Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Markadian brings a hand to Kaleb’s shoulder, his fingertips grazing, as if brushing off lint. He smiles. “One should understand one’s own beauty. It’s important to use it, too.” He starts circling Kaleb again, only this time, it feels different, calculated somehow. “See how you have me completely enraptured? See how you have me spellbound? Tell me to do something, I may yet indulge you, anything you wish for. A bigger room? Done. A hundred violins? Done. A hundred thousand dollars? Done.”
Kaleb doesn’t believe a word of it. How could he? This is the Lord Markadian, the superior of the gods and goddesses here, the one in control, the one with ultimate power.
With the violin still raised, Kaleb says, “I would never … I would never use my … my looks to …” How does he say it? “I don’t think I’m the, uh, kind of guy who’d—”
“I cannot bring you harm. Do you realize that?” Markadian lets out a breath. “I cannot even bite you, if I wanted.”
Kaleb lowers the violin slightly, eyes wide.
“Oh, how adorable,” sings Markadian, voice growing playful by the second, unraveled, which somehow makes Kaleb even more uneasy. “Surely you know that is why you donate blood. Is it not something you’ve discussed with your fellow mortals?”
“I … I’ve never donated.”
Markadian stops. “You mean to say you’ve … never even been tasted? … Not even once?”
“No.”
“Ah, the gift Ashara has brought me …” He comes around to the front. “And yet it is so cruel … a cruel temptation …” Then he laughs it off. “But this only proves my point. You may see me a certain way, as I am sure so many do, but do you not notice the irony that it is in fact you who holds the power? I can’t touch you, even if—” His eyes drift down Kaleb’s body. He sighs, turns away.
Kaleb presses his lips together, uncertain of what to do. Then: “Perhaps another song?”
Markadian says nothing, then flicks a hand, gesturing to go on, to play, too perturbed to speak.
So Kaleb starts to play. Again. This time, the melody is not so confident. It wavers in places. Sometimes the string feels too tight, then not tight enough. Kaleb evens out his breathing as he works to regain control of his hands, his fingers, his rhythm. He is late to notice that Markadian has turned again, facing him to listen. Or perhaps just to stare at him some more. Kaleb, his hands at work, the music nearly automatic, he only has his eyes to communicate. He watches Markadian evenly, with steady, guarded eyes, watches the king of the gods as he plays the song without interruption. Markadian remains absolutely still, their eyes not once breaking from one another’s. Is Kaleb caught in a trance, or Markadian?
Kaleb nearly forgets he’s naked, forgets he stands exposed on an enormous stage before someone who is undoubtedly the most powerful man here, the most dangerous.
Yet he covets Kaleb like a gift he’s been given. Worships the blood in his veins. Reveres him.
Isn’t this very situation what Raya had been trying to warn him about without saying it directly? The deadly siblings? Their deadlier games?
Maybe this is exactly where Kaleb wants to be. At the center of it. With influence over the pieces. With a power of his own.
To wield advantage over the king of the gods.
Kaleb grits his teeth, then asks: “Do you … want to touch me?”
Markadian remains absolutely still. His eyes, still locked upon Kaleb’s. Did he hear the question?
The moment Kaleb is about to repeat himself, Markadian takes a step toward him. Then another. He is careful with how he approaches, Kaleb notices. The man slowly starts to circle once again, this time much closer. He leans toward Kaleb’s ear.
“Yes,” he whispers.
Kaleb keeps playing the violin. He thinks of Raya’s words. Raya’s warnings. Markadian and Ashara. “Go ahead,” Kaleb tells him, his words coming out far more playful and teasing than he intended. He tries to sound more confident and self-assured when he adds: “You can touch me.”
Markadian disappears around Kaleb.
He feels a hand on the back of his bare leg.
Fingertips, smooth and soft, gently dragging up his leg, up the sensitive skin of his right butt cheek, to the small of his back where it almost tickles, up to his shoulder blade. Fingertips are soon replaced by the cooler, even softer touch of lips.
Lord Markadian’s lips.
Kaleb swallows, his breathing changed.
“I would so … so enjoy to …” Markadian’s words are soft tufts of air upon the back of Kaleb’s neck, tickling the tiny hairs there. “No. I shouldn’t … I dare not ask …”
Kaleb turns his head slightly. “Ask what?”
Markadian’s lips touch Kaleb’s shoulder again, and there is another hand now gently gliding up the back of Kaleb’s other leg, coming to rest upon his left butt cheek, where it gives a testing squeeze, as if to appraise its firmness. “It’s impossible,” Markadian whispers, kisses again, sighs. “Never mind.”