It’s only when we reach his room that he finally sets me down, all but throwing me onto the bed with a force that steals the breath from my lungs. I scramble to sit up, my heart in my throat as I watch him pace the length of the room, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, unable to bear the tense silence any longer. “I know it was reckless of me to leave the castle, but I had to see Lily. It was important.”
Nickolas rounds on me, his eyes flashing with a fury that sends a shiver down my spine. “So you could ask her about your family,” he snarls, his lip curling in a sneer. “Don’t bother denying it, Amelia. I know she’s your cousin.”
I feel the blood drain from my face, my mouth falling open in shock. “How… how did you…?”
“You think I wouldn’t fucking notice the resemblance?” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “The way you two are so close, the little similarities in your features? I’m not an idiot, Amelia. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”
“P-please,” I stammer, my voice barely a whisper as I struggle to form words, my throat suddenly parched. “Don’t hurt her. She’s pregnant, Nickolas. She’s no threat to you.”
Something flickers in his eyes at that, a brief flash of surprise quickly replaced by a grim sort of understanding. “Don’t worry, Eric would never let me lay a finger on her, and I’m not that much of a monster, no matter what you might think of me, Amelia.”
I feel some of the tension drain out of me at his words, a shaky exhale escaping my lips as I close my eyes in relief. But it’s short-lived because, in the next moment, Nickolas is looming over me, his hand fisting in my hair as he tilts my head back to meet his gaze.
“But you,” he murmurs, his breath fanning hot against my cheek. “Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something fucking happened to you? How utterly destroyed I would be if I lost you again?”
My heart stutters in my chest. There’s a raw sort of vulnerability there, a desperate intensity that steals the breath from my lungs.
“I had to see her,” I whisper, my voice little more than a ragged rasp.
He closes his eyes, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw as he visibly struggles to rein in his temper. “Don’t ever fucking do it again. I can’t…” he says, his grip tightening on my hair as he opens his eyes. He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; his meaning is clear. My heart races in my chest. Nickolas is going to be the death of me. I’m so confused right now.
“I won’t,” I promise, holding his gaze. I stare deeply into Nickolas’s eyes, searching for the truth of his soul in those fathomless green depths. For a moment, just a heartbeat suspended in time, I see him – all of him, laid bare and vulnerable in a way I know he rarely allows.
But then he’s dropping his gaze to my lips, his own parting slightly as he wets them with the tip of his tongue. I can see the intent in his eyes, the hunger that simmers just beneath the surface as he starts to close the distance between us.
Anger flares in my chest, and I turn my face away at the last second, feeling his lips graze my cheek in a feather-light caress. “I’m not having sex with you again,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I rise from the bed, putting some much-needed distance between us.
It’s not that I don’t want him. God, every cell in my body is screaming at me to give in, to let him consume me in the way only he can. But I know that if I let him kiss me, if I allow myself to get lost in the heat of his touch… there’ll be no turning back.
And right now, with the wounds of his words still raw and bleeding, I can’t afford to let my guard down like that. Not again.
Nickolas makes a low, frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands coming up to grip my arms as he tries to tug me closer once more. “Amelia, I told you,” he rasps, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. “I don’t regret what happened between us. Not for a single moment.”
I scoff, the sound harsh and bitter even to my own ears as I wrench myself out of his grasp. “You sure have a funny way of showing it,” I mutter, my gaze skittering away from his as I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under the intensity of his stare.
“Then tell me how I can prove it to you,” he demands, the words coming out like a challenge. “Tell me what I need to do to make you believe me, Amelia.”
My head snaps up at that, my eyes widening in shock as I take in the fierce, almost desperate expression on his face. He’s serious, I realize, with a start. He actually wants to prove himself to me, to find some way to bridge the chasm of hurt and mistrust that yawns between us.
The realization sends a flicker of something dangerously close to hope, sparking to life in my chest, but I quickly tamp it down. I can’t afford to let myself be swayed by pretty words and empty promises. Not again.
