The House of the Wicked (The snake and the raven #1)

18. Nora

Nora

there you ar e

P ulsing waves of pain lance the walls of my mind. Each time my eyes close, the pain thickens. Groaning, my hands blindly reach for the pillow next to me, pulling it over my face. Anything to blot out the punishing rays of early morning sunshine slicing through my closed eyelids.

God, why did I have so much wine last night?

With my pillow shield firmly pressed to my face, I roll to my side and scream into the downy softness. The hangover’s bad, but even worse than the torturous pain thrumming inside my head is the memory of August, the alcove, his fingers, my fingers, and his words. Christ, his words.

If you were mine, Nora…

After making me come harder than I’ve ever come before, he simply walked out, leaving me panting, coming down from the shattering orgasm, struggling to process what he’d done to me… Process the way he’d made me feel, the way his touch made me forget. He’d simply walked away. If I was in the mood to reflect on everything that happened in the alcove —and I’m not—I’d acknowledge the shame coursing through my body this morning. I’d allow my anger to rush in, hot on shame’s heels. I might even register the worthlessness washing over me at the thought of him walking out. But I’m not in the mood for any of that. I’m in the mood to rot. And thankfully, at least that seems to be going my way.

The house is quiet. Ricky’s probably out; Dima will only be back from visiting her family tomorrow. So, pulling the pillow away from my face and peeling one eye open, I relish the silence. It’s perfect, and yet… It’s dangerous—a cloak to ward off the world but also keep my melancholy close. It’s the kind of silence that amplifies my self-pity and the searing burn of insignificance that’s harder and harder to shake off.

I should get up.

With a deep sigh, I roll off my bed and instantly, a sharp, stabbing pain pierces my stomach. And then, seconds later, a warm rush of sticky moisture dampens my thighs. Fucking wonderful. Because there’s nothing that drives home a pity party quite like the arrival of my period. Stomping into the bathroom, ignoring the buzz of my ringing phone, whoever’s looking for me can wait a goddamn minute.

M y reflection startles me as I stand in front of my bathroom mirror. Turning on the tap to wash my hands, the broken girl staring back at me in the mirror sends me racing back into my room. A shower would go a long way to washing this misery off my soul, but that requires a lot more energy than my limbs possess. F linging myself back onto my bed. A grumble rattles out of me as my phone buzzes again. Thalia’s name blinks on the screen, next to two notifications. One missed call. One text.

Thals

Call me.

My finger brushes over her profile picture while my mind riots at the thought of speaking to her. Guilt that should’ve been Adam's to bear slices into me as my finger hits the call button. I feel like I’ve betrayed her.

“Nor?” Shit, she’s crying.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, chewing on my lip as an uneasy feeling climbs my spine.

“Adam and I are over. Done. He ended things.” She stumbles over the words as more tears spill out of her.

“What?” I should try harder to sound shocked. I’m not. What I am, is relieved.

“Last night.” Heartbroken sobs cut through her words. “Last night, he called.” More tears. I hate them. I hate that her sadness is wasted on someone so unworthy. “He said he was done. He doesn’t love me.” Fucking bastard.

“Thals, I am so sorry.” It’s a weak offer of support. Truthfully, I’m sorry she’s hurting. I’m sorry she’s being cast aside for his misplaced ambitions. I’m not sorry they’re over, though. And I’m not sorry she’s free of him and the miserable life he would’ve inevitably dragged her through.

“I just don’t understand,” she says, slowly regaining her composure.

“Did he say anything else?”

“N o, nothing. Just that he’s sorry and his feelings changed.” She sniffs around her words. “Years, Nor. I’ve given him years.”

“I don’t know what to say.” The urge to lay the truth at her feet is overwhelming. She deserves to know everything. To know Adam’s not the man for her. She deserves better, more, the world. But I’m a coward. And my truth won’t only damn Adam, it will damn me too. Even though I’ve done nothing to encourage him, she might see my part in her heartbreak as a betrayal.

“I feel so blindsided. I mean, he’s been distant lately. And then the mayor's ball thing was strange. But I never saw this coming.”

“Neither did I.” The lie slips so easily from my lips.

“My finals are next week, and I think I’m going to leave town after graduation.” Rolling onto my back, I listen to her plans. Adam’s cost me a friend. I should feel sad, but I don’t. I’m jealous and happy. Jealous because I want to leave, and happy because nothing good will come from this place, and Thalia deserves good… All that lurks in Port Manaus is heartache and death and misery.

“Do you wanna hang out tomorrow, maybe?” I ask. “We could look at options for where to move to?”

“You should come with me.” She sighs and a part of drifts to a future where that might be possible. For just a second, I let myself be a woman moving to a new town. I let myself be a woman starting over.

