Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Ariadne

Irolled around in my bed for hours after I got home, hoping sleep would come and carry the panic and nausea away.

Difficult thing to do when you had an Albatross around your neck.

The sheets scratched against my skin, there was an annoying tap, tap, tap, against the window from a branch rhythmically slamming on it, and the wind howled across Saint’s several acres of land.

The progression of the weather reminded me of how my life unraveled in under a month. A straight-laced girl, coming apart in a mess of loose threads. From sunshine and pink clouds to black ash raining over my heart.

In my quest to run from one monster, I’d willingly embraced another, let him in, only for him to slap me in the face when all was said and done.

I thought I knew.

I thought I could see the truth plain and simple.

Saint was bad. Saint wouldn’t hesitate to crush my heart into a thousand little pieces. So, I needed someone good to shield me. Someone safe and predictable. But desperation led to blindness, and blindness led to my demise.

Four million dollars.

He demanded four million dollars and the thought of giving him my hard-earned money tore me apart inside.

Even though my stomach churned at the idea of food, I padded barefoot across the house to drown my thoughts with a tub of ice cream and rummage through Saint’s alcohol stash.

I noticed a faint blue glow coming from the kitchen, but I figured it must’ve been from the outside. So, I flicked the lights on only to stumble on my steps when I saw a figure standing in front of the open fridge. A spooked scream bubbled out my throat, causing the man to bang his head against the plastic ceiling and curse as he turned around, cradling his scalp. I took a step back and stopped when I realized it was Saint scowling at me.

A shirtless Saint.

My heart raced as I stared at him. All hard muscle that looked like it could be made out of steel, broad shoulders with pecs that beckoned you to take a bite, as the slopes of his abs led to a mouthwatering “V” that disappeared into his waistband. He also had a dusting of fair hair that made me bite my lip.

“Damn, Fleur, you move like a freaking ghost.”

I schooled my expression, wiping my hand over my mouth to make sure no drool had escaped and adjusted the height of my silk slip-on. “It’s not my fault you’re standing in the middle of the darkness at two a.m. What’s wrong with you?”

Turning his back on me, he retrieved something from the freezer before slamming its door shut.

“Last time I checked this was still my house, so I’ll roam around whenever I want to,” he grumbled, pressing an ice-pack on the crown of his head.

Guilt fluttered in my belly, and I rushed forward to make sure he wasn’t hurt. “Ugh, are you okay? Do you need me to take a look at that?”

Saint’s eyes felt electrifying as they ran down the length of my body. The nightgown was no short of scandalous, seeing as I liked to sleep in as little as possible, but not fully naked.

Fuck, maybe I should’ve slipped something extra on since I didn’t live alone anymore.

Ya think?

A little voice in the back of my head chimed as Saint mapped the contours of my body, hanging over every curve—the embarrassing ones too. My pulse fluttered in my throat and warmth rushed to my face. I sucked in my tummy when his gaze made its way up again from the tips of my toes to my cheeks, tinted pink.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured, scratching the no doubt bruised part of his scalp after removing the ice. “I came to get an ice-pack for my knee. What are you doing up this late?”

Trying to run from my demons.

The sentence almost flew out of my mouth, but I held myself back as I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping my nipples weren’t hard. “I had a sudden craving for Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream.”

He studied me before opening the freezer’s door once more and pulling out a brown tub of creamy goodness. “Sorry, Spitfire. We only have Rocky Road.”

“That’ll do,” I answered to his raised brow, and Saint set the tub on the aisle, gathering two large spoons from a drawer. I watched fascinated as he pulled out two seats, patting the one next to him. “Are you staying?”

He nodded as he settled down, inaugurating the open tub by taking the first spoonful, his biceps flexing as he brought it to his mouth. “I can’t say no to chocolate.”

I ignored the butterflies that took flight around my heart and sat down next to him before he left me with nothing to eat. His clean citrusy smell tickled my senses, and I felt this sudden urge to lean forward until I ran my nose down the middle of his naked chest. Like a proper weirdo.

I grabbed my spoon before I did something I couldn’t take back and shoved some ice cream in my mouth to cool down.

