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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HENRY
There’s a limit after all.
I pull the gauzy scarf off the bedside light, making the room brighter. It’s a fire hazard, one I will be pointing out when she wakes up again. Eve still looks pale, and even though her bed is a small double, she’s lost in the white bedding.
Replacing the bedside lamp with the dimmed torch on my phone, I swipe away the message from Simon. My head is too much of a fucking mess to deal with anything right now. I can still smell her blood, even though we’re both washed and changed. I’ve never seen anything like it before. No one’s bled for me like that.
As sick as it is, a murmur of pleasure sparks inside me at the thought as I resist the urge to touch her. To shake her awake and put the fear of my undiluted, uncontrolled rage into her.
“So fucking reckless,” I hiss quietly at her, even though I want to shout it in her face until she realises the gravity of what she’s done.
The blame isn’t on her, I tell myself as I ghost my fingers over the back of her hand. I should’ve stopped the instant I realised she was a virgin. Eve’s just a fucking child. A teenager. A too-ripe forbidden fruit that I plucked from the tree. Now all that’s left is a mess.
The right thing would’ve been to step back and put an end to this madness. Because now, she’s more than an itch I can’t quite scratch. So much more than a mouthwatering scent I want a curious taste of. Eve’s given me something I’ve never had before, and now I don’t just want a taste. I want to feast, all the fucking time until my gluttony threatens to burst my insides.
Whether she wants it or not, she’s mine now. Doesn’t matter what happens from here on out. She’s not just sweet, beautiful Eve. She’s my Eve above all else.
“My darling Eve.” I took her, and I’m going to keep her.
The loud vibration of my phone causes her to stir before I can stop it. Everything outside of this room can wait. Eve is the only thing that matters right now. After I’ve put the Do Not Disturb on, I pull the cover higher up her chest, watching the steady flicker of her eyes as she sleeps. It takes everything in me not to stroke her face or kiss the upturn of her nose. I’ve never enjoyed kissing. It’s much too personal, a mutual taste of affection that I’ve never wanted nor given. But I want it with her. All her fucking kisses. Every sliver of her taste.
Today is the first time that I’ve truly wished my father was here. He would’ve known what to do. How to fix this disease she has. Fixing people was the thing he was best at. And the one time I need him for it, he’s gone.
This is the first time I’m feeling his absence deep in my bones. It’s choking my insides with a pain that I can hardly bear. Grief blackens my being. And I wish I’d made Chapman’s whore suffer. I wish I’d made her scream the heavens down. But it’s not over yet—she was just one part of him.
There’s more to bleed and destroy.
Twisting the ring on my finger, I take another look around the small bedroom. Everything is neat, clean, and basic. Much like Eve, her home is straightforward. No frills, just the essentials. For a while, I try to force myself to calm down. I close my eyes and attempt to clear my mind, but the deep breathing only makes the smell of her blood stronger. If anything, it makes it harder to stop myself from becoming any more stir-crazy.
I wander over to her chest of drawers, pausing in front of the cluster of photo frames. There’s a few of her and a dark-haired woman with a boy. He has her blonde hair and dark eyes, but aside from that, he looks like one of the men she’s posing with in another photo. A young Eve is smiling broadly while the men are both in ceremonial uniform, but the older of the two is wearing army colours while the younger is wearing Marine colours. I wonder if I ever met him, maybe even served with him.
“You’re still here,” Eve whispers from behind me.
She sounds tired, and when I turn to look at her, she still looks awfully pale in the black attire the maid at Hush brought up for her. I’m not sure how she manages to get on her feet with how frail she still looks. The black leggings make her legs appear thinner than ever, and the black long-sleeved top brings out the stark pallidness in her face.
“Get back into bed and rest.”
Giving me a faint smile, she comes to stand in front of me. I can sense her nervous energy as she focuses on the photo in my hand.
“That was taken when Joe graduated from Lympstone,” she whispers, stroking over the photo. “It was the last photo the three of us took together. After that, Joe was moved to Stonehouse, and Dad and I stayed on at the Woolwich Garrison.”
“Just you and your father?”
“Yep.” She blows out a breath, taking the photo from me and wiping it with her sleeve before putting it back down.
A quiet laugh stirs in my chest as she adjusts it just so, right back where it was before I picked it up. The nervousness that emanated from her earlier morphs into sadness, piquing my curiosity. I should’ve asked more questions before. Maybe I wouldn’t have hurt her the way I did today.
All the times I thought about it before, my insides flamed to life. The need to feel her to the extreme was overwhelming then. It still is now, and it’s why I should put as much space between us as possible. But I can’t, and I won’t. I want her more now than I did before. The image of her bleeding for me—because of me—is as beautiful as it is sickening. Eve is my beautiful sickness. So wrong and so right.
“My dad died on a recon mission to Afghanistan a few years later, and I ended up living with Joe and his family. Jess was pregnant with George at the time, and Joe was being deployed. It worked out in an odd way.” She continues fussing over the photos. “This is Jess.” She points out the dark-haired woman in one of the pictures. Eve smiles over her shoulder, adding, “And this is George. He’s my favourite person in the entire world.”
The kid may be cute, but I don’t like that he’s her favourite person. Following her gaze to the large photo at the back of the cluster, I take in the small blonde woman in the image. It’s dark and a little grainy—an old picture— but I can make out her arms wrapped around her pregnant belly.
“Where’s your mother?” I ask, watching her face morph into a morose expression. It seems as though she’s contemplating whether to answer or maybe how. When she doesn’t reply, I pick up the photo to examine it for myself.
The woman is as stunning as Eve. Paler and very slight in comparison. If I thought Eve was delicate before, I’d say this woman is positively frail.
