Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy
Ariadne
Luminescent blue lights blurred the surface of the water. A neon cast of brightness formed when the waves kissed the packed sand, breaking the monotony of the inky black night with their array of color.
The pains of an illness still loitered in the form of a dry cough and a dull ache beneath my eyebrows, but I’d finally gotten Mom and Irena to go home after babying me for three days. They didn’t go without a fight, making me promise not to pick up my laptop and work while unwell.
Not all promises were made to be kept.
The house was empty, my phone was too tantalizing, beckoning me to press the power on button. So I caved and checked my emails on my computer to keep busy. Afterward, I got sucked in the hustle and tried to catch up with as much as I could while I was away.
When I had enough, I walked to the beach to enjoy the bioluminescent glow like I used to this time of year, when the water warmed and the algae bloomed. It was very therapeutic, considering the hell of a ride I’d endured since September. Everything blew apart on my face in a steady stream of bad luck, adding new scars to my soul—ones that I was proud of. They made me who I was today, and despite all my shortcomings, I was alive and in relatively good health.
The reminder that something was missing didn’t just disappear. You couldn’t erase an organ integral on keeping you alive, but I was too scared to pick up the phone and text him.
What if he wanted nothing to do with me?
What if he told me to pack up my shit and go?
I needed to rebuild more than my immune system to face Saint Astor.
“You have a thing for sparkly shit, don’t you?”
Of course, the universe took my words personally, chewed them out, and spat them on my face, giving me the exact opposite of what I wished for.
The salty breeze tickled my neck, my hair stood to full attention at the sultry, deep voice that played a pivotal role in all my waking and sleeping dreams. Fear and agony hit me in the chest as I twisted my body around, my breath escaping me in short puffs.
He stood a few feet behind me, his hands shoved in his pockets, feet buried in the sand. His gaze locked on mine, hanging on to the details of my features as if he was seeing me for the first time.
Or maybe trying to see you, since it’s pitch fucking black, Ariadne unless you’re looking at the water.
An annoying voice of logic misinterpreted the look on his face, but it did nothing to stop the longing coloring my tone when I called out his name in a faint whisper that I was surprised he heard over the whistling of the wind. “Saint?”
“Spitfire,” he rasped, the nickname so achingly familiar and loved, it was all I could do not to launch myself at his arms like a loon in need of being reigned back.
I didn’t expect to see him here, and least of all for him to walk closer as if he didn’t hate me anymore. My chest fluctuated, and there was a shaky quality to my voice when he sank down next to me, his jeans filling with grains of sand. “Doesn’t everyone love what glows in the dark? A piece of safety amongst a sea of unknown.”
I tried to be discreet as I took greedy sniffs of the air that held notes of his masculine perfume. It was crazy that even his scent made my pining rage harder, a clean woodsy aroma that touched me like I craved him to do so. Saint’s illuminated face held signs of weariness, eyes a dark shade of whiskey instead of the golden fire I’d come to adore. He sat a foot away, and I had to restrain myself not to breach the gap and beg him to forgive me, love me like I did him.
Unspoken words stirred between us, shifting when his gaze danced over my body, clad in a sweater and tights, the most dressed down he’d ever seen me. I swallowed, knotting my hands around my legs and resting my cheek on my knees, readying for this lion of a man to tear me apart.
“Some of us are pure darkness. Light only disturbs that tranquility.” His lips tipped up with a soft smirk, but there was no humor in it. He scrubbed a hand down the length of his face before breaking apart fractions of my sanity with his next admission. “When I was nine, my dad punched me in the face for the first time because I lost an heirloom watch. It fell while I was out playing with my friends.”
I swore even the waves faltered upon hearing his words. The weight of his past hung heavy in my veins, filling them with tangible heat. The visual of a young Saint played like a movie in my mind, his blond hair twisting in angelic curls right below his ears, tear-stricken eyes punching a hole through my torso.
“Is he crazy?” I sputtered. “You were just a kid.”
Saint shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Which was perfect because I couldn’t retaliate,” he said, seemingly at peace with what had happened. “Noah did a lot of fucked up shit whenever I displeased him. Until one day, when I was fifteen. He shoved me because I’d failed a math test, but by that age, I was fully capable of defending myself.”
I dug my nails into the material of my pants in an attempt to keep my hands to myself. Something told me he didn’t want to be touched while relieving that part of his past.
“I hope you broke the hand he used to hit you with,” I spat, not looking forward to seeing my father-in-law again. I didn’t know whether I could hold myself back from clawing his eyes out.
Parents hit their kids, it wasn’t anything new, and I myself was spanked a couple of times when I misbehaved. But punching a child? Shoving them? That went beyond discipline and blew straight into the territory of abuse.
Saint chuckled, and the sound made my lips tip up ever so slightly. “Unfortunately, I didn’t.” He sighed, reaching down to take a handful of sand in his hand. We both watched it trickle back down again as he hit me with news that made my stomach erupt with horror. “But I was the reason he was sent to the hospital this time.”
“What?” I quaked, turning alert. My first instinct was wondering what this meant for Saint and not giving a shit about his father’s health. He could’ve been dead, and the only reason why I’d care would be because I didn’t want Saint to get in trouble.
