Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller
Chapter 8
‘Are you not interested in me that way anymore?’
Sinking my nails into the meat of my thighs, I mentally berate myself for letting the question slip from my lips.
My mind was too hazy, partly from the orgasm I’d had less than a half hour before and partly because the cabin was starting to feel like a coffin, and suddenly the question barreled off my tongue and hurled itself in his direction.
As if sleeping with Kal Anderson is the single most important thing in the universe.
True, I’ve thought of very little else in the weeks since he tore through my virginity, but still. Given the absolute chaos of the last twenty-four hours, the complete upheaval of life as I once knew it, sex should be the last thing I’m worried about.
I should be glad he doesn’t want that from me. It should make me feel strong, like he’s letting me keep the only bargaining chip I’ve ever had.
And yet, as I glance at him from my end of the black sedan we were ushered into after dismounting the jet, that familiar ache spreads from my pussy outward, flowing through my veins like it belongs there.
And all I feel is unwanted.
He’s practically glued to his door, his suit jacket folded on the seat between us. The sleeves of his black button-down are flipped up to mid-forearm, revealing corded muscles and more bronzed skin than I’ve ever seen from him.
Scrolling through his phone with the pad of one thumb, he strokes at the underside of his stubbly jaw with the other. The screen shifts so quickly, it’s hard for me to imagine he’s even processing any of the information.
Pursing my lips, I bend down and feel around in my backpack for my phone, coming up empty. I turn my head, brushing my hair out of my face, my mouth falling open to ask where he put it.
“A liability,” he says before I’ve even uttered a word, and without sparing me a glance. “When we’re home, I’ll get you set up with a new device.”
Home. Smoothing my hands over the soft material of my leggings, I look out the tinted window as the green-blue terrain of wherever we landed whips past. The ocean stretches out just beyond the treetop horizon, although I’m unsure if that means we’re still mainland.
“Where exactly is home?” I ask.
“Aplana Island, though natives just call it Aplana. It’s just outside the Boston Harbor Islands.”
“Never heard of it,” I say, my finger pressing a button that inches the window down.
It whirs as it descends, the sound puncturing the silence around us, stirring a calmness in my gut I haven’t felt since I walked into Mateo’s bedroom. Up and down, I repeat the motion, mesmerizing myself with it.
From the corner of my eye, I see Kal shift in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs as if he can’t quite get comfortable. His left hand comes down to grip just above his knee, squeezing until the veins strain against his skin, his throat bobbing repeatedly as he swallows over and over.
I wonder if he’s having second thoughts about all of this—marrying me, fucking me, stealing me from Boston. Is it possible the bad doctor didn’t quite know what he was getting himself into when he stepped in as my knight in not-so-shiny armor?
Before I have a chance to ask if it’s too late for an annulment, Kal’s hand lashes out, covering mine just as salty air blasts my face; he pries my finger away, returning the window back to its original closed position, labored breaths tearing from his chest.
Tipping my chin up, I note the tightness around his eyes and the shrinkage of his pupils. He looks savage, like a monster come to life in dire need of his pound of flesh, and it steals the oxygen from my lungs for the briefest of seconds.
Not because I’m afraid, though.
Because I like it.
The chaos in his eyes sucks me in like an undercurrent, pulling me deeper into his dangerous waters.
For a moment, I’d rather drown in them than resurface.
A lump materializes in my throat, and I swallow over it. My heart skitters inside my chest, that cinnamon and whiskey scent I spent weeks trying to forget assaulting me as he looms over my body. His gaze skirts along the edges of my face, madness lighting his features and keeping him distant.
Gripping the doorframe, he blows out a long, low breath, his chest rising sharply with the action. Blinking rapidly, he seems to snap back into his normal state of being, dark brown eyes meeting mine as the pupils correct themselves.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice barely audible, unsure of what’s just happened and not wanting to set him off again.
“Fine. Just... don’t roll your window down.”
As he wrenches himself away from me, sliding back into his seat like a piece of metal drawn to a magnet, I frown. “What, is someone worse than you going to grab me or something?”
Tugging at the collar of his dress shirt, Kal gives me a stern look. One I feel straight to my core.
“There are many things out there worse than me, little one. And it’s not a matter of if they come for you, but when.” His voice is flat, unwavering, whatever episode he had seconds ago completely forgotten as his mask of composition morphs back into place. “I didn’t marry you so you could fuck around and get yourself killed, so when I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen. Don’t make me regret trying to protect you.”
