Page 87 of His Eternal Claim

I cannot remember the last time I slept without nightmares. The last time I woke up without feeling exhausted. Slowly, she reaches into her pocket. And pulls out a small pill.

I stare at it, then at her.

And for the first time all day, a strange feeling settles in my stomach. Something I cannot quite name. As my Mother presses the pill into my palm and closes my fingers around it.

The rain continues to fall outside.

And somewhere deep inside me, something whispers that nothing good will come of this.

You’ll forget it all.

Chapter 29

Reckoning

THE MAESTRO | Past

The meeting with Judas leaves a foul taste in my mouth.

It shakes me more than I care to admit. Vane is still out there, hiding like the rat he is because I didn’t put a bullet between his eyes when I had the chance. It is a rare miscalculation on my part. But Adrian Davenport? The boy is practically begging for death, running his mouth, playing a game he doesn’t have the stomach for. He will be handled soon. I’ll make sure of it.

But right now, the violence of the city feels worlds away from the isolated fortress on the cliffside. My fortress.

When the car finally pulls up the winding driveway, the house looms out of the grey fog.

Winter is coming.

I step into the foyer, shedding my damp overcoat and handing it to Elena, who appears in the doorway.

“Where is she?”

Elena gives a small, respectful dip of her head, her eyes harboring that perpetual look of pity she reserves for my wife. “In your study, sir. She has been there for a few hours.”

My brows furrow. My study? She usually avoids my spaces as if they were plagued.

I dismiss Elena with a nod and walk down the hallway to my study. I push the door open, expecting to find her sifting through my things, or perhaps just staring blankly out the window at the crashing waves.

Instead, the room is quiet save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the glass.

She is asleep on the couch.

A heavy hardcover book lies open on her chest, rising and falling with her shallow, even breaths. I stop in my tracks.

The silk strap of her sleeping gown has ridden down her shoulder, exposing the pale, smooth line of her collarbone and the soft curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

I gulp as a heavy heat coils tight in my gut.

I want to tear that silk away. I want to claim the skin beneath it until she forgets whatever is in her head.

I walk toward her slowly, keeping my steps silent so I don’t wake her.

I kneel beside the couch. Up close, she looks so young, so painfully delicate. I reach out, my fingers trembling before brushing the back of my hand against her cool cheek. She doesn’t stir when my thumb moves lower, tracing the parted line of her full lips.

The urge to crush my mouth against hers is agonizing.

Instead, I press my thumb firmly against her lips, then withdraw it, kissing the pad of my own thumb where her warmth still lingers.

I’ve been patient; I’ve given her time to cope. I know she needs time.