Chapter Three - Do You Believe in Blood Debts?

A sound begins under my feet, it felt like pressure at first, then a noise that seemed to invade every part of my body, not just my ears, my nerves, my heart, my bones.

A howl climbs through the floors of this place, a sound that is raw and wrecked and full of grief. It threads under my ribs so intensely that its almost painful, like a second heartbeat that was not mine and now suddenly is.

Pain lashes through me sharp enough that for a moment I swear it is my skin being split, my bones straining, my body dragged against chains.

No. Not mine. It cannot be mine.

But the echo will not let go. It rips through me anyway, and the shameful part is how my body reacts…how it arches against the pull, how my throat wants to open in a sound that is not my own.

Heat tears across my chest and I gasp before I can swallow it back.

Cassian tilts his head and he notes it without comment.

“Whatever that is, it’s not mine,” I grit out, even as my chest aches like it is.

Cassian tilts his head, studying me the way a man studies a rare break in an animal’s skin. His eyes narrow in something too close to fascination.

“You feel him, don’t you? The wolf…every fracture. Every scream. And you’ll feel more.”

Another surge hits. Not sound this time, but sensation…a white-hot, tearing sensation. It feels like ribs fracturing, like my own lungs are drowning in blood. I can feel my heart racing in panic and pain and I have to clench my jaw to keep from crying out.

I am not supposed to feel this. I am not supposed to share this.

Cassian doesn’t look away, he’s as calm as a scientist and as delighted as a predator watching his next meal.

“And while you feel more, I’ll mark every way that your body betrays you.”

His gaze drags over me slowly, memorising every arch of my body and suppressed scream as I fight to not gie him what he wants to see.

He sits at last, not to rest but to look more carefully. He lays a slim black notebook on the table, not to write in it but he watches me over it until the wave of whatever that was lets go of me finally.

I glare at him panting despite my best efforts and feeling more than a little nauseous.

“Neat trick fuck face.” I spit as his eyes seem to glint with a twisted kind of amusement.

“So you hear well, you lie well and you obey when it suits you and quite obviously, you feel things acutely as well.” He observed with the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

“I do not obey.” I hiss furiously as his smile widens, clearly entertained by my anger.

“Mmm,” He hums, “But you could be very useful to me..”

“I am nobody.” I snap, “How the hell is a nobody going to be useful to you?”

“You are useful.” He repeats, nodding his head slowly, as if it were the first step in collaring a wild animal.

My father used to say the same, though never to my face. I wasn’t his daughter, I wasn’t his blood. I was simply useful. The bastard child that he kept close enough for leverage, but never close enough for love. I thought I had cut free of that but it always seemed that my world revolved around his decisions…to theirs… and now to Cassian.

Anger courses through me at that fucking word again.

“Really.” I sneer, “Useful to who.”

“To me.” He answers matter of factly

My stomach drops and I try my best not to react. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Did you know him,” he asks, voice lower now. “The wolf.”

“No.”

“Interesting.” He says, clearly not believing me.

At this point he could probably make a career out of not believing me.

He stands and opens a low cabinet. My father would have chosen whisky, but Cassian chooses random objects that make no sense to me.

Silver bowls with shallow, mirrored bellies. Knives that look part surgical, part sacred. A black-bound book that smells like old rain and older stone.

My skin prickles as he lays everything out in front of us.

“What the fuck is this?” I snort, trying to hide the unease that I could feel crawling its way through my insides.

“Work.” He answered with a half smile, “What else would it be?”

“Well. unfortunately for you, I don’t do cults.”

“Mmm,” He chuckles, "Unfortunately for you, I don’t do faith.”

He sets the bowls down with careful hands, respectful but without sentiment., as his eyes flicked to mine.

“I do, however, do  results.”

He moves back into my space, closer than before and I could feel my heartrate begin to spike again. It wasn’t only fear though, being this close to him my body understood clearly the attraction of a good-looking predator and the danger that came with him.

Jesus, I really need to see a therapist. Maybe I should actually get around to fitting it into my schedule.

“Tell me again,” he says. “Who trained you.”

“Nobody, I’m great at self teaching..”

“I want names.”

“Well, you know what they say, I want never gets.” I smirk up at him and I see that twitch in his eyes again. It makes me happy inside.

“Lies come with a cost.” He said, his voice dangerously low.

“Desn’t everything though?” I shrug before I can stop myself and instantly want to sew my mouth shut.

He lifts the smallest knife and examines it carefully. I narrow my eyes and contemplate whether or not I could wrap these damn chains around his neck if he gets close enough.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” I bite out furiously.

Not once have I ever been mutilated during a job and I really didn’t want this to change my spotless record. This should have been a fucking easy job. In no scenario did I think I would be ending up holed up in a room with Cassian playing psycho with his knife set..

