Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 49

49

VENOMOUS

Benedikt

I’m on high alert when I amble into Ivory’s apartment, waiting for Guerra to pop out from around the corner at any given moment. She may be beautiful, and deep down I might have a hopeful streak that she’ll eventually realize I’m the better option, but I’d be an idiot to fully trust her given what I know.

Ivory sets her purse onto the edge of the counter and shrugs out of her coat, laying it over one of the dining room chairs not far away. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? I think I still have some wine, too.”

“I’m good for now, thank you.” Following her lead, I peel off my coat as well, setting it over hers, and promptly take residence on one of the stools at the counter.

She moves around the cozy kitchen effortlessly, the short, flowy hem of her white lace dress swaying with each motion. Grabbing first a plate from one of the cupboards and a fork from one of the drawers, she then retrieves a small round cake from fridge. “I hope it’s good.”

Not gonna lie… I’m impressed, perhaps a bit stunned, too. “Medovik. You remembered.”

Ivory smiles and it appears to be authentic, beaming proudly over the dessert. “Of course. I told you I wanted to try it, and I figured I could use this as part of my apology.”

“Apology?” I hedge, arching a curious brow.

“For how difficult I’ve been.” She laments with a shrug, puffing out a breath. “We’re getting married tomorrow, Benedikt. I don’t want us to be at odds for the rest of our lives. That’s no way to live. I realize there’s a lot to work past here, mainly all that happened with Rio and my resistance to our arrangement, but for what it’s worth—I did genuinely enjoy your company when we first met. I was attracted to you, and you were right to think we had a connection, because we did. That wasn’t Rio’s doing by any means. That was just… us.”

“Were attracted to me?” I hedge once more, tilting my head aside. “As in, past tense?”

“Was spotty there for a moment, especially after the altercation. But I’m seeing what I saw in the beginning again and honestly… I don’t hate it.”

Well, color me intrigued. I see right through her spiel, of course, but I’m interested to see how far she’ll go, how far she’s willing to take this perfectly timed little facade of hers. “Come here,” I command, pointing to the open space between my thighs .

Ivory hesitates for only a second, then slides around the counter into my bubble.

I reel her in gently, my hands falling to her waist and bring my lips to her ear. “Is he out of the picture like I asked?”

She nods surely. “Long gone.”

Lies.

“Are you saying you’re finally going to give me a real shot now?” I murmur, pulling her in all the more close.

Again, she bobs her head and proceeds to smooth her dainty hands around my neck. “I’d very much like to, yes.”

And I’d love nothing more than to believe her, to think that when Guerra showed up here the other night it was for the sole purpose of telling him to fuck off. That she finally had the come to Jesus moment I’d been waiting for. But I’m not as stupid as she seems to think I am. They’re still very much involved, and she’s up to something.

Whatever this is assures me of it.

How convenient that the night before our wedding she changes her tune and suddenly wants to make it work?

Please.

“Why the sudden change of heart, malish?” I question, thoroughly eager to hear what her reply might be.

Ivory jerks her shoulders and leans into me, her lips now millimeters from mine. “Because I don’t want to hate my husband, and like you said, I know we can be happy.”

“I don’t want you to hate me, either,” I whisper, brushing our lips together and noting the fact she doesn’t pull away. “I meant what I said the other day. I’m sorry for frightening you, for putting my hands on you the way I did. It was vile, and it’ll never happen again.”

“You’re forgiven, as long as I’m forgiven, too,” she states.

“Right now, pressed up against me like this?” I kiss her then, gently, unhurried, grabbing two handfuls of her ass. Again, she doesn’t fend me off, no protest to be heard. “Yeah, you’re forgiven.”

Ivory laughs softly against my mouth, and with one last kiss, eases back. “Can I cut you a slice before I go change into my pjs?”

She’s good, I’ll give her that. If I was a fool who didn’t know any better, her performance would be all too convincing right about now. Nothing about the way she allowed me to kiss her said she didn’t enjoy it, that it was forced or unwelcome. She practically melted into me, molding to my frame like she was every bit mine.

“Please do,” I hum, watching as she slinks her way back around the counter and breezily goes about serving me a decent slice.

Once she disappears into her bedroom, I’m left to dissect and further question her motives. There’s no doubt in my mind she’s up to something and as I’m mulling over the what in that equation, my gaze falls to the cake. It looks delicious, exactly as it should: every layer of the honey sponge thin and equally sized, enough cream between. Even the pastry crumbles on top are blitzed to perfection.

The wheels start turning as the light bulb in the attic of my mind flickers ominously. Again, how convenient the night before our wedding is the very night her entire demeanor makes a turn for the better. Her, the baker, who just to so happen to make something especially for me and could probably?—

A soft thump draws my attention away from the cake to Ivory’s purse, which is now on the floor, most of its contents spilling and rolling free. I’m guessing the sheer weight must have knocked it over upon settling. Wallet, keys, a switchblade, pepper spray, makeup, a hairbrush, gum—all the usual items in a woman’s purse.

But then I spot a small vial…

My eyebrows become one as I step off the stool and bend at the knees to retrieve it, rotating the three-inch piece of glass until a handwritten label comes into view.

Aconite.

A violet residue clings to the very bottom, enough to produce maybe a single drop…