The stench of anxiety flooded his nose, burning his nostrils and making him recoil. He still didn’t know the full extent of what Luka had suffered, but the small pieces of his past that he had shared broke Ruger’s fucking heart.
As much as he hated to admit it, not every problem could be solved with words. They sure as hell didn’t override centuries of conditioning. Even through actions and experience, it would take time, and all he could do was be there to make the transition a little easier.
“Now,” Skye said when the server left, turning her attention back to them. “Where were we?”
Ruger sat up a little straighter. “Actually, I think we’re going to call it a night.”
“Not yet.” She held her hand up to halt that idea in its tracks. “I have a few questions first.”
Ruffled by her presumptuous demeanor, he stiffened, his eyes narrowed in warning. “And I think those questions can wait.”
“Taavi,” Luka hissed, his voice low and urgent. “No.”
Ruger took a deep breath and sent him a comforting smile. “It’s okay. She’s not going to smite me for disagreeing with her.”
He hoped.
She might be a powerful Otherling, the owner of the hotel, and his new boss, but he had never known her to be vicious. Intense, maybe a little theatrical, but never unreasonable.
“An interesting idea,” she mused, her painted lips quirking on one side. Then she laughed, the sound almost musical. “Not really my style, though.”
If her words had been meant to ease Luka’s concerns, they didn’t work. If anything, he looked even more worried.
“I mean no harm,” she added, sobering. “I actually want to help you.”
Ruger followed her gaze to Luka’s hand where it rested on the table, to the golden cuff that glowed around his wrist. Gritting his teeth, he glanced down, eyeing the matching one on his other arm.
They weren’t tangible. Now that he and Luka had bonded, he could see them, but he couldn’t feel them. He couldn’t unlock them with a key and burn them, no matter how much he wanted that.
Though Luka claimed they didn’t cause him discomfort, Ruger couldn’t imagine his mate felt good about them, either. Although no puppeteer currently existed to pull the strings, the shackles still represented a magical contract of ownership.
“Can you remove the binding spell?”
“No,” Skye admitted. “That doesn’t mean it can’t be broken, though.”
Ruger straightened and moved to the edge of his seat, angling his body toward her. “How?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Folding her hands in front of her, she turned her attention to Luka. “When were you bound?”
“I was sold as a child in the thirteenth century.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, without any hint of emotion. Ruger couldn’t be so detached, however, and he winced as pain lanced through his chest. No wonder his mate expected so little from people. He had never known anything else.
“Who was your master?”
Ruger bristled again. Logically, he understood Skye was merely using terminology Luka would understand, but he didn’t like it.
“That asshole wasn’t hismaster.”
Under the table, Luka squeezed his fingers, but when he spoke, he addressed Skye. “Castor Gregori.”
Skye leaned back, and her eyes flared at the corners, a subtle, barely perceptible crack in her perfect composure. If Ruger hadn’t been watching her so closely, he might have missed it.
“You know that name.”
“I do,” she confessed after a brief hesitation. “So do you. Though you would know him as Envy Castille.”
Ruger froze, his pulse pounding in his temples as he absorbed the information. The longer he thought about it, the sicker he felt, his stomach roiling with a mixture of guilt and disgust.
