Page 104 of Anathema
He jerked his head for me to follow after him, and as we exited his room for the corridor, I tried not to study the way his broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and muscled backside that moved in perfect cadence as he walked. I’d never paid much attention to a man’s haunches before, but for reasons that frustrated me, I couldn’t stop myself. It seemed every inch of him had been carved by God–even his damned ass. He possessed an effortless sensuality about him that Aleysia would’ve surely fawned over. The thought left me wondering what my wily sister would’ve done, had she found herself in my position.
Undoubtedly, she’d have seduced him, and not necessarily for her freedom.
I’d seen her do it a few times in the village, with the Vonkovyan guards who enjoyed random interrogations of young girls. It came natural to her, with her golden hair and bright eyes that she made a point to bat with her flirtations. Without a doubt, Zevander would’ve had her loins stirring like a tempest.
He glanced over his shoulder, and I jerked my head up so fast, I nearly toppled backward. “Perhaps you should walk alongside me, unless you insist on staring at my ass the whole way.”
A scorching heat warmed my cheeks, cooled only by the icy anger of having been humiliated. “Perhaps you shouldn’t walk like you’ve got two snapping turtles attached to your ass.”
I winced at the slippery insult.
Another glance showed a slight squint of his eyes, and I wondered if he’d smiled, or sneered beneath that mask. Not likely a smile. I doubted the man’s lips ever stretched beyond a snarl. Yet, his voice held a small bit of amusement when he asked, “What are the odds that I’d stumble upon someone brassier than my own sister.”
I wasn’t usually, that was the oddity of it. Something about him brought out a side of me I mostly kept subdued, for fear of the consequences. I’d always had a sharp tongue, but men, in particular, had always found a way of silencing it, either by a slap to the face, or flogging.
As imposing and threatening as Zevander was, I didn’t feel the same fear in his presence. If anything, I felt emboldened. While he was doubtlessly capable of it, he didn’t strike me as a man who enjoyed unnecessary violence.
Past the Great Hall, and down another corridor, he led me to a kitchen twice the size of the one I’d seen at Mr. Moros’s manor. Candelabras hung from high, vaulted ceilings with thick wooden trusses that buttressed the walls. Lancet windows, with beautifully carved iron grilles, made up the far wall, and black wooden counters and larders stood laden with age and wear.
A figure manned an elaborately carved, iron stove, stirring a steaming pot. A brown, linen dress with a hood hid their face and hugged the curves of a plump body. At our approach, they turned, revealing an older woman with gray hair. Two black horns stood out from the top of her head and curled back inside the hood.
I turned away to keep from staring at them.
“Magdah, I have some garments that need laundering.”
“Yes, My Lord, of course.” Her accent held a pronounced rhoticity, as she reached for them with long, bony fingers, two of which were missing.
Again, I watched to make sure my dirty undergarments didn’t make an unwelcomed exit onto the floor.
While she offered a bright smile for Zevander, it quickly faded when she set her eyes upon me.
“Thank you for the pottage,” I said, the guilt of having wasted it gnawing at me.
“Oh, the two bites you managed to eat before casting it across the room?” As much as the humiliation of what she’d said snaked beneath my skin, I found myself fascinated, almost lured by her accent. The way two sounded like chew, and the roll of her tongue when she’d said room. “Thank you, dear. I’m thrilled to have obliged your temper.”
Zevander leaned into me. “Magdah sees everything in this house.”
I swallowed a gulp, the urge to crawl into myself and scream beating at my ribs. The awareness of being naked and wearing his tunic only made it worse. “It was impulsive. My apologies.”
She made a sound of disapproval and turned back to her pot, giving it another stir. “I’ll get to the stinkin’ clothes after I finish this stew.”
Clearly, she didn’t like me.
After an uncomfortable moment longer, one I was certain Zevander reveled in, he led me out of the kitchen and back to the corridor. Down the staircase, I followed him. While I’d grown used to being loathed by most, for some reason, it bothered me that Magdah didn’t care for me.
“I suppose that was on purpose,” I said, ignoring the way the air rushed between my thighs as we walked briskly along. “I’ll have you know, it was your comment which inspired my reaction.”
“Comment?”
“Seeing me on my knees.” The reminder of it still needled me.
“That bothered you.”
“I imagine it’d bother most women. It implies …”
“Yes?” he asked, and I wanted to swat the amusement from his voice.
“It implies dominance over me. Which you do not possess.”