Page 71 of Shadows and Roses

His eyes were wide, his open hands slowly lifting, but all she’d done was tell him to—

Her blade was pressed to his throat. She hadn’t even registered her own movement.

She sheathed it, swallowed. "Darius, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me."

He opened his arms, holding her when she collapsed into him.

"Of course," he murmured into her hair. "I shouldn't have insisted. I won’t intrude again."

"I’m sorry. I just, I can’t stand anyone here while he’s…"

He let her go and stepped back, a small smile on his lips. "You don’t need to explain it to me. Be well, Anais. And know that I’m always here if you need me."

She was trembling after he left. She knew how much they trusted her, and she had never harmed them, but…

She could. She would never willingly hurt them, but when she lost herself, when the cold buried everything and she became a creature of necessity, what she wanted no longer mattered.

"Mother, how did you do this and not become a monster?"

Castien

The next week was a dream sprinkled with half-awareness.

A concerned old man frowning over him, his lips moving but the words incomprehensible.

A scream that pierced a beautiful sunny day on a beach.

He remembered choking on a foul liquid that he was too weak to avoid drinking. The dreams became stranger after that. They must have been dreams. There was too much blood—no one had that much blood. He screamed in those dreams.

Then the dreams stopped.

First, he became aware of the cold. He was thoroughly chilled, a light breeze making him shiver. Then a muted clanking sound—chains. Chains that rattled with his shivering, hanging from the ceiling, clamping his wrists and keeping him upright. More chains around his ankles, forcing his legs apart.

A draft brushed him fully awake and he glanced at himself. Naked. Unharmed though, he supposed that was something to be thankful for if his hazy memories could be trusted. Perhaps they were all dreams. The stones beneath his feet were cool, but not too cold. The early autumn warmth meant he probably wouldn't lose anything to frostbite. Though pissing could be a problem. Ah, there was a small drain in the corner, that was good. They hadn't healed him just so he could slowly rot.

His thoughts were a chaotic mess. That probably wasn’t good.

He blacked out again.

Warmth. A wet, soft, stroking warmth woke him, his hips thrusting instinctively. Hegroaned and opened his eyes, slowly focusing on a head bobbing between his legs. Stomach clenching, he pulled back but the head followed and claws dug into his ass, holding him in place. A throaty laugh sent unwelcome shivers through his body. The chains rattled and drowned out his growl.

"Get off of me," he snarled, straining against the chains, twisting as much as he could. Claws punctured his skin, digging deeper until he stopped struggling. Her mouth kept moving, licking, faster now. His eyes glazed, arms flexed, then he let out a slow, long breath and began to relax tense muscles, one at a time. The stones of his cage became etched into his mind as he captured every detail.

Participation, even fighting to escape, increased stimulation. He was a thoroughly trained and experienced whore; he could outlast most attempts.Let's see how long this bitch tries. He'd probably get bored first.

Massaging his lightly bleeding buttocks and taking a few more long, deep strokes, she leaned back and sighed contentedly. Her soft hand replaced her mouth.

"Come for me," she purred. "Come, and I'll leave you alone."

He concentrated on making out the details beyond this cell, ignoring her. This wasn't the first time he'd been raped, after all. He couldn't resist the first time, too inexperienced and hormonal to hold himself apart. He didn't give any of his other rapists the satisfaction, and he wouldn't now.

His lack of response made her pout. Her free hand drifted up his chest, caressing chilled muscles with soft warmth and sharp claws. If she was stupid enough to get close to his mouth, he'd bite off a finger.

"I'm surprised that bitch Anais hasn't broken you already. You're delicious. But don't worry, it'll be my pleasure," she purred, stroking him faster.

He slowed his breathing more, willed the room away, and focused on recreating a chess game in his mind. By the fifth internally narrated move, he was shrinking despite her ministrations. The hard slap across his face was unexpected, but he was busy trying to trap the white castle that was chasing his Queen. He barely heard her latest threat.

"Your skin is as smooth as a babe’s," she said, running claw-tips down his spine. "Almost a pity to destroy such perfection. But if you won’t play with me…"

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