The vibration slams through my chest and rattles my teeth, yanking us out of whatever world we just created and slamming us back into this sadistic one in front of us.
Valentina flinches, fingernails digging into my shoulders. Her body tenses, and her expression changes. She shutters back behind a neutral, hardened wall.
The crowd erupts. Their voices meld into something that doesn't sound like any language I know. It rolls through the chamber like a living force.
"Korr-velash…korr-velash…korr-velash…"
The chant grows louder with every repetition. The floor under my feet vibrates in a slow, steady thrum that climbs my legs, then my spine. It settles inside my rib cage.
Torches shake on the walls. The air thickens with tension.
"Korr-velash…korr-velash…"
Valentina's breath hitches. Her haunted eyes grow wider through the edges of her mask. Then her gaze dims, replaced with a cold, sharp composure that makes my skin crawl and my dick twitch at the same time.
I don't loosen my grip. I keep her flush against me, her twitching thighs still wrapped around my hips, my arms banded around her waist. I'm staking a claim I don't understand and probably don't have the right to, and it's not smart. She's still an Abruzzo and I'm an O'Malley.
The thought slams into me over and over again as the chant grows more frenzied.
What the hell did they just make us do?
What did they make her do?
I've had sex more times than I can count. I've had the pleasure of women out of anger, recklessness, boredom. The things I've done would be considered scandalous to most. But this…this wasn't crossing a line. This was obliterating it. There's no world where I'm supposed to be buried inside Valentina Abruzzo while standing on a pedestal, with hundreds of masked lunatics chanting for our souls.
Yet my body is still clinging to hers like it never wants to leave. And I'm still restrained, or I'd find a way to get her out of here.
The judges bang their gavels. The sharp cracks slice through the chant. The echoes dissolve into an eerie quiet.
"Release her," one of the silver skulls orders.
My eyes snap to the table. My fingers grip her hips harder.
The three blood-masked men step toward us. They circle Valentina like she's theirs to take.
"Don't touch her," I growl.
My voice doesn't carry as well as the judge's, but it's enough. They hesitate for a breath, shifting their attention to me.
"It's fine," Valentina says quickly, her hand pressing my chest to release my grasp over her.
One of the men reaches for her.
I tug her back into me and push my shoulder forward.
Valentina firmly states, "Brax. Let me go."
I glance at the men, then her.
"It's okay," she reiterates.
I cave, release her, and they unlock the cuffs around her ankles. Theylift her out of the swing. She takes a minute to find her balance, then stands tall.
The white-blonde woman steps in front of her and smooths out the leather scarlet V.
Shame shadows Valentina's face.
It pisses me off further.
