“Fucking delicious,” Roman taunts, his own smile curling his lips through the pain that covers his face. “I bet when you finally taste her, she’ll taste like mine,” he spits just before a hard tremble overtakes him and he swallows back a scream stuck in his throat.
It’s that comment that finally shatters the amusement in the Prince’s eyes. With a deadly scowl, his boot collides with Roman’s ribs, and then he turns abruptly away before the gasping pain even leaves his brother’s mouth. Prince Ravar storms through the aisle without looking back. “Punishment, Zilo! Punishment!” he beckons over his shoulder before shoving open the heavy double doors and exiting entirely.
I stand there looking at one man while worrying over another. I don’t help Rome. I can’t.
Instead, I walk right back to my seat with that sickness clawing at my stomach. With all eyes on me, I cling to that unimpressed look hiding my emotions.
And then I pick up that disgusting fucking meat.
And I eat it.
I eat it like I belong here.
I eat it like I love it here.
I eat it like I’m the most devout little follower of the Prince of Hell.
And later, when I’m finally alone, I’ll vomit all of the disturbing things I’ve taken in tonight right back up.
Eight
It’s Getting Hard
It’sodd to be alone in the night. The three of them never came to bed. And I never slept.
So I wait. My legs are curled tightly beneath the gown that I came here in. It’s thin and tattered, but it gives me a weird little sense of comfort that I didn’t know I needed until now. It doesn’t relax me enough to ease how hard my hands are clinging to my arms as I hold myself on the small black velvet settee. The pretty cloth no longer smells like mother. The scent of cold ash stains its threads.
It stains me.
What in the fucking Goddess Moon’s name am I doing here? An adventure? I thought this shit was going to be an adventure? A fucking purpose?
I was wrong.
I was so damn wrong it’s insulting how easily I walked away from a good family. A kind man. And a safe pack who never truly knew me.
The sound of hinges whining doesn’t catch my attention. The heavy fall of footsteps clumping over dark hardwood floors doesn’t so much as scratch at the back of my messy thoughts. His warm hand gently pressing to my collarbone, along the fine flesh there, that’s what draws me to the serious eyes that hold…concern?
Could Zilo dare to be concerned when he has so much asshole-iness to attend to?
“Why are you awake?” That gravelly tone of his is warm instead of gruff. It’s a delicious melody that washes over my body and floods out the anxiety in my mind.
Almost…
“Did you do it?” My gaze narrows up at him as I hold myself harder.
“Do what?”
I swallow stiffly and try to make it simple for this fucker to understand. “Did. You. Punish. Him?” My eyebrow arches so high it’s painful.
I wait patiently, but passive-aggressively, for his reply.
He doesn’t even blink. “Yes.”
Of course he fucking did!
I’m on my feet and right in his personal space, storming even closer so fast he barely backsteps every step I take. Until there are no more. And he’s pinned right up against the wall. And I don’t hesitate to keep going. On the tips of my toes and with my chin held high, I meet his gaze with just a breadth of space separating my lips from his.
“How can you call yourself a pack and harm him day in and day out? How the fuck can you live with yourself? How has no one plotted your death along with the Prince’s?” My jaw hurts from how tightly I snap it closed, and somewhere between us, my index finger found a bit of hard muscle, and I suppose I’ve been poking his stone wall chest with every word I’ve said.
