Crimson Lace

Chapter 38

ALEC
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

How is it that I am worthy of her?

Her beautiful face is the first I see in the mornings. Her presence is the only thing that motivates me to get out of bed. Even if it means leaving the comfort of our shared room in this strange club and the warmth of our blankets to get on with the grueling tasks at hand.

Every day has been the same routine. Elle and I cuddle until the sun comes up and I am forced to become like a living machine during Gore's so called "training sessions." Each exercise more physically and mentally draining than the last. But that internal thread that connects me to Gore tugs me into compliance. His expectations of me—of all the Variants—are constantly in the back of my mind like a brooding plague.

The days come to an end with the nightly parties that usually end with Elle and I having sex in various locations and the occasional dinner with the rest of the gang. The Crimson Reaper's make surprisingly excellent conversationalists, especially over a good feast.

Every muscle in my body screams as I sit up out of bed. My blood feels like sandpaper each morning, scraping and scratching against veins and vessels. The worst kind of hunger is the kind that doesn't crave food. This is that hunger.

I'm careful to remain quiet as I slip out of my sweats and into the bizarre suit the Variants are forced to wear. Skin tight, black, carbon fiber, and covered in clips and buckles. Despite the weight and material, they are unreasonably comfortable.

Elle lets out a groan. I turn away from our oak dresser to find her sprawled out like a starfish on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her hair is a knotted mess around her head, but even so she couldn't possibly be more perfect.

"Morning, pretty boy," she yawns, opening up her arms, expectantly waiting for me.

I don't try to fight the smile that creeps across my face and watch from where I stand on the other side of the room. She scowls and opens her arms even wider, wiggling her fingers in a beckoning motion.

I cross my elbows over my chest and raise a single eyebrow in silent challenge. "Is there something you desire, my dear fiancée?"

She lets out a huff of a laugh. "Get your brooding ass over here and give your future wife a warm embrace before she becomes touch deprived."

I release a small chuckle and saunter toward the bed, leaning over where she lays and wrapping my arms around her lower back, giving a gentle squeeze.

Every movement that delays me getting to the training fields is one that burns painfully. I'm fighting it. Fighting to give Elle these little moments of normal. If only she knew just how badly my body is aching right now. All I feel is the crippling need to get my morning dose. But I play along, not wanting her to feel the sense of worry that I do.

"It's been about five minutes since you were the little spoon in my arms."

She presses her lips to mine and entwines her fingers through my hair. "Five minutes too long," she whines against my mouth, nuzzling into my neck.

There is a loud knock on the door followed by the booming voice of my escort, Denatria. "You're late, prince." She is more like a baby sitter or prison guard than an actual escort.

Elle grumbles, climbing out of our bed and practically flying across the wood floors to the door. A bit of anger and determination in her impossibly confident strides. "If they want to take you again they'll have to eat my fist for breakfast," she snarls, rolling up the sleeves of her baggy sweatshirt.

I meneuver myself in her path, blocking the door. "As much as I would love to see you fight for me, sweetheart, I am afraid that without your abilities, Gore's army of Variants might just be able to take you down."