Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 16

"Don't go, little wolf."

I look up from where I sit on the edge of my bed and see Thorne standing in the doorway of my room.

It's after one in the morning, I'm tired and a little dazed, and the last person I want to talk to right now is Ambrose Thorne. Well, one of the last.

"Don't call me that." My voice is quiet, and I speak to the floor. "Leave me alone."

He moves closer, coming to stand in front of me. I stare at his shoes.

"Please," I whisper.

"Please, what?" he asks.

"Please leave me alone." My throat hurts, and my voice cracks in the middle.

He slides his fingers beneath my chin and forces me to look up at him. For once, he's not smirking or smug, and if anything looks a little concerned. I'm not prepared for the softness in his expression, and my breath catches in my chest as the tears I've been holding back escape and slip down my face. Pushing his hand aside I wipe them away and sniff back the rest, ashamed to have let him see my weakness.

He tries to put his hand on my shoulder, but I flinch and he withdraws.

For a moment he stands still and silent, and then he sighs.

"I am sorry, little wolf," he says. "It was wrong of me to try to use you as I did, especially as I can see full well just how deep the arrow lies. Whoever hurt you did a thorough job of it. Sadly, yours is not the kind of wound that I can heal. Time's the best medicine in cases like this—time and distance, maybe."

"What do you know about it?" I ask, turning to glare up at him. He's wealthy and handsome and self-assured, and I can't imagine him having any clue what it feels like to be anything else.

"Enough," he shrugs. "See here, little wolf, let me make it up to you if I can. Don't go. This house is good for you—I can see it. You fit in here, and...well, it seems I like having you here, much to my surprise."

"Why should I believe anything you say?" I ask, still glaring. I'd taken my glasses off already, so he isn't quite in focus, and I squint as my eyes start to water again. "Is this even your grand-dad's house?"

He nods. "I haven't lied. My granda—my mother's father— was one of the nine. He was only forty-five years old back then, the year it happened, and hadn't aged since. About six months ago, I got a letter from him—or from his attorney, rather—informing me of his death and his request that I take up residence here, in his house. I suppose he must've been the first victim of the thefts."

"What about your brother? You told me he died."

Thorne nods. "Jack was Aengus's son by his first wife. He was the only one who treated me the same as anyone else, growing up. Once my mother understood what, exactly, I was, she realized she didn't want a child so badly, after all. And Aengus—well, once my healing abilities came to light, all he saw was a profit to be made. I was a rather sickly thing, in my youth, as a result, and my childhood would have been a uniformly unhappy one, if not for Jack."

I don't know why he's telling me all this, but it does make him seem a little more human, and it's distracting me from my own misery for the moment.

"How did he die?" I ask.

Thorne doesn't answer, and I realize my question is probably insensitive.

"I—sorry."

He shakes his head, a little of his usual smirk showing at the corner of his mouth. "Don't be. It's a tale for another time, is all. Stay with me, and I'll tell you someday."

That brings me back to the present, and I stand and turn away from him, going to the dresser where I'd already started pulling things out and throwing them in bags. I lean both hands on its top and shut my eyes, feeling exhausted.

"I can't," I say.

I feel him at my back, but he doesn't touch.

"I wish you would," he remarks quietly.

"Why?" I ask, turning and finding him very close, so I have to look up to meet his eyes. "So you can use me to spy on my brother? Or so I can cook your meals and wash your dishes for you? I'd rather sleep in my car."

I start to turn back, but he stops me, resting his own hands on the dresser behind me, so I'm trapped between his arms.

"Because I like having you here," he says, looking down at me with shadowed eyes. "I'm a solitary creature; I don't much like any company besides my own. But for some reason, little wolf, I like yours."

"I said don't call me—"

He leans into me, and for the second time that night, I find myself kissing Ambrose Thorne.

This time he tastes like whiskey and butterscotch, a sweet warmth, though again there's something about it that almost burns. My first instinct is to push him away, and I set my hands on his chest, but the same sensation I'd felt before swiftly infects my mind, and my thoughts scatter like embers on a sudden gust of wind.

Where I'd meant to shove him, now my hands rest on his shoulders while his hold my lower back. I feel the heat of his touch through my clothes, and then almost fall as my muscles suddenly relax. He steadies me and draws away, lips leaving mine with a final caress and his eyes now lit with their strange, inner flame.

"What the... did you do...? " I trail off, feeling weak.

"You could use a good rest," he says, guiding me towards the bed, pulling back the covers and making me sit down. "You're wound tighter than a cheap watch, as they say. I just took some of the tension. I'm bound for a rough time of it myself—whoever tried to poison the fair Mr. Hart knew their business. One of us might as well have a good night's sleep."

"How does... your ability work?" I ask, barely able to form words.

He helps me out of my waistcoat and shirt, so I'm just in my singlet, then pushes me back and works off my pants. At least I'm wearing somewhat fashionable briefs, and not tighty-whities or the well-worn Spongebob boxers I like to sleep in when it's hot.

"My gift is peculiar," he answers, looking me over with the strange light still in his eyes, like the coals of a banked fire. "I heal by taking injury or pain, sickness or poison, and drinking it in through my skin. Then I...process it. In short, I experience something of what the other person would have felt. It does me no real harm, but it is... decidedly unpleasant. I can hold it off for a while, as I've done tonight, but only for so long. The more I delay, the more... intense the experience, it seems."

I stare up at him as his words slowly settle in my brain until at last I understand. "Thank you," I say, "for saving Julian. I don't know what Dane would do if..."

"Don't worry about it," Ambrose says, "and don't worry about me. If you want to repay me though... think twice before you leave. I meant what I said, Noah Hunter—I like having you here."

Then he stands, pulls the covers over me, and leaves, turning out the light as he goes.

The last thing I hear, before he shuts the door and I fall a thousand miles into the deepest sleep I've known in years, is his voice speaking softly from the dark.

"Sweet dreams, little wolf," he says.