“That would be tragic,” I reply in mock seriousness.
“It would,” he agrees. “What else would I do with my free time? I'd have to take up knitting or something equally as boring.” He starts to walk out the door, but stops, glancing back at me with furrowed brows. “Are you going to be alright by yourself? I can stay if you like.”
“I’ll be fine. I don't need you mothering me.” Placing my bare feet on the creaky wood floors, I flinch at the shock of cold. Wiggling my toes to regain my lost warmth, I walk around the bed to the side table where my hairbrush is.
“Are you sure? I don't mind,” he asks, seeming unsure.
Rolling my eyes, I shoo him away with the brush. “Yes. Go on now. Remember, you have a full night with an itch-free Tabby.”
Zander’s eyes light up. “That I do.” He moves forward, yet stops once again, dropping his head back with a groan. “I almost forgot.”
All I can do is stare as he charges toward me, grabs me by the shoulders, and places a big, wet kiss on my lips. I shove him back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Stop kissing me!” I know he's not doing it for his enjoyment, and he’s definitely not doing it for mine. It’s for some sort of roguish plot, I’m sure, but I'm too tired to figure it out at the moment.
“I couldn't help myself,” he says alongside a mischievous smirk.
Narrowing my eyes, I swipe at him but he dodges it, loud guffaws bursting from him as he rushes out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
Chuckling, I run a brush through my long, wavy, black hair. The repetitive motion and the bristles scratching at my scalp soothe me even more than Zander’s theatrics. Loose strands slither down my chest, marring the pristine white of the slip beneath. I swipe the hairs away to pluck at the sheer fabric, rolling the silky fibers between my fingers.
Darius would love this, wouldn’t he?
It's feminine and flowy, sensual. Not something one would expect to find in my wardrobe. The strange, scarred woman who curses and drinks, preferring a sword to a dress. Danya probably has dozens of these. She’s probably wearing one of them for Darius right now. Or nothing at all.
I slap the brush onto the bedside table, the sound of wood colliding with wood rending the air in the eerily silent room. Inhaling an audible breath, I shut my eyes and drop my head back, running my hands through my hair to massage my scalp.
I shouldn't let Darius get to me like this. Neither one of us made any promises to the other. He may have insinuated as much, heavily so, but that’s not the same as staking a claim. I have no say over who he fucks. Even if it is with a beautiful blonde whom I would love nothing more than to rip her perky tits off.
The sound of boot steps reach me from the staircase down the hall. Muffled at first, then they rise in volume to a thunderous staccato, stomping in my direction. Glancing at my trunk, I debate grabbing my daggers, but I barely have time to complete the thought before my door is blown off its hinges.
“Where. Is. He?” Darius growls, low and rumbling from where his massive frame looms menacingly within the doorway.
“What in Azazel’s name are you doing?!” I shout, completely confused who he's asking about or why he's even here in the first place.
Ignoring my question, he moves fully into the room, his gaze darting from one end of the space to the next, searching every crevice. “Where. Is. He?”
I toss my arms up, huffing. “Care to share who this ‘he’ is?”
“Zander!” he roars, snapping his maddened gaze to mine.
“Zander? You charged in here like a raging psychopath because you're looking for Zander?” I scratch my head, even more confused now than when he initially barged in here. “Why?”
Darius answers with a grunt, then turns away from me to whip back the privacy screen, shredding it even more when he tosses it across the room. Grabbing the lone chair, he lifts it up. When he doesn’t find anyone cowering beneath, he tosses it, too.
Seeing as Darius has lost his godsdamned mind and all speech capabilities are limited to grunts and growls, I sit on the edge of Amara’s bed and clasp my hands over my lap, calmly watching him tear apart the room. But when he lifts up the bed and lets out a frustrated growl, I can't contain a burst of laughter.
“He’s nearly as large as you. He can’t fit under there,” I say between laughs. “I can't fit under there!”
Holding the bed aloft, Darius’ gaze snaps to mine, but he says nothing. He simply stares at me with eyes filled with a possessive rage. Something I've only seen from him a few times before. Once, the day we met when he found out about the guards touching me. Later that night when someone squeezed my ass. Whenever a male's gaze lingers on me too long. The one commonality between each event is that not only was Darius angry, but he was jealous.
You selfish, greedy son of a bitch!
“How dare you?” I hiss, hearing the soft thuds from the padding of my feet striking against wood as I stalk towards him. “Get out.”
Who does he think he is? He had a female draped all over him not even an hour ago, and here he is, charging into my room, destroying everything within sight, because he’s jealous. In all my life, I have never met anyone more egotistical, more controlling, more manipulative than this asshole!
He tosses the bed aside, flipping it end over end until it slams into the cool hearth with a resounding crack. “Did you fuck him?”
“What? No!”
Lifting his chin, he inhales a deep, long breath, then stiffens. His face contorts into a blistering rage as he suddenly lunges for me, slamming my back into the wall and knocking the breath from my lungs.
“Liar,” he accuses. “I can smell him on you.” Slipping his knee between the crevice of my thighs and pinning me to the wall with his hips, he buries his head into the crook of my neck, grazing his nose along the column of my throat. His ragged breaths tickle my skin as he follows the path up, slowly tracing along my jawbone, then he snarls, smashing his lips onto mine in a violent kiss.
Shocked by the brutality, I don't even have time to respond before he jerks his lips from mine and smacks his hands on the wall beside my head, caging me in between his arms.
“I can taste him on you,” he says, his face so close to mine, I can see every flicker of the rage-fueled flames within those glacial blue eyes.
Recalling the mischievous glint in Zander’s eyes, I now realize he had no intention of screwing with me, but with Darius.
I’m going to bite the shit out of him after this… No, two bites. On the nipple!
“It was just a kiss.” Slapping my palms to Darius’ chest, I try to shove him back, but he barely budges. “I didn’t even initiate it.”
“You. Let. Him. Touch. You?”
“I didn’t let him do anything. Zander does what Zander wants.” Shaking off the ridiculous feeling that I need to explain myself to anybody, let alone him, I ignore the warning in his eyes and add, “And if I did choose to kiss him, that's no concern of yours. You have no say over who I do or don’t bed.”
“Fuck if I don’t!” He slams his lips onto mine in a kiss just as brutal as before and jerks away just as fast, yet I feel an unwanted warmth begin to bloom within my lower belly. “You’re mine.” Digging his hips even harder against mine, he wraps a large callused hand around my throat, overlapping his fingers to tilt my chin up.
