King of Spades

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Madeline stared at the white ceiling for a long time but couldn’t seem to drift back to sleep. The dome-shaped ceiling was almost transparent. It was made of an incredibly strong material. Ciaran had once explained the purpose of the specially designed ceiling to her, but she couldn’t remember what he’d said except that it had something to do with energy. She didn’t care much for technology.

In the dark, something was bothering her. Something was wrong.

It was the first time they’d had genuine tranquility since they had been in Eudaiz. Their children were safe with their grandparents in the Daimon Gate. The system had informed them about the urgency of replacing Sciphil Five, and Ciaran had made arrangements for the recruitment of a Sciphil Five replacement.

The dilemma of Sciphil Five came as no surprise to them. Juliette was Ciaran’s ex-wife. She’d disappeared from Earth several years ago. Everyone—including his mother—had been telling Ciaran all along that Juliette had married him for the LeBlancs’ fortune and privileges.

But it didn’t matter whether he believed what they told him or not, Ciaran was a man of his own strong will. He loved Juliette, and he knew she loved him. The most painful truth was that, unbeknownst to him, Juliette’s father was Sciphil Five, and he had always planned to place her into the LeBlancs to obtain their secrets.

Ciaran was the last one to know about what the others called Juliette’s betrayal. She came back to Earth as Sciphil Five, and she wanted to kill Ciaran.

To protect himself, his family, and Madeline, Ciaran had killed Juliette on Earth. That was what he thought.

He didn’t realize his actions on Earth had pushed Juliette back into her tower in Eudaiz where no one but the king had access. Safe in her tower, if Juliette reformed, she would become invincible. Therefore, immediate termination was necessary, and her replacement had to be ready.

But deep down, Madeline knew her husband still believed there had been love between them. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be the husband she had fallen in love with.

In the dark, Madeline turned toward Ciaran and found his back facing her. That was rare. Even in his sleep, he always leaned toward her. At times, he lay on his back, but he wouldn’t face away from her.

Unable to see his face, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and inched closer to him. Their bodies fit to each other, just like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that were meant to be together. Feeling her embrace, he stirred and turned toward her.

Then she saw his eyes. In the dark, his striking gray eyes were staring right at her.

“Hey, sorry I woke you . . .” She touched his face when her psychic mind told her that something in his eyes wasn’t entirely him. Something unusual was going on in his mind.

He didn’t respond to her, just gazed at her face in the dark.

“Ciaran!”

Suddenly, his hands were all over her. He reached over and kissed her. But the usual heat of passion and love wasn’t there. This was primal. His hands on her body was a demand for s*x. His kisses on her lips and everywhere else oozed with the inexplicable feel of mysterious power.

His mouth ravished hers. He was on top of her, and he took her as if there would be no tomorrow. He pushed and plunged into her as if his life depended on it. His usual finesse was gone. The tempting, urging, and loving was missing. His irresistible lovemaking skills were absent. He just took and took.

It wasn’t her husband who was making love to her.

Ciaran could be rough and tough, but he was never selfish when they were intimate.

“No, Ciaran, you’re hurting me,” she said. She wasn’t really hurt. But with Ciaran, she didn’t even need to say no before he stopped. That was the kind of man he was. That was the husband she knew. So she demanded him to stop.

It didn’t surprise her when he—or the thing that had taken him over—didn’t listen.

He was overwhelmingly strong. His full body weight was on her. He pushed and shoved. He demanded. She couldn’t get out from under him.

“Ciaran, stop!”

He kept pushing. She pulled at the sheet and tried to get away without success. She pulled so hard she tore the sheet off. He rolled her over so she was on top. Taking the opportunity, she hopped off. He pulled her back from behind and pinned her down again. She kicked the light on the bedside table. The light and everything else on the table crashed to the floor. She pushed him over and jumped off the bed, running toward the bathroom. He caught her again. She grabbed at a chair for purchase. He snatched the chair and threw it to the wall. It fell into pieces.

In a short moment, after crashing several pieces of furniture in the room, he hauled her back to the bed and pinned her down. He continued to satisfy his s****l demand until he climaxed violently and collapsed next to her in a heap of sweat.

She lay still for a long moment, trying to digest what had just happened. After a while, Ciaran stirred and opened his eyes. Then, she saw his true look, the intensity in his eyes, the love and care of the husband she knew so well. He looked at her and frowned. He sat up abruptly, surveying the torn sheet and the condition of the room.

He scrambled out of the bed. “I . . . what did I do?” he asked. The look on his face was more devastating than any answer she could give him to describe what he, or the thing inside him, had just done.

She considered her response carefully before giving it to him. “You were a bit more enthusiastic than usual during our intimate activities.” She smiled.

His eyes darkened. He looked down at his body, looked at her, and then glanced around the room. She knew she didn’t have a poker face. But she thought she could at least manufacture a neutral expression until they figured out how to handle this.

She knew it hadn’t been him.

Ciaran paced back and forth in the room. His eyes were so intense that if they could shoot bullets, the walls would have turned into a cratered moonscape. He came to the bed and crouched at the bedside. He brushed aside the hair that dangled on her forehead.

“Did I hurt you? Tell me the truth.”

She sat up and looked into his eyes. “It wasn’t physical pain . . .”

He pulled the sleeve of her nightgown up and saw the bruises that had started to form. She pulled the sleeve back down. She could feel his hand shake when he brushed away the hair on her shoulder and saw the bruises.

He stood up and stepped back, looking pale as a ghost. “I . . . I raped you . . .”

She stood up and approached him. “No, Ciaran. I know what rape is. You were forceful. But you didn’t rape me. I said no because I want . . .”

“You said no?” He gestured widely. “You said no, and I continued to do this?”

“It wasn’t you,” she stated as firmly as possible and advanced. He stepped back. “Don’t back away from me, Ciaran, because that hurts me more than anything.”

He stared at her for a moment. There was nothing on his face but devastation and confusion. “I need some time by myself,” he said and strode out of the room.