But maybe… maybe there is something he can do.
“Tell me how you got the scars on your body,” I say quietly, holding his gaze steadily even as my heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Nickolas blinks, clearly taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “How the fuck does that prove anything?” he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.
I shrug, trying to keep my expression neutral even as my palms grow damp with nerves. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “But if you can’t trust me with that part of yourself, with the truth of your past… then how can I believe anything else you say?”
For a long, tense moment, he simply stares at me, his jaw clenched, and his eyes shadowed with some unnamable emotion. I can practically see the war raging behind that inscrutable gaze, the battle between his desire to keep me close and his fear of letting me in.
“Amelia,” he says, at last, my name emerging on a soft, almost reverent exhale. My insides dance at the way he called my name, but I push the feeling aside, refusing to let it sway me.
“No, Nickolas,” I cut him off, my voice trembling slightly but filled with a quiet sort of conviction. “If you really want to prove to me that you don’t regret what happened between us, then you’ll tell me about your scars.” I can’t let this opportunity slip away without uncovering the truth about what happened to him.
He closes his eyes, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse to shut me out and walk away like he did last time.
But then he’s taking a deep, shuddering breath and reaching for the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head in one smooth motion. I suck in a sharp gasp at the sight of his bare torso, at the way the muscles of his chest and abdomen ripple and flex with each ragged inhale.
And then he’s turning around, baring the ruined expanse of his back to my gaze. I can’t help the soft, wounded sound that escapes me at the sight of those scars, the way they crisscross his skin in a grotesque tapestry of pain and suffering.
Slowly, I close the distance between us, my heart pounding in my chest as I reach out with a trembling hand. My fingertips hover over one of the scars for a breathless moment, tracing the jagged line without quite making contact.
Then, ever so gently, I let my palm settle against his skin, feeling the way he shudders beneath my touch. Nickolas sucks in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing as if bracing for a blow. But he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t try to stop me as I map the raised edges of the scar with a feather-light caress.
Emboldened by his stillness, I lean in and press my lips to the puckered flesh, my eyes fluttering closed as I breathe in the scent of him. It’s a barely-there touch, the ghost of a kiss, but I pour every ounce of tenderness and acceptance I possess into that fleeting contact.
I need him to know that these scars, these marks of his suffering, don’t diminish him in my eyes. That they could never make him any less beautiful.
When I finally pull back, Nickolas turns to face me, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. His eyes search mine, dark and fathomless and filled with a desperate sort of intensity that steals the breath from my lungs.
“Amelia,” he rasps, his voice rough with emotion. “Can you promise me something?”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight with apprehension. “What is it?” I whisper, almost afraid to hear his answer.
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his gaze never leaving mine as he reaches out to take my hand in his. His fingers tremble against my skin, betraying the depth of his nerves.
“Promise me that no matter what I tell you, no matter how ugly or painful the truth might be… you won’t leave me.”
My heart clenches at the plea in his voice, at the way his grip tightens on my hand as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away at any moment. “Nickolas,” I start, my voice cracking on his name.
But he cuts me off before I can continue, his expression fierce with a desperate sort of determination. “Promise me,” he repeats, the words emerging like a prayer. “Please, Amelia. I need to hear you say it.”
I hesitate for a long moment, my mind whirling with the weight of what he’s asking. Can I really make such a vow? But as I stare into those haunted green eyes, seeing the raw, aching vulnerability that lies just beneath the surface… I know I can’t deny him this. Not when he’s looking at me like that.
So I nod, my throat too tight to speak, as I squeeze his hand in silent reassurance. It’s a promise I’m not sure I can keep, a vow that may very well come back to haunt me. But in this moment, with Nickolas laid bare before me in every sense of the word, I can’t bring myself to refuse.
He closes his eyes for a brief moment, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight has been lifted from them. When he opens them again, there’s a new resolve burning in their depths, a grim sort of determination that sends a shiver down my spine.
“I was raped,” he says, and I freeze, unable to believe my ears.