Capturing Iris (Beasts of Ironhaven Book 3) Page 12

  He pushed himself away from the window and turned to face me. “You are unlike any woman I have ever met, Iris. You deserve better than this.”

  “I think we all do, Mathias. But here we are.”

  He looked at his feet as his brows drew together. A strand of blonde hair slipped from behind his ear to hang in front of his face.

  “Yes, well…I wanted you to know. Now, I will leave you to your bath,” Mathias said suddenly, looking back up at me. His expression was neutral once more. “I’ll be right outside the door. Call if you need anything.”

  “I will,” I said as he brushed by me. His shoulder grazed mine and I almost reached out to grab him. To hug him and offer comfort. To take the same from him. But I let him go, and as he closed the door behind him, our eyes met for the briefest moment.

  There was something hard behind those eyes. It was gone as soon as I saw it, but it left me wondering what sort of pain was burning inside him. My heart ached for him and for the others.

  I blew out an unsteady sigh as I looked to the bath. The steam was wafting upwards and the fresh lavender floating on the surface was too tantalizing to forgo. A few minutes to relax and let my mind drift.

  I stripped out of my new cloak and boots. I folded the cloak and left it on the foot of the bed. I tucked the boots beneath it. Then I stripped out of the pants I had been wearing, and the white tunic. I let them fall in a heap on the floor and lifted one leg to step into the piping hot water.

  I sighed as I lowered myself into it. The water hugged my body with familiarity. I soaked for a while before committing to scrubbing myself clean. I dunked my head and scrubbed my scalp until it was numb. Then I wrung out my hair and twisted it into a knot on top of my head.

  I stayed in the water, submerged up to my chin, until it started to cool down too much to be enjoyable. I stepped out and dried in the towel the maid had hung off the back of a chair beside a full-length mirror. I stared at the women looking back at me for a moment.

  She was lean and muscular, more so than I remembered. Her shoulders and arms were powerful, as were her thighs. Her stomach was hard and flat. Her skin was pale. Her breasts were small yet firm. So different from the girl who had spent hours before a mirror primping to find a suitable mate just a year before.

  Whatever my sister believed, I was a warrior now. And warriors did what they had to do to survive.

  I wrapped myself in the towel and averted my gaze from my reflection as weariness settled over me like a cloak.

  I knew I should go to Mathias and tell him I was done, but my emotions were bubbling just below the surface, fresh and raw, and I needed just a few minutes.

  I padded over to the bed, I let the towel fall to the floor at my feet, and slipped beneath the clean, white sheets. I pulled them up under my chin and curled up on my side. I breathed in the smell of the fresh linen, and then I began to cry.

  I muffled the sounds of my sobs in the pillow and hoped desperately that Mathias couldn’t hear me. I cried harder than I ever had as I ached for my home, and for my sister. The last time I had felt this broken was when Anaya had fled from Sebastian Du Monde with her suitors. I had thought, for a while, that I might never see her again. That maybe she was dead, and it had been too much for my heart to bear. I loved her more than I loved anyone and life without her would be empty.

  Now the tables were turned and I could only imagine her grief. The fact that I was the cause of it was tough to swallow. Maybe if I hadn’t been foolish enough to let the men who had become my friends capture me, I wouldn’t be here now.

  Luckily, by the time a knock sounded on the door, my tears were spent.

  “Come in,” I said thickly, pulling the covers more tightly around me.

  The door opened a crack and Titus popped his head in. “Hello, lass. May I come in? I have something for you.”

  I nodded and remembered Dimitri had gone to find my bracelet. To keep up appearances, I asked him if he had found it.

  “Unfortunately, no. The shopkeeper told Dimitri he would keep an eye out for it and we could check back in the morning before we set sail, but it doesn’t look good. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, guilt once again licking at my insides.

  He closed the door behind him. In his hands were folded up pieces of fabric. There were at least six or so different items there. He sat at the foot of my bed and handed them to me.

  I awkwardly sat up, trying to pull the blankets with me.

  I was painfully aware of how naked I was, and Titus’s sudden presence was doing all kinds of things to my body. My heart thumped wildly as my stomach fluttered. That tightness I had felt before Eryk took me was forming below my belly again and now that I knew the cure, I couldn’t shake the thought of doing those very same things with Titus.

  I tried to ignore it as I looked through the items he had handed me. I was surprised and delighted to see that they were new clean clothes. Two pairs of britches, black and soft, as well as two green tunics, a brown leather belt, and, to my surprise, a dress.

  “What is all of this for?” I asked.

  He scrubbed a hand over his beard and shrugged. “Thought you might like them. The shop owner gave me a deal.” He looked down at his own belt and pulled a knife from it. He tossed it in the air, where it spun end over end, and then he caught it between thumb and forefinger by the blade.

  He held it out to me. “I also think you should carry this.”

  I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from climbing up my forehead. I took the knife from him with a shaking hand. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I’d feel better if you had something on you. That whole mess with the pirates… I don’t like to think on it too long.”

  “Thank you.”

