You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 121

RALI

I was too wrung out to keep my eyes open, sleep pressing on me like a sandbag. He carried me upstairs, and the second the bedroom door swung wide, the heaviness of sleep loosened.

What the...

The room was nothing like I remembered. Nothing like the dark, male, starved-of-light theme I knew it for.

The walls were painted in cream, looking soft and honey-warm. The bed had been remade into something I would've torn from a mood board. Blush-pink linen sheets, rumpled, with a channel-tufted headboard in heathered lilac, and at the foot, a plum velvet duvet folded with neatness over a moss-green throw. A single round cushion in deep aubergine also positioned close to the bed.

He'd built me a corner, too; a vanity that doubled as a sketch station. A soft-edged cream desk with brass knobs with a little blush-velvet stool on brass legs. My pencils lived in glass jars like candy, a new sketchpad sitting beside them. Beside the sketchpad was a small candle I had no doubt would smell good.

The air itself smelled like jasmine and clean cotton, with a quiet trace of cedar I would have known anywhere.

Something squeezed the breath right out of my lungs and left my heart standing alone.

The sheets felt cool when he set me in the middle of the mattress.

"You redecorated," I said, my voice heavy around the edges, while he peeled off his shirt.

"You said it felt like a funeral." His shirt dropped to a chair. "I asked you for a list, remember? Never get one."

I batted my lashes and scoffed at myself. I hadn't taken him seriously then when he asked for the list.

"Do you like it?" He stayed at the foot of the bed, his gaze tracking the room. "If you don't, I'll have to kill Eric. He told me girls like this stuff."

I managed a small chuckle as I dragged my eyes back to him, and that was a mistake. Shirtless Void was always my undoing: cold grey eyes, the faint scar on his lip, tattoos waking across his chest like inked wings. My breath forgot what to do for a second.

"It's beautiful," I exhaled, letting my gaze drift over everything again.

The whole space looked like a fairy-tale bedroom that had grown up properly. It was more than I could've asked for. I knew this palette wasn't his taste. Yet, he'd live in it for me.

For me.

The mattress dipped when he joined me. Heat touched my spine and only then did I realize I was stark naked, every inch of me fitted to him. He hauled me in without asking, tipped my cheek onto his chest, and God, he smelled good—like something I'd sworn off and still craved. I hadn't known how much I'd missed him until my ribs remembered how to breathe against him.

I'd been upset a few minutes ago after the torture he put me through. Now, with this room soft around us and his body around mine, I couldn't seem to find the bone of contention.

"I need to wash up," my voice came out smaller. "My—"

"You can dirty the sheets, Rali. I'll just have it changed tomorrow," he said with finality.

I hated how much I liked him sounding like that.

I let myself relax into his hold, slipped a hand over the hard plane of his midriff, and counted his heartbeat. Too peaceful.

"How did you get this?" My voice went softer as my forefinger circled one of the two puckered marks on his chest. After seeing them multiple times, I knew what they were.

He didn't glance down. "Got the first one two years into being The Torturer. Ran into a nut who didn't like taking orders from a younger man. He almost got me. Smart, I'll give him that. In the end, I gutted him open and sent souvenirs to his family."

My finger stilled. A cold wash slid over my skin, cooling even the places he warmed. He said it like it was normal. It bothered me, I wouldn't even lie. But unlike before, I didn't scold him. Perhaps I was too exhausted.

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