Page 46 of Pride: Kneel Before None

One slow and telegraphed step forward pushed her to take one clumsy step back.

Great. I didn’t have time for this bullshit. My patience came at a premium.

A sigh as rough as sandpaper escaped me as I lowered my hands to my sides. “Tell me one thing, Eve. What you saw, did it frighten you? Or are you just rattled because it excited you?”

Her jaw ticked as she clenched it.

Silence surrounded us, except for the clinking of the ice cube maker in the background. If she refused to answer, to deny whatever truth lay between us now instead of confronting it, so be it.

“Fine. Have it your way. When you’re ready to face reality, let me know.”

I snagged the whiskey bottle by its neck, frustration mounting that I was being blamed for something I hadn’t even done yet. Either she enjoyed what her vision showed her, or it left her scared.

Denial didn’t suit either of us.

Halfway to the stairs, her voice came out hoarse but steady. “Where are you going?”

I took a long draw from the whiskey before responding gruffly. “Didn’t you see it in your vision?” The bitter edge mimicked the burn of the alcohol down my throat.

On that note, I retreated to the master bedroom where I holed myself away in the en suite bathroom. The slam of the door behind me rattled the frame, the bottle threatening to crack when I set it down on the sink vanity, and my temper brewed like a storm unlike anything Superbia had ever witnessed.

My hands gripped the edge of the sink hard enough to threaten the porcelain’s integrity. Each breath that filled my lungs acted as an effort to maintain control. I wouldn’t unleash the hellfire that ran hot in my veins on her—never on her.

Yet, to say that I wasn’t vibrating with tension would have been a lie. My jaw locked down tight enough to threaten cracking my molars.

Staring into the mirror at my reflection, my eyes flickered between the deadly calm shade of hemlock and flashes of crimson from the demon trapped beneath the façade.

Despite Eve testing my self-control, she would realize her role in my deck of cards when the time was right. I just needed to hold my hand until the right deal came along.

My skin felt like it was burning up, my shirt was too tight, and my body held enough pent-up energy to power half the city. I pulled at the shirt’s buttons, sacrificing a few when I used too much force. Jerky movements tore the fabric from my body, suspenders snapping free as I stripped down. All my clothes ended on the floor in a lifeless heap.

One savage twist of the shower faucet, nearly dislodging it from the wall, and the bathroom quickly filled with steam that promised to seep into my muscles.

Taking the whiskey with me into the open stall, the multiple showerheads beat down on me. My hand wiped water away from my face and through my dark hair.

I wanted to be under her skin, not her under mine.

When the tables turned, and I was the one who couldn’t see what lay ahead, why the fuck did it bother me so much?

The occasional sip of whiskey chased away thoughts that crept too close to something resembling vulnerability.

By the time I scrubbed myself raw and drank enough to feel a pleasant looseness in my body, I emerged from the shower feeling my control steadying.

That was until my temper was reignited by the pounding of small hands on the bathroom door. It seemed someone hadn’t cooled off.

Fucking persistent, if nothing else.

The wooden door buffered Eve’s voice, but her resurgence of confidence rang unmistakably clear. “You have something else coming if you think that coming up here to brood all night is going to avoid giving me answers I deserve.”

I stood there, dripping onto the bathmat, dead set on letting her blow off all her steam a little longer. Ace Reynard didn’t bow to the whims of pissed-off little spades.

“If you don’t come out and face me like the demon you pretend to be, I will enlist every last witch in Superbia to cast their most horrid spells on you, Barnabel.” She spat out my given name sharper than the edge of a knight’s blade.

My Little Spade seemed to know which of my buttons would be equivalent to apocalyptic launch codes—no surprise there. The true shock that settled uncomfortably into my bones was that I hadn’t turned the door into splinters the second she used that name.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fuck that name out of her or fuck it into her. I may not have been blessed with the foresight of when I would finally wreck that untouched cunt of hers. But the fantasized visuals in my head? Those promised sweet ruin.

Ruin that was going to happen right goddamn now.