Lord of the Abyss

Chapter 9

Realizing she’d well and truly lost this battle, she turned. Tall as he was, she could glimpse his face above hers in the mirror, saw his gaze dip to her back. Her stomach clenched. Shutting her eyes in an effort to lessen the impact of his nearness, she continued to hold the back closed, and waited for the ties to pull tight.

Nothing happened.

Chest painful, she exhaled, sucked in another jerky breath. “My lord?”

“I’ve never before done this,” he murmured, and she was almost certain he was talking about something other than lacing a dress even when he pulled at the strings. “Hmm.”

She dared open her eyes at the change in his tone. When she looked into the mirror again, it was to see his face set in lines of concentration as he laced her up inch by slow inch.

“I can’t breathe,” she said when he pulled too tight.

Loosening the strings, he said, “What other colors do you not wear?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Brown, gray and black.”

He laughed, and she was so seduced by the sound that she made no protest when he finished lacing her up and spun her around with his hands on her hips. Leaning close, his cheeks creased with pure masculine amusement, he said, “Liar.”

Jumping at the whisper of his breath across her cheekbone, she turned her head. “I must…” She didn’t know what she had to do, was starting to panic at the closeness of him when her eye fell on the comb on the very end of the vanity. “I have to brush my hair or it’ll become a rat’s nest once more.”

Reaching out, he picked up the comb before she could get to it. She thought she knew what was coming, but instead of ordering her to turn around again, he backed off, staring mock-thoughtfully at the comb. “What will you do for this?”

“What?” He was blackmailing her. “I’ll tell you the rest of the tale.”

He waved a hand. “You’ll tell me the rest, anyway, the next time you want a bath.”

Putting her hands on her hips, she fought the driving urge to pull him down, bite down on that taunting mouth. “What do you want?”

“Lushberry pie with real cream.”

“Lushberry pie?” It was a well-known dessert in Elden.

“Yes.” He folded his arms, comb still held hostage.

She knew without asking that he hadn’t eaten lushberry pie since the childhood he didn’t remember—but he’d remembered the pie. Hope unfurled in her heart. However, she didn’t give in at once to his demand. He’d get suspicious of that. “Where am I supposed to get lushberries?” Even in Elden, the trees were dying like so much else.

“I’ll get them.” A grim look. “You’ll make the pie.”

“Give me the comb first.”

“After the pie.”

“It’ll be no use to me when my hair’s already dry and ratty.”

A dark scowl. “Don’t think to cheat me, Liliana.”

Her abdomen grew tight at the sound of her name on his lips. “I’m not the one who refuses to follow the rules of civilized behavior.” She held out her hand. “The comb.”

Walking over until he was far too close again, he leaned in, sniffed the curve of her neck. “Pretty.” Then he gave her the comb and walked out.

Knees crumpling, she stumbled to sit on the bed. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. The Guardian of the Abyss was not meant to be so very… “Yes. Just very.” Realizing she was babbling, she lifted her hand and began to run the comb through her hair. When she was done, it settled in sleek lines over her shoulders, and she knew it would be soft even when dry.

The feminine heart of her sighed in pleasure. Her hair had never been soft or silky like those of other women—her mother, the courtiers, the mistresses her father kept. Until she’d turned seven and learned to use her own sorcery to heat the water, her father had made her wash in an ice-cold bath, use the roughest soap.

Weak, so weak. It might give you a little more spirit.

What it had done was turn her blue and almost give up bathing. The only thing that had kept her going back was the knowledge that the punishment for defying the Blood Sorcerer would be worse than the chill that infiltrated her bones after every wash.

Putting the comb back on the vanity as the memories threatened to steal the warmth from her bones, she got up and brushed down the front of her lovely red dress. Then, checking to make sure no one was at the open door, she twirled in front of the mirror, the skirts flying out around her. “Thank you,” she whispered to the dread Lord of the Black Castle.

Lushberries were so called because, when ripe, the fist-size dark purple berries were so lush with juice they all but burst open. It was a favorite trick of travelers to place them in a stream until they were chilled, and then to crush the berries into pulp, creating a thick, thirst-quenching drink.

