Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Chapter Eighteen: Tea Leaves and Trespassers

He's a dark shadow, a blur, but I know immediately who it is. He walks straight up the narrow stairs, and Dad doesn't even flinch. In fact, Dad has gone quiet, and he leaves the house entirely.

I'm utterly confused, but I storm upstairs after Hadrian.

Has he finally joined me? I'd been with him before...before when? I rub my temple. There's a blank space in the centre of my brain that's blocking out my orientation. Maybe I should ask Hadrian.

My feet pound the stairs two at a time, nimbly leaping from foot to foot. At the top of the stairs, I whirl around the corner, and there's only two rooms. My dad's room is shut, and seems to fade into the background. All I can see is the dark-haired king standing in the foot of my bedroom, surveying where I'd lived for all those years before him.

I tense. I know how it looks off by heart.

On my side, a collection of scavenged books, the majority on death, tales of the underworld, and the customs of Minoa, which included the ritual of the little saint bride. They're all housed on a small, shoddy worktable where I had allowed the only passion I'd ever known, other than fighting-- and that was sketching.

My sketches were mostly copied from the books I found, and occasionally I would scavenge an art book to copy. They were all in the same grubby medium-- charcoal, dusted all over the bench, and lying in a puddle of ash on the floor for the number of pieces I'd done. The cloud was enough to cover the foot of my bed, making it appear as if the rickety bunk beds were forming the first part of a rotting disease.

Bunk beds-- yes. Because for the last five years, the second part of my room had been left exactly the way Nate left it, the day he died. It's still a raw nerve, and I forced myself to sit in that room and never forget that someone had murdered him, and someone had brought him back to life.

And I would rip the bastards, limb from limb.

Hadrian's face turns back to me, oddly understanding. When he reaches for me, I feel vulnerable; he's seen where I spent all those years hiding, crying, fighting, remembering. He pulls me close, and I allow him to caress my cheeks.

Somehow, he knows that I'm hurting inside. I don't know how he knows, but I see in in the way he strokes my hair and lets my face rest on his shoulder.

He says, 'I can make the pain go away.'

And I don't question what he means. When I look up in pretend meekness, his eyes are filled with that same desire I'd seen in his bedroom, icy blue but desperate for warmth. It would be nice to numb that pain in my chest, the constant grief that pulls my heart in two. For once, it would be nice if those voices demanding revenge and resentment were to fade into the background.

I let my lips meet his, and it's bliss. He moans in surprise as I kiss harder, biting against his lips, pulling at the shirt he wears loosely over his muscled chest. He staggers at my power, and steps backwards, drifting perfectly onto the lower bunk. He grabs my waist, letting his hands roam around my hips and I push him down, knowing where it would lead but swinging my legs over him anyway.

I straddle him, and I lock him down. Laced with a burning feeling, I kiss each and every inch of his neck, making him squirm in delight, his hands raking my hair and mussing it.

Panting, he pleads, 'My shirt. Take off my shirt.'

I don't argue. I rip off the buttons, letting them pop so that I can expose his chest.

It's still a dizzying sight, and I dive to kiss his belly and along his hips where a V-line leads lower...

'More,' he pleads.

I reach for his trousers.

---

I choke. I splutter.

And I emerge from the surface of the pool, coughing my lungs out after inhaling all of the waterfall. The waters churns around me and I blink, disorientated, remembering the beggar, and the school, and the house--

-- and... I turned pink. Had I really...? Was that real...?

'Thank hell you're here,' I hear a low, amused voice. I splash, fighting against my clothing to stay above the foaming water. Behind me, the water thunders to the bottom, spraying anywhere in the vicinity.  A hand comes before my eyes, and I reach for it, allowing it to pull me out of the water and onto the bank.

Hadrian. Hadrian's here, and I'm clutching his hand like it's a life support.

'I thought you'd gone,' he laughs, letting go of my hand. His touch has caused my cheeks to blush so heavily that my face feels like it's on fire. I pray he doesn't notice. 'Sometimes people sin so bad that they're not even allowed into Elysium. They're taken to Judgement.'

'Judgement?' my teeth chatter. The word comes out shakily.

'Yeah, where you get chained to a rock or are coating in oil and burned or--'

'I get it,' I say, shaking my head in fear. I shoot another glance at the waterfall, afraid despite how innocent it looks. The pool below is impossible to judge how deep it goes. 'So I passed?'

'Let me see,' Hadrian replies, and his hands grip my shoulders. Again, I flush with the reminder of his hands gripping me in other places, but he doesn't notice, spinning me to face him. He stares down at my chest and I grow hot again, until I notice there's something around my neck.

It's a chain with a placard on it. A number-- upside down-- and then a series of letters and numbers. I can't make sense of it, but clearly Hadrian can.

He groans.

'You didn't fail outright,' he says, 'But you failed a good majority.'

----

ANY CLUES YET AS TO WHAT'S GOING ON? Poor Nerissa. She's failed SOMETHING, but what?

And what did she get up to with Hadrian...

(Her dad could have walked in though!!)

Larissa

xxx