Read Online Haunted by the King of Death by Felicity Heaton - Free Book Online
Authors: Felicity Heaton
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back at the palace, an expression on her face that called to him.
There had been hope in her stunning blue eyes when she had spoken with him, but now there was nothing but despair and pain, and he enjoyed it, but gods, he hated it at the same time.
He cursed her in his mind and tried to tear his eyes away from her, tried to force himself to turn his back on the window and stop watching her, but he couldn’t stop looking at her and couldn’t walk away.
He had barely kept his cool and refrained from standing as she had swept into his grand hall, had barely leashed the hot bolt of lust that had burned through him on seeing her again.
She was as beautiful as he remembered.
Even with their apparently joint problem diminishing her slightly, she was still radiant. Ethereal. Breathtaking.
Dangerous to him because of it.
He had thought he was over her, that during their time apart the things she had done had destroyed any and all feelings he’d had for her, leaving his heart free of her. Leaving him cold and immune to her.
He had thought wrong.
One single glimpse of her. One single breath of her sweet scent. One single word falling from her lips.
It was all it had taken to pull him back under her spell.
He despised her for that, and hated himself too.
He turned on a snarl as she disappeared from view beyond the main gate of the fortress and began pacing along the bank of windows. Fury rolled through him with each hard step, anger at her for daring to walk back into his life and at himself for turning her away, and being foolish enough to hope she might fight harder, might have come back when she had stopped at the fountain rather than walking away.
Gods, had he really wanted her to come back?
He squeezed his eyes shut, growled through his clenched teeth and shook his head. No. He hadn’t. He really hadn’t.
A quiet voice whispered that he had.
Grave crushed it out of existence.
He paced harder, trying to work off some steam and purge her from his life again.
But her scent lingered in his lungs, her beauty still branded on his mind.
He grabbed the nearest wooden chair and roared as he sent it flying across the library. It smashed into the bookcase lining the far wall, shattering into pieces and knocking several books to the floor with it.
Grave grabbed another, and then another, and when chairs weren’t enough to satisfy the need to destroy everything because he couldn’t destroy what he really wanted—his feelings for Isla—he tipped one of the ebony desks over and unleashed his fury on it, attacking it with claws, fists and booted feet until it was little more than a scattered pile of tinder on the wooden floor.
His chest heaved as he breathed hard, head bent and heart pounding, anger still thundering in his blood.
He stilled when someone halted outside the double doors of the library.
Waited.
Asher wisely moved on, and Grave waited for him to pass beyond the sphere of his acute senses before he staggered backwards to the window and slumped onto the seat there, the back of his head smacking against the glass panes. He grimaced as his healing right shoulder ached under the pressure of his weight and shifted into a more comfortable position.
He stared at the destruction he had wrought, feeling nothing, not a single care about what he had done.
Not when his heart still beat for Isla.
He had thought he was free of her. He had thought he was stronger and able to see her without her affecting him, without feeling anything for her. He had thought that whatever he had once held in his heart had died when she had shattered that organ, but the sight of her had robbed him of his breath and her scent had made him hard as steel in his trousers, aching for her.
He was never going to be free of her, not so long as they were bound.
She would always affect him, no matter how much he hated it.
Grave tipped his head back, pressing it into the glass, and closed his eyes, breathing out a deep sigh as resignation
There had been hope in her stunning blue eyes when she had spoken with him, but now there was nothing but despair and pain, and he enjoyed it, but gods, he hated it at the same time.
He cursed her in his mind and tried to tear his eyes away from her, tried to force himself to turn his back on the window and stop watching her, but he couldn’t stop looking at her and couldn’t walk away.
He had barely kept his cool and refrained from standing as she had swept into his grand hall, had barely leashed the hot bolt of lust that had burned through him on seeing her again.
She was as beautiful as he remembered.
Even with their apparently joint problem diminishing her slightly, she was still radiant. Ethereal. Breathtaking.
Dangerous to him because of it.
He had thought he was over her, that during their time apart the things she had done had destroyed any and all feelings he’d had for her, leaving his heart free of her. Leaving him cold and immune to her.
He had thought wrong.
One single glimpse of her. One single breath of her sweet scent. One single word falling from her lips.
It was all it had taken to pull him back under her spell.
He despised her for that, and hated himself too.
He turned on a snarl as she disappeared from view beyond the main gate of the fortress and began pacing along the bank of windows. Fury rolled through him with each hard step, anger at her for daring to walk back into his life and at himself for turning her away, and being foolish enough to hope she might fight harder, might have come back when she had stopped at the fountain rather than walking away.
Gods, had he really wanted her to come back?
He squeezed his eyes shut, growled through his clenched teeth and shook his head. No. He hadn’t. He really hadn’t.
A quiet voice whispered that he had.
Grave crushed it out of existence.
He paced harder, trying to work off some steam and purge her from his life again.
But her scent lingered in his lungs, her beauty still branded on his mind.
He grabbed the nearest wooden chair and roared as he sent it flying across the library. It smashed into the bookcase lining the far wall, shattering into pieces and knocking several books to the floor with it.
Grave grabbed another, and then another, and when chairs weren’t enough to satisfy the need to destroy everything because he couldn’t destroy what he really wanted—his feelings for Isla—he tipped one of the ebony desks over and unleashed his fury on it, attacking it with claws, fists and booted feet until it was little more than a scattered pile of tinder on the wooden floor.
His chest heaved as he breathed hard, head bent and heart pounding, anger still thundering in his blood.
He stilled when someone halted outside the double doors of the library.
Waited.
Asher wisely moved on, and Grave waited for him to pass beyond the sphere of his acute senses before he staggered backwards to the window and slumped onto the seat there, the back of his head smacking against the glass panes. He grimaced as his healing right shoulder ached under the pressure of his weight and shifted into a more comfortable position.
He stared at the destruction he had wrought, feeling nothing, not a single care about what he had done.
Not when his heart still beat for Isla.
He had thought he was free of her. He had thought he was stronger and able to see her without her affecting him, without feeling anything for her. He had thought that whatever he had once held in his heart had died when she had shattered that organ, but the sight of her had robbed him of his breath and her scent had made him hard as steel in his trousers, aching for her.
He was never going to be free of her, not so long as they were bound.
She would always affect him, no matter how much he hated it.
Grave tipped his head back, pressing it into the glass, and closed his eyes, breathing out a deep sigh as resignation
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