"Myself." Another faint touch brushed her hair, as if he couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm dangerous, Cleo."
"I don't believe that."
"Yes, but you've only seen one side to me."
The nightmare flashed into her mind, London's Doom roiling in the distance. Cleo stopped the words she'd been about to say. She couldn't pretend that Sebastian wasn't dangerous, but it was difficult to reconcile such destruction with this man, who stroked her hair as if it were spun gold.
"I don't like to be touched," he said, and this time his voice was a hollow echo, as if he lived some memory that stained him. "It... almost hurts. It makes me feel physically ill, and I become nothing more than rage. The only reason I'm telling you this is so that you don't touch me during the night. I wouldn't know you, Cleo, and I do not care to hurt you. I see her face in my mind, and I lose myself. I don't know where I am or what I'm doing. I cannot stop thinking of others. Of what they've done to me."
"Who? Your mother?"
"No." He laughed bitterly. "A woman I knew, not so long ago. Her name doesn't matter, though she's the only one whose face I recall."
Had he loved this woman? Instantly, her mind shied away from such a thought. This wasn't love that he spoke of. In his voice, only hatred lingered. She didn't understand any of it, or perhaps she didn't want to understand.
Cleo's mind raced. "Your mother makes you... entertain them, doesn't she?"
"I fuck them for her," he said in a hard voice. "At first, they liked hurting me. It's easy to do when she gives them the ring for the night, and I used to just submit to it, after I ran out of the strength to fight them. You would think a man could stop himself from... from reacting, but there are ways..."
"Then what happened?" she asked in a tortured whisper. "Why do you remember one face among many?"
He shifted on the sheets. "Cleo—"
"I have seen a great many things," she warned. "Horrible things you couldn't even imagine. I can bear this."
"Perhaps I could imagine," he said roughly. Then he added in a broken voice, "What if I were one of those horrible things?"
"I wouldn't believe it," Cleo said, sliding her hand across the sheets before remembering what he'd said about being touched. She curled her fingers into a helpless fist that trembled.
"Then you do not know me at all. The reason I remember that bitch's face is because she was the first one I turned upon. I made her hurt until she begged at my feet. I used everything they'd ever done to me against her until she was sobbing. And I didn't care. I wanted to destroy her."
It was ugly. Cleo dug her nails into her palms, feeling a little uncertain. "You are a victim of your own circumstances. This wasn't your fault—"
"You still don't understand, do you? She liked it. There she was, lying at my feet, begging me for more, and I wanted to hurt her so badly, that I did it to her again. It was the first time I've ever held any power. I liked it, Cleo. I liked hurting her, and I have done it again and again, to all of them."
There was nothing to say to that. She couldn't even breathe. Inside, she was choking.
"You are in bed with a monster," he whispered. "There is no hope for me. I cannot bear for you to touch me. I shouldn't have lain down with you." He shoved the covers back. "It was a stupid hope, but if you touched me, and I forgot where I was... All I can think about is what would happen to you. What if I hurt you? Could you ever smile at me again after such a betrayal? Could you ever again think of me as the man who met you in your gardens? Or would you only see the truth?" Sebastian slipped out of the bed. "Stay there. You're safe from me. I won't touch you."
"Bastian," Cleo whispered, sitting up and clutching the covers to her chest.
And he waited. He stood there in the dark intimacy of the room, with his secrets spilling all around him, and waited for her to make him a promise that she couldn't utter.
"You cannot stay in here again," he said, after too long a silence. "I'm sorry, you didn't realize what you had married. You won't have to see me again. I'll sleep on the trundle."
And then he was gone, and for the second time since she had met him, she was speechless.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The world lurched. Ianthe curled sleepily into strong arms, dreaming of endless gardens where she could never quite find what she was looking for. There was a moment of uncertainty as she blinked, then opened her eyes. Candlelight greeted her, along with a glimpse of the hallway in her home. She was in Lucien's arms, her cheek resting on the velvet lapel of his coat.
"Awake?" he murmured.
"Yes."
Lucien set her down gently, and Ianthe wobbled like a newborn lamb, her strength weakened by the toll of the night's exertions.
"Where is Louisa?" she asked.
