Mack (King #4)(15)

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

“You’re a bit of a smart mouth.”

I was really more of a person who lacked experience in the couth and diplomacy department. One needed to be finely attuned to the feelings of others in order to excel in those particular areas. But that was neither here nor there, and I wasn’t about to talk about my issue.

“Yes. And don’t change subjects,” I reprimanded.

He rose from his chair, and the action startled me. His place was over there on the other side of the room. My place was over here close to the exit.

I was about to get up and head for the door, but then he walked over to the window away from me.

“I’m not changing the subject,” he said, his voice quiet and pensive. “I’m merely being a gentleman and warning you—the rest of the story is not a pleasant one.” He cracked open the curtain and gazed outside at the plum tree in the courtyard, shattering the intimate cocoon of our little world and bathing the institutional white walls and marbled tile floor with bright light.

Begrudgingly, my eyes adjusted, and once they did, I sucked in a quiet, appreciative breath. Dear God. The light filtered around him like a seductive aura, giving me my first breathtaking glimpse of his masculine, godlike silhouette and the back of his tall—six three or so—body. His shoulders were powerhouse broad and tapered down into a tight waist. His legs, incased in dark jeans, were muscular and long. His hair was dirty blond and a bit shaggy in the back, just enough length to run one’s fingers through while f*cking like two sex-starved animals with only hours to live.

Wow. Why the hell had I thought that? The “two hours to live” part, I mean. The part about animals was obvious. The man was huge. Or, maybe huge wasn’t the right word. He was more like impressive, the sort of guy who walked into a room and drew everyone’s eye—the men because they’d see him as a threat. The women because they’d be wondering if he looked just as good naked as he did clothed.

As I ogled and he stared out the window, he lifted one arm against the glass and rested his forehead for a moment. That was when I noticed his heavily inked biceps with what look like dates and symbols and such.

“What do the tattoos mean?” I asked.

“I thought you wanted to know what happens next in my story.”

“Can’t I ask about both?”

“You can ask,” he replied, his tone indicating that he wouldn’t necessarily answer.

Pill. This man is a pill. Yeah, but he’s a sexy pill, so there is that in his favor.

“I choose story,” I said. “Your body art can wait for another day.”

I watched his large, powerful shoulders rise and fall a bit with an anguished sigh. He then snapped the curtains shut, pulling us back into his world of darkness. But now, more than ever, I ached to see his face. Did his front look just as good as his backside?

He turned and took his seat while I sat there like an eager puppy waiting for my next treat.

“Well?” I said. “What happened?”

“What do you think happened?”

Ugh. He’s toying with me. “I don’t know, Mack. That’s why I’m asking.”

I heard a grumble of displeasure from across the room. But then finally, he gave me what I wanted.

“They separated us. I was brought back to that small hut on the outskirts of their village, where I was guarded by several men. She was taken elsewhere. I spent the next several weeks begging to see her and trying to explain that she’d done nothing wrong, but they seemed more interested in me. They spoke to me and asked questions. We traded words, and I learned anything I could, treating it like a game. I would walk my fingers across my palm, pretend to drop dead on the floor, or hold something in my hands, and they would shout out words, like a sad game of pre-Hispanic charades. With my knowledge of languages, I picked up the basics quickly.”

“How many languages did you speak?” I asked.

“Sixteen.”

That was a heck of a lot of languages. “I thought you said you were from a small island.”

“Our people were known for our metalwork and pottery. We traded with merchants from as far away as Eastern China. I really spoke closer to twenty languages if you want to include dialects from nearby fishing villages.”

“Impressive.”

“Not really. My father insisted I learn so that I could better serve my brother someday—translation skills, math, reading and writing. And, of course, fighting. Everything was planned around my brother’s needs.”

Except that Mack had said he blew all that off after his parents died. It was why he’d felt too guilty to say no when Draco asked Mack to kill him.

“So you learned Happy’s language,” I said.

“Enough to communicate and learn her name was really óolal.”

He pronounced it Oh-a-lahl. A beautiful name—sounded like some kind of decadent dessert.

He went on, “And I learned enough to ask them to see her. Instead, I got a visit from Kan, óolal’s father.”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t happy?”

“He wasn’t the sort of man you’d want to cross. And considering my crime, I was shocked that I wasn’t tortured to death, my organs plucked out on an altar to appease the gods for my misdeeds.”