“You’ve also said you’re using me,” I point out, crossing my ankles as the driver slows to a stop. “That I’m no good to you if I’m dead. So, which is it? Did you marry me to save me, or to wield me like a weapon?”
Our vehicle shifts into park, jarring us slightly forward as it shuts off. A moment later, Kal’s door swings open, a uniformed, gray-haired man standing just outside, a stoic expression on his aged face. Reaching over, Kal unbuckles my seat belt, then slips from the car, leaving me without an answer.
Rolling my eyes, I follow in his direction. Heat from the sun grazes my skin as I step out, pulling my backpack along with me. We’re parked at the end of a curved driveway, and I’m too busy gawking at the massive wrought iron gate to notice Kal’s fingers wrapping around my forearm, yanking me back when I try to go through it.
“You’re not a weapon,” he says, his touch burning me from the inside out. “You’re a pawn. That ring on your finger makes you my pawn. Don’t forget that.”
Resentment notches against my sternum, defiance rearing its head like an angry welt bubbling against my skin. “Or what, Kallum? What else are you planning on doing to me? Gonna lock me up in your house and throw away the key?”
His nostrils flare, eyes lingering on mine like he can’t help himself, but then he’s moving forward and dragging me along behind him.
The gate opens automatically, revealing a perfectly manicured lawn bordered by tall privacy hedges, the far end of which overlooks the ocean. A massive house with gray siding, a wraparound porch, and three brick chimneys sits at the center of the lot, the only freestanding structure visible once we step inside the gate.
“Jesus,” I breathe, staring up at the building with wide eyes. “Is this where you live?”
“Technically, yes. Though I admit I don’t spend much time here.”
“Hm. Pretty spacious for one person.”
“The Asphodel used to be a hotel. I purchased it some years ago and renovated it into a residential property.”
The Asphodel. How strangely fitting.
I can’t help wondering if he senses the irony of his home being named after part of the Greek Underworld.
Kal glances at me as we stop at the front door, a tendril of black hair falling over his forehead as he tips his chin down. My fingers twitch, the urge to brush the lock away making my body vibrate as I rebel against it, grateful for the restraint he has on me.
Wanting my new husband shouldn’t stir such a profound disgust within my bones—under normal circumstances, it’d be expected. Warranted.
Yet as he stares at me in silence for several beats, I’m reminded once again that none of this is normal. Least of all, my reaction to being forced into a marriage at the threat of harm to my loved ones.
I should’ve been more disturbed as I watched my fiancé’s life leave his body.
I should’ve put up more of a fight when his murderer asked for—no, took—my hand.
Should’ve scraped and kicked my way out of it, the way Papá taught me.
The way I know Kal would have if the situation were reversed.
Clearing my throat, I tear my eyes from his, and he drops my arm the second our stare breaks. Reaching into his pants pocket for a set of keys, he pulls one free and pushes it into the brass doorknob, turning until we hear the lock unlatch.
A little thrill shoots through me as his hand finds my lower back, his icy skin somehow blazing through the material of my shirt, making my insides all gooey. I repress the sensation, trying to focus on the open entryway we walk into.
Imperial staircases separate the two floors, an arched doorway splitting the two and leading down a long hallway. The floors are a deep cherrywood, polished to the point I can see my reflection in them, while the furniture all looks as though it was ordered straight from a Pottery Barn catalog.
An elegant crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the cream-colored walls are sparse, punctuated only by occasional gold-framed hotel-grade art.
Down the hall, I see a white kitchen with marble countertops and the seascape through a bay window above the sink, separated by a stretch of lawn and more privacy hedges.
With his palm still trained on my back, Kal guides me to the left side of the staircase, motioning for me to take the steps up. Gripping the rail so tight it makes my knuckles ache, I walk a few paces ahead of him, trying to ignore the way his touch intoxicates me.
Honestly, Elena, get it together.
We round the top of the stairs and his hand leaves me, wrapping around my shoulder, and turning me to the left. Passing a dozen closed doors on either side of the hall, we finally stop in front of the last one, and he removes himself from me entirely.
“This is… our room,” he says, pushing the door open with a sweep of his hand.
“Ours?”
Unlike the rest of the house, the master looks distinctly Kallum—still no personal effects in sight, all-black furniture strategically placed in different spots around the room, and long drapes above the windows blocking out any chance of the sun poking through.