  The brash, arrogant side of him was locked away somewhere. His brown eyes were serious and his mouth was set in a firm line. I wondered, briefly, if he was considering telling me what Eryk already had. I suspected a confession like that would be hard for him. Beneath all his brawn there was a sensitive soul. I knew it. I could see it; feel it.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I reached out and rested a hand on his. The blankets around my shoulders slipped down. I caught them with one hand, pulling them tight to cover myself. I knew my shoulders were exposed, as were the tops of my breasts. Titus was doing a valiant job of looking into my eyes rather than allowing his gaze to wander.

  “It’s going to be all right, Titus.”

  “Is it?” he asked. “I wish I could be so certain of that, lass.”

  I felt like my heart had exploded into a thousand tiny shards of glass that were puncturing my lungs. His words held so much more weight than I could have ever expected. The guilt I was feeling at betraying them was reflected back at me. He was as torn up about his own actions as I was about mine.

  He stood and my hand fell from his. “I was going to stay but maybe it would be better if I get a pallet in the hall-” His voice was hollow.

  “No. You don’t have to go,” I said.

  His jaw clenched. “If I don’t leave now, I will do something I might regret.”

  I wanted to know what the truth was behind those words. What would he regret? Did he want to make love to me? Because if he did, I knew I wouldn’t deny him. My body was ready for him. That tightness had coiled into something so fierce inside me that I needed a release of some kind.

  “Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Ah, lass,” he breathed. Titus hesitated and then stretched himself out on the bed beside me. “You never have to be alone if you don’t want to be, lass. Surely you know that, don’t you? Us lads… we care about you. Far more than we should.”

  “I know,” I whispered. That raw emotion was tickling my throat but I refused to cry again. My throat was sore and my eyes were so swollen and achy that any more tears would make it too painful.

  “Come,” he said, patting the space between us. “It’s late. You’ve had a long day.”

 
I extinguished the lantern beside the bed and then moved closer, but our bodies were separated by blankets. I listened to him breathe for a while. The steady pace was relaxing, and the roll of the waves in the distance was soothing as well.

  Needing the human connection, I shimmied backwards until my back was pressed into his side. Titus sighed in my ear and drew me in closer to him. His big body was like a furnace, spreading warmth through me like I was sitting in front of a fire.

  “You can get under the blankets,” I said.

  Titus was quiet for a moment before he complied. He slipped under the blankets beside me. Now, the only thing between us was his kilt. I rolled around to face him, tucking my hand under my cheek.

  “Why have you all been so kind to me?” I asked.

  I had been wondering for quite some time why they were treating me the way they were. It would have been easier for them to lock me in a cell somewhere on the ship and treat me like a prisoner. Surely their orders weren’t to buy me new clothes and keep me well fed. And their task would’ve been far easier on their hearts and minds if they hadn’t gotten to know me.

  “We like you,” he said simply.

  “Like me?” I asked.

  He nodded and stroked my shoulder gently. “You are fierce, and strong, and you know who you are. We didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into when we—In any case, now… now, all of us have developed a certain need to care for you that we hadn’t expected.”

  “I care about all of you, too.”

  Titus smiled but there was no question that there was a sadness in it.

  “Come,” he said, wrapping a hand around my waist and drawing me to him once more, “sleep.”

  I nuzzled into him, my body draped half on top of his. One leg was hooked around his and my arm was draped over his massive chest. And, despite my tortured mind, the rhythm of his heartbeat and his steady breaths lulled me to sleep within moments.

  Chapter 12

  I recognized the body of the man lying upon the marble floors of Anaya’s throne room. From where I stood, I could only see his back, but I knew those broad shoulders and the dark hair instantly.

  Gatlin Saint John, lying in a pool of his own blood.

  I went to him, my footsteps echoing in my ears. I dropped to my knees beside him, ignoring how his blood seeped into the fabric of my black britches, and took his shoulder to turn him over. Milky, unseeing eyes stared back at me. His skin so pale it was almost white.

  He had bled out here, alone.

  My heart pounded as I scanned the rest of the room. Another body, followed by another, and another, lined up only feet apart. I didn’t want to go to them, but I knew I needed to. If, by some miracle, any of them had been left alive, they would need my help.

  I shoved back the grief that threatened to suffocate me, and forced my leaden feet into motion.

  The next body belonged to Lucian. His dark hair was slick with thick blood. He had been struck in the head--and hard. He, too, was as lifeless as Gatlin. But there was something in the expression of his twisted features that made my throat constrict.

  Fear.

  He had known fear before he died, and that chilled me to the bone. If ever there had been a fearless male, it was Lucian Saint John. Refusing to contemplate the horrors that might have put it there, I moved on, trembling from head to toe.

  Connor was next. Sweet Connor…He was face down in his own blood with a sword protruding from between his shoulder blades. Somehow, none of them had been able to shift and heal in time. I wondered if poison had been at work here.

  I swallowed back tears as I moved from Connor’s body to the last.

  Michael.

  He lay on his back, eyes closed. A spray of blood had spattered his jaw and neck, and I reached out tentatively to pull down the collar of his tunic. A deep gash from ear to ear glared angrily up at me. Torn ragged flesh disappeared as I released the collar and stumbled back, dragging Gatlin’s blood from my knees across the marble.

