Page 40 of Kronos’ Consort

She’d tried not to ruminate on the outcome, but shifting on the hard seat, she couldn’t help but envision their distress. The police would find nothing to help her loved ones, and all anyone would have been able to tell them was that Tina had left her at home that night in front of the television. No one, save for the sods who’d assaulted her, would have been witness to Kronos, or even able to place her on that cold street, and somehow, she doubted that those guys had come forward for a potential police appeal.

It was the thought of Liz and Cindy’s concern, as well as her distraught mum, that really furled the tension inside her. She could willingly succumb to her darkest desires and build a life with her master, but in doing so, she would never be able to heal the wounds of the people she loved the most.

“What is it?” Slicing through her internal woe, his voice was pointed. “What is my little one thinking about now?”

Her focus flitted to his face once more, finding his gaze as shrewd as his tone had sounded. Apparently, being around him so much meant that she’d become entirely transparent, and he was able to read her every emotion, but in the surge of her sorrow, she wasn’t sorry. As it turned out, it was a relief to have someone so attuned to her moods that she didn’t even need to convey how she was feeling. Kronos could sense her melancholy just by being around her.

“I was thinking about my friends and my mum, Master.”

She’d learned there was no benefit to telling him half-truths. In the same awe-inspiring way he was able to glean her disposition from her expression, he had ways of knowing when she was being even partially dishonest, and then more potentially painful consequences would await her. She tensed at the prospect. It was just as well she preferred the truth.

“You miss them.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Although mostly, I worry about them missing me.” Her brow creased, an image of her mother appearing in her mind’s eye. It had only been the two of them for so long; she couldn’t imagine how badly her mum would be taking her daughter’s disappearance. They rarely went more than a day or two without communicating with each other. “It must be dreadful for them, not knowing where I am or whether I’m okay.”

Her voice broke on the final words, hot tears burning in her eyes. She’d been battling with her conscience for a while, but it was only then that she gave in to the weight of her guilty misery. She might have found succor and contentment in Kronos’ arms, but in choosing to succumb, she’d created terrible despair for those she’d left behind.

“Indeed.” His clenching jaw conveyed how little he liked the thought, though whether it was compassion for her friends’ and family’s plight, or just angst at her sorrow, she didn’t know. “Usually, when my mortals are returned and the timelines are redirected. Any hurt their families have experienced is erased, but in your case…” His voice trailed away.

“In my case, I’m not going back, Master.” She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, squirming on her hard chair again as she considered how to express her twisted feelings. “I might have made a delicious sort of peace with your decision to have me here, but that choice has larger repercussions than only the two of us. It’s hurting the people who matter to me.”

“I understand.”

She pulled in a breath, unable to dismiss the mental image of her mother’s distress.

“Is there any way to get a message to them, Master?” Her focus drilled into him as the idea bloomed. “Or, to my mum, at least? I hate to think about her suffering. It will kill her not to hear from me.”

Her query was met with silence, and reflexively, she stiffened at the stony sound, assessing Kronos’ face for any sign of his response.

What was he thinking?

Was he angry with her for the suggestion, or would, as she hoped, he be able to see her point of view? As the long, hushed seconds ticked by, the nervous energy inside her knotted in her tummy until it was painful.

“I could get a message to her.” His gaze was determined when his voice finally splintered the suffocating strain, but as his gaze found hers, she noticed it soften. “It is most unorthodox, little one, but for you, anything is possible.”

“Thank you, Master.” A swell of relief flooded her senses, and fresh tears fell hard as she exhaled.

Rising from his chair, he stalked the short distance between them, falling to his haunches by her side. She blinked through her tears, her eyes widening at his sudden proximity.

“Do not cry.” He frowned as he took her nearest hand in his palm. “We shall solve this riddle. Your mother might miss you, but she will know that you are safe and well. Better than that, actually. She shall know you are adored.”

Her lips twitched at his choice of vocabulary. She wasn’t sure what she’d write to her mum, but somehow, she doubted her mother would view her abduction as adoration, and there was no way Kris could convey anything about her kidnapper being an ancient power. Kris’ mum might not have been a science graduate, but she would never have understood.

Some things had to be seen to be believed.

None of that belied her gratitude, though, and as he squeezed her fingers, she met his smile.

“That would mean so much to me, Master.”

His thumb skimmed over the top of her hand. “How much will it mean, little one?” His tone had furled into that edgy resonance her clit instantly recognized, her pulse quickening for altogether different reasons when she acknowledged the dark glint in his eyes. “How grateful will you be?”

“Very grateful, Master.”

With the matter of her conscience at least partially relieved, her thoughts shifted back to more familiar territory as she recognized where his questioning might lead. They had played similar games before, times when he would meet one of her needs, and she would express her thankfulness in darker and more debauched ways than decorum should have allowed at a dining table, and each time, she’d reveled in the dance. That was why her heart beat excitedly as he rose to his full height, stretching her hand with him to brush a kiss to her knuckles.

He would provide her with some sort of reprieve, and in exchange, she would offer him a libation. That was the way things worked with the gods, she supposed. To walk alongside them, there needed to be sacrifice. Not the gory torment of centuries gone by, but, in her case, demonstrations of her devotion and the absolute trust that he would make things better.

Not that she minded that devotion. Making an offering to her god was less like a chore and more like hedonistic rapture.