“So, what do you need the ice pack for?” I spoke with my mouth still full. I did put a hand on top, though.

See?

I wasn’t completely classless.

“You mean other than that I banged my head because you scared me half to death?” He asked and I rolled my eyes. “I jogged with Killian today, and my knee got a little sore.”

“Because of your spinal cord injury?”

“Yeah, but I also hurt it while in the gym the other day.”

“Old age is catching up with you, huh?” I teased, knocking his spoon out of the way so I could get the little piece of marshmallow nestled in the ice cream.

He narrowed those feline eyes at me, leaning forward in a flash and wrapping his mouth around my spoon, an inch away from the carton.

I repeat.

He wrapped his mouth around my spoon, stealing my ice cream.

A shiver shot down my spine, and I was pretty sure it had everything to do with his full lips swathed where mine had been mere seconds ago. There was no inch of chocolate on the silverware when he popped it out of his mouth, grinning like a cocky bastard. The kind of smile that reeked of bad intentions and one you couldn’t forget.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d sampled the goods, babe.”

I was scared to know what would happen to me if I did sample the goods when the mere thought of an indirect kiss had wetness pooling between my legs. Safe to say, I didn’t change my cutlery.

Because I could play too, I rested my elbows on the table as I licked the ice cream extra slow, giving him a show. I turned to smile at him when I heard him grunt, knowing the barely-there nightie was working in my favor this time.

“You got any alcohol too? I need to drink away the pain of not having sampled your goods.”

“Ah, no,” he responded, his tone grave. “You’ll have to soldier through the pain, Spitfire.”

A giggle escaped me at the whole situation. Saint perked up when he heard the sound, and a chuckle sounded from deep within his stomach (that was unfairly flat even though he was crouched). Never in my life did I think I would be eating ice cream with Saint Astor in the middle of the night while we exchanged jokes.

“For real though, you have no liquor?”

“No. I emptied my cabinets a while ago. Sometimes I used to mistake the bottles of wine for juice.” There was an unmistakable edge to his voice that had me shifting in my seat.

“Was that your way of numbing the pain of your injury? I mean, I’ve never suffered through anything like that, so I can’t imagine what it feels like,” I asked, eyeing the abandoned ice pack on the counter behind us.

“My impairment was incomplete. I was lucky because it could’ve been way more severe, than just needing to attend rehab. I sometimes still feel an occasional stiffness on my legs and spine, but the fact that I wouldn’t be able to play professionally again was more damaging than the injury could’ve ever been. Unless it killed me that is. Can you imagine a world where you couldn’t design ever again?”

No, no, I couldn’t.

I couldn’t imagine losing my one and only talent and passion in life. Sketching was when I could empty out my mind of all worries and focus on creating. Sewing was magnificent because there was nothing more glorious than seeing your dreams come to life.

“I’m really sorry that happened to you, Saint.” Genuinely sad for the agony he had to experience and probably kept feeling, I touched his arm, squeezing reassuringly.

His muscle flexed under my palm, and he faced forward, looking down at the now half-empty ice cream container. “You’re not the one who should be sorry.”

“What happened to the guy that hurt you?”

“His team won a couple of Super Bowls, but he died of an overdose last year,” he said swiftly. Saint’s eyes darkened and his white teeth peeked out, running over his bottom lip to contain a depraved smile. There was no love lost between them, and despite it being an accident, he enjoyed the outcome of his opponent's life. “But enough about me, Spitfire. What about you? How is this whole influencer thing going?”

I removed my hand from his arm, leaving my spoon inside the bowl when my stomach protested at the thought of another bite and fear at his bloodlust. “Well, my eyes are killing me from spending all that time on screen, but I’m getting things ready for the launch of my store.”

“Is that why you look like you need a hug? Stress?” His thumb ran under his chin like he had a six sense or something.

Should I take offense to that?I touched my under-eyes, wondering if I had bags the size of those Paris Hilton used to haul around.

“I-I don’t look like I need a hug.”

