole heart and now I have you. And I have set my mind to something else that I don’t have yet, but I’m close, Sophie. So close. You’re lucky your parents said such things to you, believed in you. Mine never did. No one believed in me until you.”
“I’m sorry your parents weren’t supportive. Still, I’m sure you must miss them.”
He turned his face to the side, his cheek tightening. “I showed them…I think maybe I miss them sometimes, but they are always with me.”
Her blood chilled at his demeanor and tone. What did he mean, he showed them?
Loud knocking sounded on the front door. He slid out of bed and threw his clothes on at top speed. He gave her a severe look. “Stay here. Keep quiet.”
Tristan left the room, shut the door, and she heard the lock slide home. She got up, wrapping the blanket around her and limped on her injured feet to the door. She pressed her ear against the wood.
“When do we go?” a low male voice asked.
“Tonight,” Tristan answered.
“How will we pick those we kill?” another male voice asked, something about this voice was familiar to her, but she couldn’t tell who it was.
“Just follow my lead,” Tristan said. “It might take us a few times to be able to find a good target at the right place and time. We have to strike just right the first time if we want to have a single hope of starting a war.”
“A small war,” one of the others scoffed.
“We’ve been over this,” Tristan snapped. “Do you want to rise to power or not?”
“I want revenge. You’re the one after power.”
“And I will have it, too, so do what I say, and you’ll benefit. Sabra’s time to lead this pack is almost over,” Tristan declared fervently. “Are you with me or not?”
The other two voiced their commitment. She continued to try and listen but then they all left. The front door opened and slammed shut. She held her breath. No noise or movement sounded past the door. Sophie gripped the doorknob and jostled it. The lock held firm, keeping her caged in the bedroom. They were plotting murder and to overthrow her mother. Growling, Sophie slammed her shoulder into the door. It held as strong as a brick wall.
∞∞∞
Tristan stopped walking and closed his eyes, turning his face to the night sky. The moonlight kissed his face and sank through his skin, flowing into his blood, singing in his bones. Pride surged into his brain and glinted in his eyes. Werewolves were superior to every other Regian race. None of them understood this. None of the other races knew the ecstasy of this intimacy with the moon. They were the chosen. His lip curled into a sneer as he thought of the dryads. They were so arrogant. They claimed to be the children of the Heart. What good was that? The wolves were the children of the moon. He'd take the moon over the Heart any day of the week.
His pulse beat steady as he methodically removed his clothes. Callen and Satran behind him followed his lead and began to strip as well. Tristan shifted first. His body stretched upward until he was almost twice his normal height. His arms elongated, claws pushed out of his fingers, and his physical strength surged. He looked back at the others as they finished shifting into beast form. Not man and not wolf but the deadly monster in between.
They moved forward silently into the forest toward the Wood. The time was perfect. In the dead middle of the night, the dryads would be asleep inside their trunks. Tristan was looking for a dryad still up and preferably all alone to kill.