Page 100 of His Eternal Claim

I growl against her neck, ignoring it. I push forward a fraction of an inch, stretching her open.

The phone rings again. Only three people have this number, and none of them would dare call unless the empire was burning.

Frustration boils in my gut. I pull back just an inch, my eyes locked on her blindfolded face. To punish her for the distraction—and to soothe the ache in my own veins—I bring my open palm down sharply against her soaked cunt.

Crack.

The flesh-on-flesh slap echoes as Selene shrieks. Her hips jerk against the wall. She bites her bottom lip so hard it turns white, trying to stifle the moan as the sting of the blow melts instantly into a fresh rush of throbbing pleasure. She trembles from head to toe, her slick heat weeping over my knuckles.

“Fucking beautiful,” I growl, watching her chest heave. The phone rings a third time.

A breathless, mocking giggle escapes her bitten lips. She tilts her head back against the wall, her blindfolded face turning toward the sound of my pocket.

“Go pick it up, Don Zagreus,” she whispers, her voice dripping with sweet, wicked malice. “Duty calls.”

“You think this is funny, Dolcezza?” I rasp, my grip tightening on her hip until my fingers leave white marks on her skin. “I should make you beg while I answer it.”

With a curse, I set her feet back on the floor. Her knees buckle, and she has to lean against the wall for support, still blindly shivering, her skirt bunched at her waist and her core completely exposed, glistening and swollen from my touch.

I pull the phone out, flipping it open. I don’t care who is on the other line; they are a dead man if this isn’t life or death.

“Speak,” I bark into the receiver.

“Vitale.” Judas’s voice is devoid of emotion. “We have him. Vane Davenport’s location just leaked through a secure channel. We’ve tracked his coordinates.”

The blood in my veins turns from hot, lustful fire to ice in a fraction of a second. The predator in me wakes. Davenport. The final loose end.

I look back at Selene. She is still standing there, leaning against the wall, her hands coming up to slowly pull the black silk blindfold from her eyes. Her vision adjusts, her dark, heavy lids lifting to reveal pupils so dilated they are almost entirely black. She looks ruined by my touch, yet her gaze locks onto mine. She knows that tone.

“Assemble the men,” I order, my eyes never leaving my wife’s flushed face. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter 34

I Wear Our Sins

THE REQUIEM | Past

Itell myself I don’t care as I wrap my arms tightly around my chest, forcing an indifferent breath past my lips.

But my skin still throbs from the phantom sting of his palm, and the deep, unsatisfied ache low in my belly mocks my pathetic attempt at detachment.

By the time I make it back to the bathroom, the house is settling into that terrifying silence. I turn the shower on, steam quickly clouding the mirror, and step under the scalding spray. I scrub my skin. My reflection in the foggy glass is different now. My lips are swollen as a deep crimson bruise blossoms on the column of my neck where his teeth have marked me.

A dull, throbbing headache pulses behind my temples. When I step out, wrapping myself in a simple cotton robe, the clock on the mantel chimes nine. Elena knocks softly, offering a tray of roasted chicken and broth, but the smell of the food makes my stomach turn.

“Take it away,” I murmur. “I’m skipping dinner tonight. Just bring me some water.”

“Of course, Signora.” She bows, retreating quickly.

I don’t question where he went. In his world, a leaked coordinate means blood, and a don doesn’t explain his warfare to his wife. But as the hours crawl forward, the mattress feels too vast. The heavy silk sheets are cold. For the past months, his massive warmth was always there to anchor me, his steady heartbeat putting my demons to rest before they could claw their way to the surface.

Now, I am alone with them.

I contemplate crossing the hallway to my Mother’s room. But the memory of her exhausted face from earlier stops me. She needs her rest; her health has been failing, and I refuse to burden her with my pathetic dependency.

By midnight, I can’t close my eyes without seeing the dark, empty void behind the blindfold, waiting for a touch that isn’t coming.

Driven by a restless, humiliating hunger, I grab my pillow and slip down the corridor to his study.