I stopped breathing when he tugged my hands down, forcing the stool to spin and face him. Saint’s face was a work of art. I often joked with my online reading buddies that we’d commit murder if it meant getting laid by our tall, dark, and handsome book boyfriends, but there was something so roguish and distinctive about this man’s blond scruff, and eyebrows framing his sultry eyes.

I was starting to understand why the media nicknamed him golden boy.

There was such a contrast between us. I had the whole Mediterranean, slightly uglier version of Cleopatra down to a T while he could pass for a posh English prince.

“It’s almost three a.m., we’re eating ice cream straight from the tub, and you asked for alcohol. Pretty sure that means you’re going through a crisis, Spitfire.”

Oh, you have no clue.

“Well, if I was, would you give me one?”

Obviously, I had no idea what the word platonic meant when it came to Saint. I needed to feel an ounce of protection, though. Fighting all of this alone was wearing on me. My grandma was a wave I couldn’t stop, but Harry turned out to be a tsunami ready to tear me apart with no remorse.

“I don’t know,” he mused over it, and something in my chest sank. It could’ve been my heart or my self-respect. “What do I get out of it?”

My throat closed, and I bit my lip to keep from cursing at him. We were having such a great time, there was no reason to ruin it now.

Hopping off my chair, I decided to leave. I didn’t need to deal with this right now. I didn’t make it far before he propelled me forward, his face troubled as I sunk into his chest. His warm, bare torso made my skin hum with excitement wherever we connected, which was pretty much everywhere given our state of undress.

“Come here, Ariadne.” His big hand cupped the back of my head, and my full name on his lips unraveled me.

I allowed myself this rare moment of peace, my cheek pressed into his flesh, as I filled my lungs with his heady scent. Saint’s palms were rough as they fisted the silk around my hips, pulling me impossibly tighter. His body temperature was comforting, like a lit furnace that burrowed warmth into my tissue and bone.

“That day after the engagement, where did you go?” I found the courage to ask while we were both relaxed.

For some reason, the answer was important to me when it shouldn’t be. I was the one that proposed an open marriage, so I didn’t have any room to complain, but it killed me that he never protested. That he could go to another so easily after stealing a piece of me on that dance floor. I was asking questions I had no right to, and I wished he didn’t break the fragile cordialness that remained by answering.

“The boys had organized… let’s say a mini bachelor’s party before the actual thing. They’re extra like that.”

“With strippers?” I stiffened.

“No, we drove down to Cape Cod and spent the weekend sailing and fishing since the weather forecast was good.” My head shook with his dark laugh. “I’m pretty sure Eliana would castrate Leo if he ever got near a stripper.”

“I don’t think he ever would, he looks head over heels in love with her.”

“He is. We all knew it since high school, but it took the bastard a while to figure it out.”

“The best things in life take time to happen.”

We stayed silent for a little while, our hug extending the length of time that was deemed normal for one, but I couldn’t find it in me to pull away. Saint’s palms had progressed to rubbing down my back, stopping when they reached the arch of my ass. His breaths got shallower every time he did so, and I was hit with this impending anticipation that maybe he would venture lower, blow all the invisible lines between us in the air like a house of cards.

I hated to ruin the moment, but even though Saint’s arms were braced around me like protective armor, he couldn’t shield me from the impending cliff that was waiting to swallow me whole.

I had to be the one to pull myself from the edge.

“So I found out something today,” I started as I pulled back, my fingers lingering on the wispy hairs of his chest.

“Are you going to say it, or do I have to guess?” He arched a brow down at me.

Here goes nothing.

“I found out that Ares fired Harry.”

Saint’s jaw popped as soon as he heard the second name, and his touch disappeared from my body so quickly, I felt like I had imagined it in the first place. Even with nothing but empty air pressuring my body from every size the imprint of his arms around me remained, gifting me a semblance of repose as I leaned back to take his impressive statue in.

“Good.” His tone was wooden.

“Don’t you think it was a little harsh?” I whispered.

“What I think was harsh is the universe aligning so I wouldn’t kick the cunt’s ass.” He barked a sharp laugh that made the hair on my arms stand up. “What’s this about, Spitfire?”

“I guess I feel a bit bad for him. He was drunk, and we’d just broken up. It was a weak moment.” I toyed with the edges of my hair.

