Page 21 of Marked By Him

“Twenty-six.” I stabbed another carrot. “Well, twenty-four now.”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected me. “Unless you’re still planning on going back.”

He said it as though staying here was an option. He spoke as if everything wasn’t temporary. And for a second, I wanted to believe him. For a moment, I saw a world with hot meals and warm baths and soft chuckles.

Briefly, I let myself hope.

And something told me that hope was going to be the death of me.

I needed rest. I needed to be alone with my thoughts. I needed to be away from those eyes, those lips, and the silky sound of his voice. “You said there’s a bed? I didn’t get much sleep last night.”Due to being tied to a chair.

“It’s upstairs.” He slid his chair away from the table, then walked back into the kitchen. A few seconds later, he placed a clear glass full of amber liquid in front of me. “Here. This will help.”

I picked it up and inhaled the sweet, woodsy scent. It was like nothing I’d ever smelled before. “Help with what?”

“Everything.”

10

Roman

I wasthe oldest of three boys. Our father died climbing a mountain, scaling for rocks. The men in our community climbed the mountains that surrounded us often. We were skilled, had been trained to climb since we were young. We used stone from the mountainside for buildings, pathways, altars, and fire pits.

All it took was a moment—one misstep, a seventy-foot fall, and a broken spine. One fucking heartbeat and our father was gone.

Mom died of a broken heart not long after that.

Death was the consequence of love.

Death left me in charge of a flock before I’d turned thirty years old.

Death was the reason I lived in this house alone, and it was the reason I had to stay that way.

All I needed to do was find Eve a family to stay with. The women would teach her to work the looms. She would meet a man who hadn’t taken a wife yet. The ritual would bind them. My duty to her would be done.

That was what I convinced myself as I stood in the doorway of my spare bedroom and watched her sleep.

I told myself she could never be mine as I drank her in. Her long hair fanned out on the pillow around her head. The shadows beneath her eyes had disappeared.

She looked so peaceful.

Fucking intoxicating.

If she stayed here, one day she’d be in someone else’s bed, satisfied and content.

Jealousy was a foreign emotion for me. I was complacent with my life. I had known love once. Once was more than some people got. I was okay with being alone. I deserved to be alone. But as I imagined Eve naked, on the altar, while someone else claimed her, envy clawed at my insides.

She was mine.

She was sent to me. Given to me.

Her spirit, her fire, and that utterly sated look she had right now—the look she’d have after I fucked all the fight out of her. I wanted more of it. Me. Only me. And that was a fucking problem.

And then, like a warning bell keeping me from stepping over the threshold, there was a loud knock on the front door.

I hurried downstairs and opened the door before whoever it was knocked again and woke her. My two younger brothers stood on the porch, grinning like they had a secret they couldn’t wait to tell.

Ezekiel was the middle child and the most mild-mannered of us all. He’d been married since he was eighteen years old. He had two children with another one on the way. When our father died, Ezekiel took his place as a craftsman. He’d also been voted as Speaker for the council. He was kind and smart and I’d never once seen him lose his temper. Sometimes I wondered if he should have been the Shepherd instead of me.

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