Chapter 220
Adrian Kael
I woke up before him. The truth is, I could barely sleep all night
because of that goddamn dream. I saw, with a sickly vividness, my
Magnus running away from me, turning his back and leaving without
even a backward glance.
I woke up consumed by a despair so deep the air wouldn’t pass
through my throat. For a few seconds, I thought I was having a panic
attack. I only calmed down when I turned my head and saw him there,
beside me, sleeping peacefully as if nothing could touch him.
Now that he has accepted me, that he has opened the doors for me, I
don’t know what to do anymore. My plans were different; everything
was about breaking him until there was no alternative but to love me.
But he took the initiative; he kissed me, touched me, and took care of
- me. That changed everything. And me? I found myself trembling with
happiness like a child, feeling my heart race so fast it seemed ready to
burst.
Is it too early to call my father and order him to get us out of here?
Part of me wants to wait. To observe more, feel more, and see if he
continues to reciprocate. But I know he is already surrendering.
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Just yesterday he proved it to me when he let himself be guided by
desire, when he stood before me with a confidence that killed me and
revived me at the same time. I had never felt something so human, so
devastating.
I watch his serene face. He sleeps as if he doesn’t have a single weight upon his shoulders. His slow breathing, his chest rising and falling in
an almost hypnotic rhythm.
He is beautiful. So beautiful it hurts.
I stretch out my hand, brushing my fingers against his cheek, sliding down to his trimmed beard. The marks on his body, the ones I left last night, seem to whisper my name. They are my signatures, my works of art. He is my canvas, my temple.
I move my lips closer and press a kiss to his chest, then his neck, then his cheek. He doesn’t even move, still surrendered to sleep. I get out of bed slowly; my muscles ask for a stretch, and I give in to the
popping of my bones.
He stays there, motionless and beautiful, and I decide to cover him better with the sheet so he doesn’t get cold.
I go to the shelf, grab my toothbrush, apply the paste, and turn on the faucet. I brush slowly, looking out of the corner of my eye at the bed.
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He’s still sleeping. And I smile. I rinse my mouth, put the brush away,
and head for the shower.
A quick shower; there’s no reason to waste time without him by my
side. The hot water flows, cleaning me, washing away any remnant of
the night.
When I’m finished, I dry off and put on my uniform. I approach the
bed once more. I lean over, pressing a soft peck to his lips and then
his forehead. He sighs quietly but doesn’t wake. I caress his temple
with my thumb before pulling away.
I walk to the shelf again, grab the keys, and head to the bars. I unlock
them and leave them just ajar, without closing them again; I don’t
want to make noise and risk taking him from his rest.
I take a deep breath and walk down the corridor with calm steps. At
the end of the hall, a guard is leaning against the wall.
He’s new; he must be the one David mentioned, probably. He arrived
far too early, to my surprise.
He straightens up when he sees me, a provocative smirk painting his
face.
“Look what we have here. I never imagined this hell had an angel.”
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I run my eyes over him, slowly, evaluating. Then, I stare him down,
cold.
“Lose something?”
The smirk widens, arrogant.
“Wow,” he remarks. “An angel in disguise as a demon. I like it. So you’re the one they call Adrian. The guys said, “Stay away.”
I tilt my head, showing no emotion.
“And you decided to disobey.”
I keep walking, but his footsteps catch up to me. I feel his presence
before I hear his voice.
“Don’t be like that, gorgeous. Don’t ignore me.”
I ignore him. Around the corner, David appears, shooting a quick look
at the guard, that idiot smirk still stuck to his face.
“Harry, I already told you to stay away from the boss.” David’s speech
is short and serious.
Harry laughs and takes a step forward, getting too close.
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“I can’t stay away from something beautiful when I see it. Look at this
face… looks just like an angel.”
He reaches out, wanting to touch me. I stop and turn with the
slowness of someone choosing their reaction.
“Touch me, and I’ll rip your hand off.”
His hand freezes in midair. The laughter vanishes; in its place, an
irritated huff.
“Damn, kid. Don’t talk like that.” His voice comes out low and hoarse.
“It gets me excited.”
His gaze reminds me of mine when I look at my god, which makes me
laugh ironically. It means this son of a bitch feels an attraction to me.
Interesting… I can manipulate him using that piece–of–shit feeling.
“Boss,” David calls me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Navarro is
asking for drugs.”
I roll my eyes.
“Such impatience. Well, fortunately, I have time. My god will sleep until late, so I can resolve these bureaucracies and then bring him a
meal.”
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“And who would this god be?” Harry provokes, his voice wet with
mockery. “Someone as beautiful as you?”
Before his smile even finishes, I’m on him. A short, precise movement
-my fingers close like an iron claw around his neck. I feel the
muscles give way under the pressure; his face flushes, and his eyes
bulge from their sockets. The sound that comes out is a tear of air,
short and desperate.
I look at him with a coldness that usually freezes bones. There is no
rush in my gesture; I hold firm and let every second weigh down. I see
the color drain from his face, the veins under his neck standing out
like ropes, and his eyes begging for air, and it is that plea that feeds
my silence.
“Better be careful with what you say, Harry.” My voice is low and
controlled but laced with venom. “One wrong word and your life ends
before you even realize it.”
I squeeze just a bit more, enough for his breathing to turn into a struggle, his fingers clawing at my arm like someone trying to bargain
with death. Then, slowly, I let go. His body drops to the floor, coughing and gagging, his throat working furiously to reclaim the
breath I stole.
I stand there for a while, watching every ridiculous movement of that mouth begging for air. He crawls, nails scratching the floor, his chest
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rising and falling in disordered jerks–raw humiliation, a cheap
spectacle.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
