“You are welcome to dinner anytime you wish,” I say, the invitation sounding hollow even to my own ears. I know a formal dinner under my control, in my territory, is the only feasible way I can manage this, manage her.
Lazarus’s eyes glide back to me, and the secretive smile returns, now tinged with cruelty. “And something else besides the food?”
I pause, saying nothing, even though I know exactly what he means.
He leans forward slightly, the wicker chair creaking under his shift in weight. “We have both heard about a certain evening spent at the Black Orchid. I would like to see for myself what kind of pet you are training. I would like to witness the quality of this bitch’s obedience firsthand.”
It’s hard not to smile. I know what he’s asking, what he’s not saying; that he wants to see her perform, wants to witness her particular type of art for himself.
He glances at his brother, and to my surprise Konstantine nods.
“Invite Charles as well.” He continues. “Our U.S. Chapter Lord should see how things are done properly, and a few others. I’ll make a list for you. We’ll make a night of it. A private showing. They can see how skilled you are for themselves.”
I keep my face a perfect sculpture of compliance. “Of course. I will arrange it.”
The silk is cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my own dread.
It’s a deep, blood-red dress. A garment designed not for warmth or modesty, but as a display case. The neckline plunges past the swell of my breasts, and the fabric clings to every curve before whispering away just above my ankles with a long revealing slit.
I feel more naked than if I was wearing nothing at all.
Every inch of exposed skin prickles with a sickening vulnerability.
Antonio had the maids ‘prepare’ me. I’ve spent almost the entire day being washed, preened, shaved and prepped in ways I don’t even want to contemplate.
As I stand before the full-length mirror in his dressing room, I don’t see myself. I see a doll, a mannequin arranged for a private viewing. My makeup is perfect; my hair is styled beautifully, but I know in a few hours I will be a complete mess. My hands are trembling so I clench them into fists at my sides, the bite of my nails into my palms a tiny, sharp anchor in the swirling sea of my panic.
The door opens without a sound. Antonio steps in, already immaculate in a tailored dark suit that costs more than most people’s houses are worth. His eyes sweep over me with a cold, appraising glance that misses nothing.
There is no approval in his gaze today, only assessment as I quickly sink to my knees and drop my head forward.
He walks toward me, a predator in a civilized skin and stops close enough that I can smell his cologne; a mix of sandalwood and something darker, far more complex.
His fingers, cool and dry, turn me around before lifting my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his in the mirror. Our reflections are a study in contrast: his power, my powerlessness.
“They will be here soon, Pup,” he says, his voice a low, smooth murmur that slithers over my skin. “Our Grand Master, the U.S. Chapter Lord and two men from the Senate. All men of consequence.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is a desert. I can only nod, a tiny, brittle movement. All I can think of is Magnus Blake; how utterly terrifying that man is, and these men are just as powerful. Just as dangerous.
My father was meant to be one of them.
The thought is fleeting, like a flash of grief for a life, a piece of happiness I couldn’t cling onto.
His grip on my chin tightens almost imperceptibly. “Tonight, you will need to be perfect. You are a reflection of my taste, of my control. You will speak only if spoken to, and your answers will be minimal. You will keep your eyes down. You will kneel where I indicate, and you will not move unless I command it. Do you understand the absolute perfection I require from you tonight?”
I find my voice, a thin, reedy thing. “Yes, Master.”
“And you understand,” he continues, his eyes hardening into chips of obsidian, “that if you disobey, if you embarrass me in any way, the punishment will not be a mere correction? It will be severe. It will be something you remember every time you think of stepping out of line. Do you understand that, Pup?”
The threat is not veiled, it is a blade held to my throat. Images flash in my mind; the cold basement room, the sting of the crop, the terrifying, unknown depths of his cruelty.
A full-body tremor wracks me, and I know he feels it.
I nod again, my vision blurring. “I-I understand. I’ll be perfect.”
He releases my chin, smoothing a hand over my hair as if calming a skittish animal. “Good. Now, compose yourself. They are arriving.”
He leaves me there, staring at the terrified woman in the mirror.