“Ricky would drag me right back.” I laugh bitterly.

We never speak about the giant, blood-soaked elephant in the room. She knows Adam’s involved in Ricky's business. She knows I am too, at least to some extent. But we never speak about it.

“I love you, Nor. You deserve more than this place.” And God, that hurts. Because I don’t. Becau se Adam is wrong about many things, but he’s right about seeing me as he sees the rest of them.

A fter suffocating my sorrow in a scalding hot shower, I pull on clean pajamas and crawl back into bed.

Which is where August finds me, rotting in bed with a spectacular hangover and fighting my way through a haze of cramps. His soft knock brushes against my bedroom door. My body bolts upright, my breath seizing in my lungs.

“Nora.” That deeply comforting voice, so dark and imposing, rushes at me, lifting the hairs on my arms.

“Come in,” I say, stuttering slightly over the invitation. A stronger woman would’ve screamed at him to fuck right off.

The door’s pushed open gently and then there he is. Black sweatpants riding low on his hips, hugging his massive thighs. Starring as he lifts his tattoo-covered hand and scrubs it down his face; his black hoodie lifts, exposing a thin band of skin at the top of his sweatpants. I stare again as he closes the door and strides purposefully into my bedroom.

Tugging the covers higher, vaguely aware that the only thing shielding my braless breasts from his eyes is the thin shirt I have on. August seems oblivious as he stalls at the side of my bed, glancing down at me, as if he’s considering what comes next.

Finally, after a few seconds that feel as drawn out as hours, he takes a heavy breath and lowers himself to the edge of my bed.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. An answering nod shakes my head—apparently my mouth is suddenly unable to form words. “You look pale.”

“Period,” I mumble, as if this single word explains my current aura of hopelessness. “Sorry, I’ m anemic and I have my period. It drains me.” I tack on quickly.

“Do you need anything?”

“ Do you? ” My question is rude, but as the petty bitch I am, I take it a step further and glance pointedly at my closed bedroom door.

“I do,” he acknowledges, studying me. “I wanted to say sorry. About last night. Losing control and then leaving you.”

The room descends into an almost painful silence. The synapses in my brain spark and then stutter to nothing as words once again fail me. He regrets it. That knowledge hurts more than being discarded last night.

“Let’s just pretend it never happened,” I whisper, pathetically, weakly.

“I don’t think I can, Nora.” I’m not looking at him. My eyes are cast away, down, around… Anywhere but his face. With my heart pounding in my ears, my eyes make the grave error of focusing on his hand. The same hand… No, Nora . The air in the room seems to still as I track his fingers, watching as they inch closer to me until he brushes them lightly against my wrist. “Look at me,” he says.

“I can’t.” The truth—I’m frozen. Until I’m not. Until his hand moves again, this time rapidly and swiftly. Broad fingers tenderly clutch my chin, forcing my eyes toward his.

“There you are,” he murmurs, bringing his lips closer to mine.

It’s the smallest touch. A light brush of his mouth against my slightly parted lips. He shifts then. The fingers around my chin drop lower until they’re lightly wrapped around my throat. The edges of the world dull, blur, quite literally fade away as I weather the blissful sensation of his mouth settling over mine. His tongue licks the soft pillowy sk in along my bottom lip before he sweeps into my mouth, claiming me with the same confidence he had that first night. With each delicate slide of his tongue, anticipation burns through me.

Until all that heat turns to ice in my veins. What are we doing?

Pushing away from him, abruptly and completely. “August,” I pant his name out. “We can’t,” I insist, but who this declaration is for is unclear to me.

He lets go of me and pushes off the bed. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” he asks, watching me with the heated intensity I’ve grown far too comfortable with.

“Maybe some painkillers,” I reply. Because now that my senses aren’t being obliterated by his lips, the ache growing in my uterus feels unbearable.

He nods, turns, and walks out of the room.

I wait for the sound of his footsteps, for him to return with painkillers. But when ten minutes become forty, I give up.

What a dick.

Sleep settles over me like a weighted blanket and the last thought eddying in my mind before my eyes close is what an incredible fucking mess August and I are creating.

S ome indecipherable noise in the house wakes me. It’s impossible to pinpoint exactly what it is, but an innate alarm sounds in my subconscious. Whining with annoyance, my eyes fly open before I reach for my phone. Just over an hour has passed since August left. No painkillers have arrived. And speaking of sleep, I’ve barely been out for twenty minutes. Cursing the world as my legs kick th e covers off, my irritated march to the kitchen starts.