Saint was an imposing presence even in just a pair of black basketball shorts. My thin nightie didn’t stand a chance, making my stance vulnerable in this conversation. I moved a few steps back.

“You broke up?” He blinked as if in a trance.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it was fair for him if we were still in a relationship.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s none of your business.”

That seemed to pop him right in the present.

“Right. Well, let me tell you what is my business, Aria.” Saint edged forward. “When a loser screams in front of a whole neighborhood about how your fiancé is a stupid slut that only opens her legs for the rich. That is my business. When he goes on and on about how he would have at least liked to fuck the dumb bitch before I dipped my dick in. That is my fucking business, and you best believe I’m going to do my best to bury that motherfucker a hundred feet in the fucking ground.”

My soul teetered amidst the fine line of anger over Harry’s statements and adoration over Saint’s fierce protectiveness. He was a force to be reckoned with, his muscles bunching up with rage. It told me he cared, and I cherished that.

“How… how do you know what he said exactly?” My voice shook.

“Other than the little fact that Ares was there. We had to bribe the neighbors the next day for them to delete the videos they’d taken.”

Fuck me.

There were more people that had witnessed him calling me names.

I must’ve seemed so stupid, sticking with him, and I cared about Saint’s opinion of me, but I would die if he ever saw the video. In all his years of debauchery, Saint didn’t have one sex tape scandal, and then came me… the virgin with half a sex tape.

It was so ironic it made my eyes water.

“So you can’t talk to Ares about getting him his job back?”

“Out of all of that, that’s what you gathered? You’re acting like a virgin infatuated with her first love even though he’s the scum of the earth,” Saint said, flabbergasted, and his eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “Wait… are you a virg—”

“Of course I’m not.” I didn’t allow the idea to completely form in his head. “How many virgins my age have you met in this day and age? I simply feel bad for him. You don’t have a shortage of scandals either, Saint. I mean wouldn’t you have liked it if someone stood up for you back then?”

“Don’t ever compare going off the rails because of a life-threatening injury, to screaming and crying like a fucking freak because your girlfriend dumped you.”

In all our back and forth, it took me a while to see that I was now backed into a corner, Saint’s molten eyes pinning me in place and his tough body not allowing me to move.

I cringed because he was right. I was one insensitive bitch saying that after he somewhat opened up to me about it.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just—”

“Keep your apologies to yourself. From the second I met you, you’ve done nothing but judge me and look down your nose at me. Do you think you’re perfect, Ariadne? The prodigal daughter, the badass woman with a degree, a loved online presence, and a career that’s catapulting to the stars at the mere age of twenty-one. You sound like every parents wet dream on paper.”

“What’s your point?” I gritted my teeth.

“My point is to be proud of your character even when someone peers into your real life. From the outside, you might be all that, but from where I’m standing you’re nothing but a brat with a savior complex and a fetish for dicks that treat you like the dirt under their shoes.” He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip in a lewd manner, fingering the strap of my nightie. “I mean if that’s what turns you on, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

Ouch.

My mouth went dry when his words touched base. They weren’t true of course, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Harry, but I did paint a persona online that wasn’t entirely mine. I photoshopped my pictures, smiled, straightened my hair, and sucked my stomach in to fit into the clothes designers sent me to be featured on my page. Sometimes I even altered them when they were too tight. Scared to ask for a different size, fucking terrified of allowing anyone to see my flaws in an industry that was so obsessed with perfection.

My mouth went dry, and his touch didn’t carry that familiar welcome burn. This time it was scathing, wanting to hurt me.

“You could’ve just said no. That would’ve sufficed.” I hated how weak I sounded, so I slapped his hand away for good measure.

“Fuck, no. I won’t get him his job back,” he snapped, looking me over as if I let him down. “Give it a rest, and grow some self-respect. Trust me, guys will walk all over you if you keep acting like this.”

With that, he turned around and stalked out. I imagined if the kitchen had a door, he would’ve slammed it shut. I sucked my lower lip in my mouth, sliding down the cold wall until my ass hit the floor.

What the hell was I going to do?