  Every one of my sister’s beloved mates was dead.

  What had happened here this cruel night?

  But even more terrifying was what awaited me as I turned toward the throne that sat against the wall.

  There sat Anaya, her form--still ripe with child--was draped across it like a broken doll. Her head lolled off one side while her legs had been slung off the other. A vine of blood snaked down her arm and still dripped from the tip of her finger to the floor.

  Bile blazed a path to my throat as I let out a scream, but I didn’t hear it. I was surrounded by a thick silence as I stumbled to my feet and hurried toward her.

  Taking her pale face in my hands, I shook her gently at first and then harder as I wept.

  “Anaya,” I pleaded, tears pouring down my cheeks, “please.”

  But no amount of pleading was going to change it. She was dead, just like the others.

  I crumpled to the ground and pressed my forehead against hers. Sobs shuddered through me as I knelt beside her, whispering her name, over and over, willing her to come back to me.

  So wrapped up in my grief, I didn’t realize I was not alone until a dark shadow passed over me and something cool and sharp touched my neck.

  “Sweet Iris,” a raspy voice whispered from behind me, “what shall I do with you now?”

  “Kill me,” I replied, tipping my head back. I felt no fear, no anger. A blessed numbness had settled over me. I had made a vow to myself to protect my sister and I’d failed her. What was there to live for now?

  Silence hung between us as I waited for this stranger to flick his wrist and slit my throat the way he had Michael’s. It would be quick.

  “Not yet. I want you to know the true feeling of loneliness. I want to take it all from you, the way your sister and her lovers did to me.”

  I tried to make sense of the words, but my brain felt slow and sluggish. It was only when he grabbed my shoulder and yanked me around to face him that it all fell into place.

  A golden-haired Adonis stared back at me, his face as beautiful as it was cruel.

  Sebastian Du Monde.

  “You’re…you’re dead,” I whispered, trying to stand now as I stared at the man who had reigned terror upon my people for decades before my sister had stopped him. “Anaya defeated you.”

  “A lost battle, maybe,” he conceded, his lips stretching into a smile so maniacal and hideous, it made me wonder how I’d ever thought him handsome. “But the war continues. And believe me, Iris, my revenge has only just begun.”

  He gestured out at the throne room with a harsh laugh, waving his arm in front of him like he was drawing back a curtain.

  I didn’t want to look. I’d already seen the horror that awaited.

  “No,” I whispered, pinching my eyes closed.

  “Look,” he hissed, and this time, as if my movements were controlled by an unseen hand, my head turned. “Look!”

  My eyes fluttered open to be assailed by a new scene before me. A scene that stole my very breath. And this time, when I started screaming, I wondered if I’d ever stop…

  The horrible image faded as strong hands shook my shoulders. I was sobbing and I kicked and thrashed until I struck something hard that had me stilling. Someone grunted in pain above me, and then exhaled a jumbling torrent of curses.

  “Iris,” he called. “Iris! You’re alright, lass, open your eyes!”

  I forced my lids open and found myself staring up at a square, bearded jaw and big brown eyes. A tousled mane of auburn hair framed the handsome features, and I blew out a shaky breath when I remembered where I was.

  The inn, and Titus was above me, looking down at me with deep lines of concern cut into his forehead.

  “Bloody hell, lass, you scared the life out of me,” he said, his grip still tight on my shoulders.

  “I-” I tried to speak, but my throat closed and all that came out was one short, desperate sob. I shook my head and the tears started. Closing my eyes, I tried to roll away from him, but he
gathered me close and pulled me up into his lap. He held me against his chest and stroked my hair with one hand as he let me cry. Even though I clung to his shirt, pulling it tight in my fists and soaking it through with salty tears, he never moved away or wavered. He just let me cry until it was all out. And even when the sobbing stopped, he continued to hold me, his fingers running gently through my hair.

  “There there, lass, everything is alright. I’ve got you. Was it a night terror, then?”

  I was still incapable of words, so I just nodded against his chest.

  “You’re okay,” he cooed in my ear, “nothing has changed. You’re safe. Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head. No. There was no way I would be able to tell him what I had seen in my dream. I was having a hard time coming to terms with it on my own.

  The bloody images were still imprinted on my brain. The specter of Sebastian Du Monde had killed my sister and her protectors. And then?

  I buried my face into Titus’s massive chest and sucked in a shaky breath.

  The dream had faded but I would never forget the sight of the bodies. Piled up like so much garbage. Eryk. Titus. Dimitri. Mathias. And more. Women, both old and young, and children…

  He had killed the men I had come to care for, and their families, too.

  I swallowed the knot in my throat and pushed the image away.

  When I finally had myself under control, I leaned back and looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “Sorry? Don’t apologize, lass. Nightmares are a reflection of our deepest fears. It’s no wonder you’re shaken. It’s been a hard time, and for that, I’m sorry.”

  His words hit me in the gut, the truth in them sending my brain reeling.

  I’d been devastated at the sight of Anaya and her mates, but given my fears for her and the past with Du Monde, the dream made sense.

  The way I’d felt when I’d seen Titus and the others? The way I’d felt when I’d thought I’d somehow failed them and their families?