Fuck August, I can get my own pain killers. Each step down the staircase has me cringing in pain. God, it’s both a curse and a blessing to be a woman. At the bottom of the stairs, I stop, take a deep breath, and turn in the direction of the kitchen.

Mid-turn, I pause. August’s on the phone. The rumble of his voice draws me closer, until my feet stop, hovering just outside the kitchen in a blind spot. Eavesdropping, a familiar low for me.

“She’s going to be a problem,” he mutters. Who is? There’s no time to wonder before he speaks again. “She showed up and Nora was a fucking mess. Thank God she called me. Fuck knows what she would’ve said if she’d had to deal with her on her own.” The detective? Also, thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole. “Yeah, I’ll be there in an hour. Don't do anything till I get there,” August says. The clatter of his phone hitting the kitchen counter jolts me into action, clearing my throat before walking into the room.

“Nora.” He looks up at me, the stark angles of his face softening momentarily. “I was just about to bring this up to you.” He gestures to the tray in front of him.

“Oh,” I say, my eyes moving between him and the tray. “What is it?” Taking a tentative step forward, my eyes fall on the tray.

“Painkillers, chocolate, water, and a sandwich.” He shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “My mom… I mean, my dad was around, but he didn’t live with us. My mom had these bad ovarian cysts, so when she got her period, I’d look after her. She always wanted chocolate and her favorite snack. I know you love Dima’s roast chicken, but it seemed over the top to roast a whole chicken, so I went out to get you a roast chicken sandwich.”

W ait… He what? Did I wake up in an alternate universe? One where August is kind and caring?

“Say something,” he quietly pleads.

“I don’t know what to say.” I’m staring at the tray. Every interaction we’ve had so far has been tense and confusing. This is no different, but there’s something else here, too. Something that feels too much like vulnerability. “Thank you,” I eventually say, stepping toward the tray. “This is…”

“It’s nothing, Nora.” He moves to leave and irrational panic wells inside me.

“Wait.” The words rush out of me. “August, wait.” My hand falls on his arm. “I’m not used to people doing nice things for me. Dima does sometimes, but mostly, I look after myself. I didn’t expect this. And—” I take a deep breath. “I really appreciate it. Please don’t go.”

“Ricky has some shit going on. I need to head out to deal with something,” he replies.

“Is it about that detective who showed up the other day?” A sickening feeling rises in my stomach because the question is unnecessary. I already heard him on the phone. She’s a problem. And there’s only one solution Ricky has for problems like her.

“Yeah. And the boy, Elijah.” August looks down at me, at the spot where my hand still rests on his arm.

“She was waiting for me,” I whisper the information I should’ve shared days ago.

“What?”

“The other day. After you and Ricky went off to his office, I went to the beach. And she was waiting for me in the resident’s stairway,” I clarify.

He w atches me with the quiet intensity of a predator about to strike its prey. “What did she want?”

“More of what she asked when she was here.”

“What did you say?” His tone is cautious, not accusatory. Still, it makes me feel uncomfortable.

“Nothing. She said her boss wanted her to look into the Knights anyway, so I just assumed she’d let it go.”

“Don’t trust her. Even if she makes you feel like you can, Nora.” He sighs, dragging a hand over his face.

“Do you know her?” Something about his statement feels like buried familiarity.

“She grew up in The Basin. We had a few classes together in high school and then one run in before I joined the military.”

“Run in? Like…” My unspoken words drift between us, like fucking? Like you fucked her? I swallow the question I have no right to ask and the jealousy I have no right to feel. A little voice whispers how fucked I am.

August smiles down at me before wrapping an arm around my waist and dragging me against his chest. My head falls back as I look up at him. And Christ, it was a dumb as shit thing to do because the grin that splits his face is pure evil. An evil that looks like hot, life-ruining sex.

“Jealous, little raven?”

Huffing, I move out of his hold. “Never. No.” A forced, humiliating laugh cuts through the kitchen as I turn away from him and walk over to the tray. Ripping the lid off the painkillers, quickly shoving three in my mouth, maybe they’ll shut me up because nothing else seems to work.

August steps into the space behind me. His hips press against the base of my spine. My lashes droop as I savor the phantom sensation of his mouth moving along my ear. He’s not quite touching me, but still, his presence is impossible to ignore.

Hot minty breath sends shivers shooting my spine as he whispers, “To answer your unspoken question…” He pauses to tug my earlobe between his teeth. “Yes, I fucked her a long time ago. I fucked other women after her, too. I fucked her like I fucked the others; hard, rough, and relentlessly. None of them made me crave more.” His hand snakes around my waist, slowly crawling under the hem of my shirt. His cold fingers dance along the warm skin of my stomach. “But when I fuck you, Nora, I know that all I’m going to want is more.”