“Sometimes on the farms,” Liliana told Jissa as she created the pulp for use in the pie only twelve hours after the man who’d given her a red dress had told her he’d find the berries, “the cook said they add milk and sugar to it.”

Jissa’s eyes widened. “Delicious, sounds delicious.”

That was when Liliana remembered that brownies were rumored to love sweets of every kind. “Shall we try?” she asked, mischief in her veins. “His Lordship will never miss it, he brought back so many berries.” He’d likely denuded an entire tree, the greedy creature.

“Liliana,” Jissa said in a censuring tone. “You must not say ‘His Lordship’ in that tone. If he hears, oh, no, oh, no.”

“Don’t worry, Jissa. He’ll threaten to throw me in the dungeon and I’ll bribe him with food.” Laughing at the look on the brownie’s face, she put aside some pulp in a jug. “Why don’t you add the milk and sugar to your taste?”

Jissa bit her lip. “We shouldn’t.”

Liliana lowered her voice. “I won’t tell.”

Temptation won over Jissa’s timid nature and soon the woman was standing beside Liliana stirring the mixture into a rich purple concoction while Liliana put aside the rest of the pulp and pulled across the thick pastry crust she’d already baked. It was her special recipe, so buttery and rich it melted in the mouth. Even the cook had praised her for her pie crust—especially because she only ever made it for him, not for her father. Never for her father. But she would make it for the Lord of the Black Castle.

“There!” Jissa’s voice rose in excitement. “Try, try!”

Feeling like a child, Liliana brought a small glass to her lips, took a sip. Her eyes widened, met Jissa’s across the top. Both of them tilted back their heads and gulped. They’d drunk half the jug when Jissa wiped off her milk moustache and said, “Bard would like this, I think. Yes, I think.”

“So would His Lordship.”

“Liliana.”

Laughing, Liliana poured two more glasses. “Here, you go take it to them. If he asks where I am, tell him I’m slaving over his damn lushberry pie.” It was dark outside, time for sleep, but he wanted his pie.

“So impertinent. Trouble, you are, trouble.” Shaking her head, Jissa pushed through the door with the glasses.

A tiny chittering sound came right on cue. Liliana turned, put her finger to her lips. “Shh. You’re not supposed to be in the kitchen.”

Her little friend sat up on his hind legs and made the most arresting face—as if saying that he was a very clean creature, thank you very much. “Well, of course you are,” she said in apology. “I’ve seen your fastidious ways.” Liliana didn’t find that as strange as she should have—the mouse had magic of its own. A tiny magic, but magic all the same.

“Lushberries are not something you’d like,” she said, and, when his face fell, picked up the tiny but perfect pastry crust she’d baked the same time she’d done the large one. “Here, my friend. Now shoo before Jissa catches you.”

Nose twitching with excitement, the mouse—its bones no longer so sharp against its skin—dragged away its spoils as she washed her hands and returned to mix a rich sweet cheese with the pulp before pouring it into the pastry. That done, all she had to do was put it into the oven for but a quarter hour. She took the time to whip up the cream, since His Lordship had decreed he’d eat the pie the instant it left the oven.

When the door opened, the caress of lushberries lay heavy and mouth-watering in the air. “Jissa, I think the pie will be—” It registered then, the scent that had come in with the opening of the door.

Darkness and heat and something quintessentially male.

Keeping her eyes resolutely on the cream, she said, “You’re in my domain now.”

Instead of arguing as she’d expected, he walked to the oven, made as if to open it. “Stop!” she ordered. “If you open it now, you’ll let out all the heat.”

Growling low in his throat, he came over to stand beside her at the counter, staring at the cream. She knew what he wanted even before he tried to dip a finger into it. Scooting away the dish, she shot him a scowl. “If you don’t behave, I’ll put salt in your pie.”

He shifted closer, went for the cream again.

Glaring, she jerked it away once more.

He stepped over.

She looked up, intending to tell him to stop it when she was caught by the laughter in his eyes. He was teasing her again. That knowledge turned her a little mad, mad enough to lift the whisk and touch it to the tip of his nose. “There.”

He blinked, raised his finger to his nose and wiped off the cream. No jagged black tips, she thought in shock—his hands were bare of any trace of armor below the wrists. Then he licked the cream off his finger, and suddenly, the game wasn’t a game anymore, her thoughts scattering like so many marbles across a floor.