Inhaling a deep breath, he began to tell me about what he did and how he did it. Everything from the money missing from Falco’s funds to the contract between his father and Todd Brees, him telling Leo and Ares, and how they helped him hire a hitman to hurt his father like he hurt him.
Nausea churned inside me the more I listened to him relay the story, and by the time he was done, my palm was pressed against my stomach in an attempt to keep down the chicken soup leftovers I had for lunch. His eyes chased after every expression, the vulnerability I found lying beyond, stunning me in a state of carefulness. I kept my features smooth, scared he’d stop talking if he saw the depth of my pity for what was done to him.
“I didn’t want to tell you earlier because I didn’t want you to know that I was capable of such revenge. I didn’t want you to be scared of me.”
My heart sputtered in my chest like a fish out of water. Oh, I was scared of Saint all right, but not for the reasons he thought. It terrified me how I could love someone so much. How unconditional that love was, reckless and blind. He had done something completely illegal, and I found myself wanting to join in on the action. He was unaware of the power he had over me. At this point, I probably would've followed him off a cliff.
“He deserved it, Saint. He stole the one thing you loved doing away from you.” I couldn’t hold back anymore and caved, caressing his forearm. I’d really done my damage when we first met, constantly throwing my vitriol around because the only way I knew to defend myself was by bringing him down. Of course, he didn’t trust me enough to share this part of his life with me. “God, I’m fucking furious for you.”
The disbelief in Saint’s eyes when I aligned with him broke me. I didn’t even know what to feel anymore as I shifted closer, brushing up my shoulder with his. My soul churned like a vicious sandstorm, and for a second I hated that he took the option away from me to enjoy the view of a banged-up Noah at the hospital. He hurt my person, and I wanted him to hurt twice as much.
A stillness settled over Saint’s body when I got closer, watching me through narrowed eyes, his hands twitchy on his lap. I pretended I was using him as a shield against the wind that had my hair waving like a flag behind me, even though there was nothing I wanted more than for him to hug me.
He didn't, and my shirt was itchy over my skin without the added weight of his protective arm. Saint marveled at the shore, and I followed his gaze, ignoring the warmth running a languid path between my legs.
“You see, you weren’t the only one to lie about aspects of your life, Ariadne. To smile when all you wanted to do was raze everything to the ground. We both didn’t trust each other enough to open up.” His gravelly tone made the hair on the nape of my neck stand up, and I didn’t like where this was going.
He was right, and I hated that I couldn't dispute his logic. It made us sound dysfunctional when the only thing that kept my head above water all this time was him.
“You’re right, but you also made me feel safe, Saint. Whenever something bad happened with Harry, I knew I could count on falling asleep with your arms around me and waking up to a much better day than the one I had before.” I voiced my truth, watching the way it made his jaw clench.
“I can’t believe I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.” Saint’s hand tightened around the sand, and I imagined if the grains had souls, they'd be dead by now by the brute force of his white-knuckled hold.
Breaking the partition between us one touch at a time, I slid my pinkie alongside his. Saint heaved a breath, and next thing I knew, my entire hand was enveloped by his much bigger one, sand and all. I didn’t complain. With the way I was missing his touch on me, I would’ve let him lie on top of me even after a stroll through the sewers.
“I would’ve never forgiven myself if you went to jail because of me.” My lips pursed when a smile that said he wouldn't mind at all spread over his face. Straight white teeth glimmered in the velvety night, and his muscles rippled with movement that reminded me he could probably kill a person just by wrapping himself around them and squeezing.
And here I was. Finding comfort in the arms of one of the biggest brutes to grace the face of earth, nine years older than me and enough inches taller to pass as my big brother.
Saint’s head snapped to me when I smoothed my finger over his wrist, willing some of the tension to ebb away from his hold.
“We aren’t the first or the last couple to suffer from miscommunication, Spitfire, and wanting to hide our darkest parts from our people is second nature because we would hate to see them leave.”
Was it bad that all I got from that was him referring to me as his person and hating seeing me leave? Probably.
Did my soaring heart care? Not one bit.
My mouth opened, trying to combine words with fighting the breathlessness that took hold as a result of my need for forgiveness.
“While revenge doesn’t fix anything, I’d never judge you for what you did. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stomach being in the same room as your father now that I know, and the fact that he’s still breathing annoys me immensely. He deserves to suffer through more than just a few bruises for hurting you.” I said in all seriousness, and his answering surprised laugh at my bloodthirst did strange things to my nervous system.
“He will. His bruised ego will hurt him plenty for years to come. He lost everything, and the only person capable of loving him is the one that stares back at him in the mirror whenever he wakes up in the morning. Letting him live is worse than taking his life,” he supplied, cold and calculating before his stare melted into something hotter, digging a hole through my cheek like a laser. “So as much as I hate that you hid a huge part of your life from me, I can’t say anything without looking at how much I kept to myself too.”
We were truly a match made in heaven.
So similar, we were dysfunctional.
I kept my excitement to a minimum, even though I knew he could feel my accelerated pulse with his fingers around my inner wrist.
I needed him to give me verbal confirmation before I let myself dream again.
