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But now she lay curled next to him, her warm skin pressed against his. They’d removed the soot laden bedding and rested on the bare mattress underneath. Her steady breaths issued up. Sweet. Peaceful. Unmoving.
He couldn’t stand it.
At first, he thought he could. She’d brought him down, distracted him from his pain and anguish. But she’d taken him so thoroughly, his thoughts were now consumed by the exquisiteness of being inside her. About how she’d looked when she’d shoved her round ass into his face, bent over, staring seductively at him through her legs and all his good intentions shriveled like the last leaves of autumn.
And yet, Rothbart wasn’t a monster. He slid his finger over her arm in a feather-light touch, determined to wake her slowly. She didn’t stir until he stroked his fingers over her jawline, caressing her throat and down between her beautiful full breasts.
Odette went rigid. “Stop,” she gasped. She shoved an elbow into his gut, painfully knocking the air out of him. The warmth of her body disappeared as she jerked away.
“Stop,” she said again, but the words were filled with anguish, like he’d been hurting her.
Rothbart gripped his stomach, thinking about the bruiseshe’dcausedhim. He waved a hand, and the lantern relit, casting a yellowish glow over them.
“What the hell, Odette?” Clenching his teeth, he rolled into a sitting position to see her better.
She sat on the bed, pressed against the wall, as far away from him as possible, gasping for breath. To Rothbart’s horror, these gasps for breaths sounded close to sobs. When she rubbed a hand over her soot covered face, he let out a low curse. Shewascrying.
He didn’t know what to say. “Did I… hurt you?” he asked, knowing perfectly well he hadn’t.
A cry of frustration released from her, and she again wiped at her tears, now looking almost angry. She tore her gaze from his and stared at the wall, her panic slowing. “You can’t touch me like that. Ever.”
He snorted. “What? You mean gently?”
She still didn’t look at him and her voice dropped close to a whisper. “My mother, as lead assassin, had strict rules. Before you became a full-fledged member, you had to prove your commitment by making a kill of her choosing.”
“Lovely.”
Odette trembled, her expression haunted in a way that turned Rothbart’s stomach and made him want to do something, anything to change it.
She paused for a long moment before finally speaking. “I had a lover back then. Bastion. He was an ordinary boy. Gentle. Not a violent bone in his body. He didn’t know I was an assassin, and I thought I had kept him well hidden from mother. But when my initiation killing came up, I found out how wrong I was.”
“She chose Bastion as your initiation kill.”
Odette swallowed, but nodded.
The stone in Rothbart’s gut soured, leaving him nauseous.
“I told her no, at first. That I’d leave the assassins for him.” She shut her eyes, and a shudder ran through her. “But I wasn’t just any potential assassin. I was the daughter of the most elite assassin in the kingdom, and the Night Hawk’s future leader. Backing out wasn’t an option. Sh-she said either I killed Bash or she’d assassinate his entire family and blame it on me.”
“Shit.”
She opened her eyes to gaze at him. The agony mixed with self-hatred unnerved Rothbart. He hated that look.
He hated when people he cared for hurt.
“I had no choice.” Her voice was shredded, broken. “Bash was a good man. I was the one who had dragged him into my life. I should have known…” She shook her head. “He loved his family. Spoke about them all the time. He’d never have chosen himself over them. So on the night we met for the last time, I made love to him, like we’d always done. It was the last thing I could offer him, a moment of pleasure… before… before… He was so gentle, every touch, every caress…”
Her face was blank, her voice so empty, it hollowed Rothbart out just hearing it.
Lifting her shoulders, she sucked in a deep breath. “I waited until we were finished. Until he’d fallen asleep. Then I took a knife and slit his throat.”
She said it with an emotionless finality.
An ache started in Rothbart’s muscles and he ordered himself to unclench his hands.He wanted to take her in her arms. He wanted to protect that girl whose mother had forced her to make such a horrible choice. But it was too late. In one night, that girl had been turned into a hardened killer. At least, that is what Odette believed.
Despite the fact that Elna had testified to her reluctance when standing over him with a knife clutched in her hands. Despite the fact that she had saved his sister from her own fellow assassins instead of saving herself and the others.
Odette may have killed. She may have been about to kill him that night she came to his home. But Odette was no killer.