Forcing her head back to the bowl, she began to whisk with all her strength. Maybe that was why she didn’t notice him move, why she didn’t realize he’d trapped her with his gauntleted arms on either side of hers until his hands came over hers, one on the edge of the bowl to hold it in place, the other closing around the hand that held the whisk.

She should’ve protested, should’ve pushed back, but she continued to whisk even as his body imprinted itself on her own. The sensation was indescribable. No man had ever touched her thus, had ever wanted to touch her thus.

Her heart grew heavy at the reminder that the Lord of the Black Castle had been trapped here his entire life. He didn’t understand that there were women of stunning elegance and grace who would beg to come to his bed once he reclaimed his place as a prince of Elden. Beside them, she’d look the mountain troll her father had called her. Her pride shook under the blow, but she didn’t pull away.

Because this man, with his way of looking at her as if she mattered, his way of touching her as if he’d like to do a whole lot more, captivated her. And she wasn’t too proud to take the crumbs of his affection. Shame would strike later, she knew. But this moment when he was so hot and hard and strong around her, this moment was hers. To be kept like a jewel inside her heart, a treasure no one could steal from the ugly girl with the face of a wicked witch.

“You’re very soft down here.”

Jumping at the deep voice so close to her ear, it took her a second to process the meaning of his words. Her hand squeezed the metal of the whisk. “You think me fat?”

“I didn’t say that.” He pressed a little deeper into her, his own body created of harsh edges and taut muscle. “You’re all bony angles—except here.”

Her skin blazed. No matter how much flesh other parts of her body might need, one part was quite happy to remain round and plump. “That’s not something it’s polite to mention.”

“Isn’t it?” Tantalizingly close to her ear again, his breath hot and wicked. “I order you to eat more. I like the softness.” Lips brushing her earlobe.

She might just end up naked on the bench if he continued on in this fashion. “The pie!” she said, grabbing for the lifeline. “I must take it out of the oven or it’ll burn.”

He pulled back at once—but she was almost certain she felt the brush of his mouth against her neck before he released her. Already regretting the loss of his touch, she picked up a thick cloth, opened the oven and removed the pie. Taking it to the counter, she put it carefully on top of a flat stone she’d placed there for that purpose.

The Lord of the Black Castle was beside her an instant later. “Give it to me.”

She wanted to turn, breathe in the scent at the curve of his neck. “It’ll taste much better after it has cooled a fraction,” she managed to say.

“You are not lying to me, Liliana?” That gentle, dangerous tone he used very much on purpose to get what he wanted; his hand—hot, rough—coming to curve around her nape.

Before she could respond, his head jerked up. “I must go. The residents of the Abyss need a reminder of who rules them.”

Liliana all but collapsed into a quivering puddle after he left. The man was potent. And she was playing a very dangerous game in allowing him to go as far as he’d done. If they went further, and then he discovered her identity…

“He won’t hate me any less.” It was a painful realization, but it freed her. “There is no happy outcome here for you, Liliana.” So what did it matter if she stole a few moments of happiness on the road to Elden? If she allowed him to treat her as a desirable woman, though she knew she was no such thing? It made her a thief and a liar, but perhaps once she was dead or exiled, her father defeated, the Guardian of the Abyss would forgive her the deception.

Tears burned at the backs of her eyes and she might have given in to them had she not felt an ugly chill along her spine. The kind of chill that augured the proximity of dark blood sorcery. Stomach curdling with horror and rage, she pushed out of the kitchen and ran to the massive doorway of the Black Castle.

Bard appeared out of nowhere to stand in her way.

“Blood sorcery,” she said, begging him to understand. “There is blood sorcery beyond.” Terrible and vicious and fetid with evil.

The man blinked once. “You stay.”

“No! You don’t understand! This kind of blood sorcery—” tainted, putrid “—means someone is being sacrificed!”

A stolid expression. “You stay.”

Liliana bit down on her tongue. Hard enough to spill blood. And then she whispered an incantation that had the giant slumping to the floor in a heap. “I’m sorry,” she said as she bent to take a wicked curved knife from his belt. “You’ll be awake again in no time.” Pulling open one heavy door, she raced out into the black-as-black embrace of the night.