“Is this your way of saying you forgive me? For lying?” My voice was barely audible, but the wind carried the whisper in his ears, extracting a dry amused sound from the back of his throat.
As if in tune with my hopeful heartbeat, his hand abandoned mine to slide around my waist and tug me impossibly closer. My whole side tingled as I let out a sigh of relief, and uncaring crept over his lap, refusing not to feel his body on mine for a single second more.
Hard muscle bunched beneath my fingers as our foreheads met, and my legs settled on either side of him.
“So long as you promise me not to freak out if Larry ends up passing away by a mysterious stab wound in prison.” His sentence brought an alarming smile to my face.
“Your mind speaks to my mind, Sainty.” I nudged his nose with mine, and his chest vibrated with a growl as his fingers shifted through my curls, holding my head hostage and lining up our mouths, so I felt his next words on my lips.
“Your soul speaks to my heart, Spitfire.”
He peppered his revelation with a toe-curling peck, not quite the makeup kiss I was expecting, but phenomenal nonetheless as it started a slow simmer underneath the surface of our reconciliation.
“I missed you so much.” I breathed, spreading more small kisses over his face. On the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his scratchy chin with all that delicious blond scruff that was often the cause of the burns on the inside of my thighs. “How pathetic does that make me? We were barely separated for a week.”
He made a quiet noise of satisfaction, his hand tightening in my strands. I welcomed the bite of pain on my scalp, all too familiar with his rough touches as he tilted my head up, his hardened gaze contrasting his sweet answer.
“Certainly not as pathetic as it makes me. I’m a simp for you, baby. I apologize for turning my back on you. I regretted it the second I stepped foot out of the house.”
It was like fire ants spread over every part of me, lighting up paths of the sweetest kind of pain as they marched over my heart that pumped blood a little bit harder as the seconds trickled by.
“Don’t ever do it again,” I said on a broken whimper, breathing in his scent with a shudder.
Home.
The sense of home predominated my mind, saffron, vanilla, and pine mixing in my nostrils until all our memories flashed behind my blink. When I opened my eyes again, I knew that there could never be anyone like Saint. The way he cherished me, my body, and my mind was uniquely his.
“I’d rather cut my legs off,” he said, and I gulped when I didn't hear a mocking undertone.
“That’s not very healthy,” I murmured, caught up in the intensity of his amber gaze.
“Who cares?” he growled. “You tempt me, you consume me, and you fucking ruin me, sweetheart. You could be radioactive for all I care and I still wouldn’t let you go.”
My breath hitched, but I still found it in me to joke. “What if I had extra limbs?”
Saint shrugged as if it would be the most normal thing in the world. “That just means more skin for me to kiss and explore.”
I choked on my saliva. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you love me anyway.” His deep voice chased away the last of our secrets, drowning them under the tide.
The ocean air mixed with our heaving breaths, and my legs shuddered around his waist as he smoothed his palms down my back. I couldn’t deny it, not when the stars overhead lined our heartbeats, and I fell a little bit harder as I ran my fingertips over his high cheekbones.
“I do. I love you.” I breathed hard, enduring his eyes that burned dark and hot over my face. “You’re supportive, smart, savvy, funny, and the sexiest man alive, golden boy.”
A harsh curse fell from his potty mouth, and I clamped my legs around his waist, needing to be even closer if possible.
“Don’t be shy. I’m sure you can find more adjectives to describe me with.” The bastard teased, and I flashed my teeth at him for stalling. He appeased me with another peck the last step before the ground gave out. “I love you too, Ariadne, so much it's like a constant flow spilling into my soul. You taught me how to live again, and in a world without you, I would merely be surviving.”
We couldn’t wait anymore, diving for each other at the same time.
His lips clashed with mine fiercely. Our volatile moods mixing, embers aligning with the bioluminescence in the water until blazing blue was the only thing that remained behind my shut lids. The vivid color pulsed as my heart mended and pieced itself back together in the arms of my husband, so savage and loving that dying in his embrace seemed like a good time.
A greedy sort of madness filled us as our teeth met, tongues dancing sloppily with each other as if we were too far gone for any sort of tact. I didn’t care. Sparks burst into flames, eliciting the wildest kind of urgency inside me that only the devil hiding beneath my Saint could sate.
Reality faded, the fact that we were on a public beach and that anyone could stumble across our jumbled forms missed me as I tightened around him, loving the way his hold spread the best kind of ache over my bones. Our kiss was laced with longing, anger, and best of all, pure want and love.
I didn’t want to stop, but we both recognized that in order for this to trickle into something more, we had to get inside where it wasn't freezing. Saint dragged the kiss out, holding my face hostage in his big palms, and our giddiness combined as our breaths mixed.
Then, I did one of the most embarrassing things one could do after professing my love to my significant other and being kissed senseless... I sneezed.
Right. On. His. Face.
"Oh my god," I gasped, and Saint’s scrunched-up expression didn't take long to dissolve as he burst out laughing, his neck straining with humor as he stood up, his protective embrace never leaving my body.
“Let’s get you to bed, Spitfire. I would like to have a few more years on earth with you before we retire together in hell.”