“Yes. Did you think I’d make up a room special for you?”
Shrugging, I press my palms into my thighs, rolling back on my heels. “I don’t know how fake marriages work. I guess I just assumed our living arrangements would be separate.”
The creases around his eyes deepen, a glare rippling between his brows. He takes a step forward, a harsh glint liquefying his irises, and I move back until my ass hits a dresser, trapping me in place.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve suggested our union is less than legitimate,” he grumbles, stopping when the toes of our shoes touch, keeping his body a hair’s distance away from mine. “What the fuck do you think is going on here?”
I swallow, my nostrils flaring as I choke on the way his scent envelops me. “I don’t know. You haven’t told me anything.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, little one.” His hand grabs my ass, squeezing harshly before sliding up my side and around to my neck. Wrapping his fingers in a collar around my throat, he presses in at the sides, expelling the air from my lungs as he leans in and drags his nose along mine. “We’re married. Husband and wife before the good Lord himself. It’s as legitimate as yours to Mateo would have been, except maybe even more so since we know each other so intimately.”
Rising up on my tiptoes, I try to gain purchase and relief as the lack of oxygen burns the back of my throat. Desire stirs low in my belly at the rough feel of his hands on me, and even though fear is a close accompaniment, that’s what I find myself focusing on.
“Do you remember how I felt inside you?” Kal asks, shifting so he can push my jaw up and capture it between his teeth. Biting down, he latches onto my skin, the flash of pain sending a jolt of red-hot lust down my spine. “The way I split you apart with my cock and made you beg me to hurt you?”
Releasing my jaw, he skims down the slope of my neck, sinking his teeth into the base. I draw in a sharp gasp, a burst of red clouding my vision as my flesh breaks for him.
“Do you?” I grit out, rotating my hips in a slow grind against him, goose bumps popping up along my arms as I become acutely aware of his arousal.
“It’s the subject of my every goddamn nightmare,” he hisses, shoving his erection into my stomach, swirling his tongue over the sensitive spot he’s just made on my neck.
His free hand finds my left breast, plucking at the nipple with ghostlike strokes, making my back arch as pleasure courses through my veins.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see you. Spread out and bleeding beneath me, your sweet little pussy weeping, just waiting to get fucked.” He pinches my nipple, grunting when I let out a soft moan.
I stare at the recess lights in the tray ceiling, trying to ground myself as they distort my sight, but Kal’s touch demands my attention.
Straightening, he abandons my breast to trail his fingers over the bite mark on my neck, a heavy look of satisfaction hooding his gaze.
“Would that prove to you that this marriage is real?” he asks, his thumb smoothing back and forth over my mangled flesh. “If I took you again? Was the first taste of ruin not enough for you? Do you still crave my darkness, little one?”
Lust clogs my throat even as he releases me, moving backward. My hand comes up, rubbing over the now raw area, and he just chuckles to himself, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
Shame scalds my cheeks, both at the fact that I’m little more than putty to this man and that he seems to know it, too.
Whatever resistance I might have thought myself capable of when it comes to my new husband disappears the second he touches me, and it causes a cramp to flare up in my stomach like a bad omen, warning me of what’s to come.
Clearing his throat, he moves back through the doorway, gripping the knob with the same fingers that just held my windpipe beneath them.
“Supper is at eight. I’ll have Marcelline bring you a new phone, and you’re free to explore the property.” He hesitates for the briefest moment, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
If he wants me as badly as I want him, or if this is all a game to him. A means to an end, just like I was to Mateo.
I know he’s said he was blackmailed into the marriage, same as me, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else going on, either.
My gaze flickers to the large windows across the room, sizing up the likelihood of them being accessible. I wonder how far of a fall it is from this floor, if I could make it out of this marriage before it destroys me.
Mamá’s voice rings in my ears, screaming at me to get out while I can. Her shoving things into my suitcases, trying to push me over my balcony herself when she learned who I’d married instead of Mateo.
I knew then that there simply wasn’t time, but that didn’t stop her from trying. Didn’t stop her from planting the idea in my head.
“If you run,” Kal says, somehow reading my thoughts, a cold note to his tone that contrasts deeply with the man who just had his hands all over me, “I will find you. And you will regret it.”
With that, he pulls the door shut, leaving me to sag against the dresser and collect myself in this strange, new place.
