Chapter 41 – You're My Wife
Chapter 41 – You're My Wife
Zorak POV
“She’s been gone too long.”
That was the first thought that hit me. The bullfight had lost its noise. I didn’t care who was winning anymore. My eyes kept darting toward the corridor Nolie disappeared into.
Arjona had left minutes after her, heels clicking like knives. My gut twisted. Something wasn’t right.
Verlin nudged me. “You’re missing the fight, man. Sit down.”
Dua leaned in, smiling too sharp. “What’s wrong, Zorak? Losing focus since your little wife showed up?”
I turned to her slowly. “Say that again.”
She hesitated, but the smirk stayed. “I’m just saying, you’ve gone soft”
My voice dropped low. “Call me weak again, and I’ll remind you who built this empire.”
Her smile vanished. “I was just joking.”
I ignored her. My eyes were on the far exit. Smoke curled faintly from behind the barn. The crowd hadn’t noticed yet, but I saw it. I felt it.
Vanya leaned close. “Zorak, something’s burning.”
“Stay here,” I said, already standing.
“I can check on her,” Vanya offered. “If it’s the restroom”
“I’ll go.”
“That’s the women’s section,” Verlin muttered.
“I don’t care.”
I was already walking. Fast. Then running. “If she’s hurt, Arjona won’t make it out of this arena alive.”
The smell of smoke hit stronger near the back hall. I turned the corner—then stopped.
She stumbled right into me.
Her face was streaked with soot. Her hands shook. She looked like she’d been dragged through hell.
“Nolie,” I breathed.
Her knees gave out before she could answer. I caught her, my arms closing around her small frame. She was trembling, coughing into my chest.
“What happened?”
She could barely speak. “Trap… fire… I thought”
“Don’t talk.” I lifted her easily, cradling her against me. “We’re leaving.”
I didn’t wait for questions. I moved through the back path, where no one would see. Her fingers fisted in my shirt, weak but clutching.
When I reached the car, I laid her in the back seat, then drove straight to Verlin’s estate, jaw locked the whole way.
“Keep your eyes open,” I said as I carried her through the back door of Verlin’s estate.
Her body was limp in my arms, her hair matted with soot, her skin streaked black. She smelled like smoke and fear.
I kicked the door shut behind us and headed straight for my wing. The guards outside looked confused, but one glare from me kept them silent.
Inside, I pushed open the bathroom door with my shoulder. The lights were soft. Marble floors. Steam already fogged the mirror from the heat I’d turned on earlier.
Nolie was shivering. Her fingers clutched the fabric of my shirt like she was afraid I’d vanish.
“Zorak…” she whispered. “You don’t have to”
“I do.”
I set her on the counter beside the sink. She looked small there, fragile in her burnt dress. The lace was half melted. Her hair clung to her neck in wet strands.
Her voice broke. “I can do it myself.”
“No,” I said again, quieter this time. “You can’t.”
I turned the shower knob until steam filled the room, the sound of running water drowning out everything else. Then I walked back to her and started undoing the zipper of her dress.
She froze.
“Zorak…”
“Relax,” I said. “You’re covered in ash.”
Her breath hitched as I peeled the ruined fabric from her shoulders. It fell to her waist in blackened folds, leaving her bare skin beneath — pale, trembling, streaked with soot.
My hands were steady, but my pulse wasn’t. She tried to cover herself, but I caught her wrists gently.
“Don’t,” I murmured. “You’ve got nothing to hide from me.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. There was fear there, yes — but also something else. Trust. Maybe that scared me more.
I guided her under the shower. The water hit her skin, washing trails of black down her body. She gasped at the heat, her body jerking against mine.
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice low. “It’s just water.”
I stepped in behind her, still half-dressed, sleeves rolled up. My hands ran through her hair, pushing out the dirt. Soot stained my palms, turned the water gray.
She trembled, turning her face up to the spray. Drops clung to her lashes. Her lips parted, soft, trembling.
“Zorak…” she whispered again. “I almost died.”
My hands stopped.
“I know.”
“I thought…” Her voice cracked. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”
“I almost didn’t,” I said honestly. “Then I saw the smoke.”
I reached for her again, my hand sliding along her arm, slow, steady, grounding her. She leaned into the touch. Her skin was hot from the water, soft and slick under my fingers.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” she whispered. “I’m dirty.”
I leaned closer, my breath warm against her ear. “You’re mine. I’ll decide what’s dirty.”
Her breath hitched.
I turned her gently so she faced me. Her dress clung to her hips, soaked through, transparent now. My hands traced the back of her neck, washing the last of the soot from her hairline. She shivered, eyes closing.
“Look at me,” I said.
She did — and I saw it. The tremor. The fear. The exhaustion. The firelight still alive in her pupils.
I touched her jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Breathe.”
Her chest rose and fell too fast. The sound of the water filled the space between us.
I slid the last of the fabric from her body, slow, careful, nothing rushed. It fell to the marble floor with a wet slap. Her skin gleamed under the water, pale streaks against red.
She should’ve looked broken. She didn’t. She looked alive.
I cupped her face. “You’re safe now.”
Her voice was a whisper. “Why do you always say that like you’re promising something you can’t keep?”
“Because I keep them,” I said simply.
Her lips parted. I brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek, my knuckles grazing her neck. The pulse there beat fast, desperate.
“You’re shaking,” I said.
“So are you,” she murmured.
She wasn’t wrong. My jaw was tight. My pulse hammered. The way she looked at me — fragile and fierce at once — it did something dangerous to me.
I lifted the sponge and ran it along her shoulder, down her arm, across the curve of her back. She gasped softly, gripping my wrist.
“Zorak…”
“Relax.” My tone softened. “Let me clean you.”
The sponge moved slow, steady, over her collarbone, down her spine. The heat turned her skin pink. She leaned forward slightly, her breath catching every time my hand brushed too close to her ribs.
I wasn’t touching her to seduce her. I was touching her to erase what had just happened. But every second of restraint felt like fire.
When I reached her stomach, she tensed again.
“Breathe,” I said quietly. “You’re safe.”
She nodded, breath shaky, but didn’t stop me. My hand slid lower, cleaning away the last traces of soot clinging to her thighs. The water ran clear now.
She turned to me suddenly, eyes glassy. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re my wife,” I said. “And because I need you.”
Her breath caught. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll believe you.”
For a second, the air thickened between us. Her hand came up — small, trembling — and touched my chest. Right over my heart.
“You’re warm,” she whispered.
“So are you.”
The silence stretched. The water drummed over us. I reached behind her and shut it off. The sound faded, leaving only the thrum of our breathing.
I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, tucking the corner beneath her chin. My hand lingered at her jaw, thumb brushing a streak of water from her lip.
Her voice was small. “The boy… was he dead?”
I met her eyes. “Yes.”
Her throat worked. “Then I’m in trouble.”
I leaned in until my mouth was near her ear. “Not while you’re mine.”
She exhaled, shaky. “You keep saying that.”
“And I’ll keep proving it.”
I lifted her again, carried her out of the steam-filled bathroom, and laid her on the bed. She curled against me, her hair damp, her breath soft.
Outside, the wail of sirens cut through the night. Blue and red lights flashed against the window.
She looked up. “The police…”
“I know.” I brushed her hair from her face, voice low. “Let them come. I’ll handle everything.”
Her fingers curled around mine, weak but sure. “Promise?”
“I don’t make promises,” I said. “I make Threats.”
“He glanced at the window. Blue and red lights flickered. He had minutes, maybe less, to hide her.”