He studies my face carefully for a second before speaking.

“Do you believe in debts written in blood.”

“No.” I snort, “Blood debts are a relic that belong in the past.”.

The corner of his mouth moves upwards. Only by a fraction but the little movement was dangerous.

“Good.” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

He takes my hand and his grip is warm despite the coldness in his eyes.His thumb finds my pulse and rests there as if he is confirming something he already knows..

“Look at me.”

“Get fucked,” I spat, turning my head but I feel two fingers sliding under my chin.

Not a physical grab, this felt more like a seduction. It was worse than force because some treacherous part of me wanted to meet him halfway. I look anyway and I try to make my expression as bored as I possibly can..

“Tell me why he knew your name,” he murmurs, his face impossibly close to my own.

“This again? I already told you that I don’t know him.”

“Hmm. I have a feeling that you soon will.” he practically purrs, his voice like silk.

The howl rises again, closer now, and the heat under my ribs spikes hard enough that my breathing stalls.My fingers twitch against Cassian’s, small betrayals that he notices and logs for future reference.

.

His gaze lowers to my mouth and returns to my eyes. He is delighted and calm about it.

“So very, very Interesting.”

He puts the blade to my palm without warning and the kiss of it’s edge slices too quickly for me to pull away.

The first drop falls into the silver bowl taht he had placed ready to catch the blood.

I clenched my jaw and fought the urge to headbuutt the motherfucker, instead, I breathe in a controlled manner, breathing through the pain like I had been taught.

“Mmm Good girl.” He murmurs and instantly my body responds.

The words slice their way through past my defences and the heat and desire and lust crash into me all at once. I try to keep my face empty and fail just enough for his pupils to widen.

For fuck sake Salomé! Stop liking this. And you, you fucking poervert..you can stop liking me liking it as well. .

He tips my hand so the blood feeds the bowl with a constant slow drip, but he’s not watching the cut, he is watching me. The nervous swallow that I force down and the way my hands want to shake but they don’t..

“Why me,” I ask finally, my voice rough.

“Because he knew your name. Because you did not run. Because you lie like a professional and obey like an amateur. Because you walk toward danger like you own it and expect to walk away from it unscathed afterwards.”

“I am nobody.” I reply sullenly.

“You are a key.”

“Keys get lost.” I sneer.

“Well it’s a good job that I do not lose things.” He answered levelly and the certainty in his voice was almost indecent.

He opens the black-bound book to reveal circles inside circles. Ink inside that’s the color of old wine and the margins crammed with a careful hand that is not his.

He turns the page so I can see the sigil at the center. It looks like math until I see the ancient runes interwoven amongst the numbers and words.

“Do not move,” he says, quietly..

“What the fuck are you doing?” I practically snarl but I cant hold the shake out of my voice.

“I’ll explain soon.”

He fucking won’t..

“After.”

“After what?!” I sigh in exasperation.

“After I have proof.” he murmured calmly.

He drags his thumb through the cut to coax more blood to fall and I hiss, hating the feel of his hand on mine.

From the basement, I can hear the chains scream. The howl of outrage and pain rips up through the floors and knocks against me as my vision blurs at the edges.

Make it stop. Make him stop.

“You feel him,” Cassian says. Not a question. A diagnosis.

“I feel nothing.” I snarl.

“You feel everything.” Quiet delight moves through his voice. “And I will measure how far it goes.”

He lowers my bleeding hand toward the waiting ink, his reflection hovering over mine, the predator and the problem lining up together.

“You have no right..” I whisper.

He leans in until his breath warms my cheek, close enough to bite. 

“I don’t ask for permission.” He murmured, a faint smile on his lips, “I take what I want. Now, hold still.”

I do as he says, even as I speak my defiance.

“I am not yours,” I spit.

“No, you’re something that is useful to me, ” he corrects, almost tenderly, “And mine to use as I see fit.”

He brings my hand over the heart of the sigil. The ink waits for my blood to sign the deal..

I have bled for family before. Not out of loyalty and certainly never out of love, purely out of survival and being the wrong child in the wrong house, a mafia bastard carrying the name only when it suited them. Blood never bought me belonging. It bought me chains.

“Last chance, Salomé,” he says, my name a slow blade. “Do you believe in debts written in blood.”

“No.”

He looks pleased in a way that makes my nerves spark and sighs happily.

“I love a good challenge.”

His smile fades away as he watches the blood continue to trickle.

“Keys open more than one lock,” he murmurs as he leans to my ear once more, so close that his lips brush the skin.

His voice ripples over me like Sin wrapped in silk sending shivers down my spine.

“Remember this, Salomé, you open to me.”