Page 96 of Deviant

I glance down, stare at the hands that he holds so calmly by his side. Will he strangle me? Will he snap my neck? Or will he stab me, rip my body open with a blade and let my blood pour out?

I gulp, seeing that image, that moment of when I lay there, broken with that chasm of a wound along my arm. It’s healed now. Healed entirely. I run my fingers along the huge scar that remains, and Magnus traces the movement with his eyes.

Does he know what I’m thinking? Does he understand where my head is at?

I don’t dare to ask him, not because I’m afraid of angering him, far from it. I’m afraid of what he will say. If he will lie and try to placate me or if he’ll be honest. If he’ll admit what my fate is.

No, he will tell me. Magnus is nothing if not honest with me. Has been honest with me. He’s never lied to me, he’s never misled me. He’s done the most unforgivable of things to me and yet that one thing I cannot accuse him of.

“What is it, pet?” he asks. His tone isn’t concerned, it’s neutral, curious even, like he wants to delve into the darkest recesses of my mind and find all those twisted awful things that dwell there. The things he’s created. The things he’s nurtured.

I shake my head, deciding it’s better to hold my tongue for once. I guess I am learning, I guess I am growing.

When the time comes, I know he won’t hesitate, so it makes no difference now if I live for a day or a year. Magnus will do as he pleases and I have to accept that fact, even if it does mean I’m going to die.

We walk further on. The gardens are so big I feel like I could spend my entire day exploring them and still discover more. Would he ever trust me enough to be out here alone? I doubt that, especially now that he knows that I know he’s still going to kill me.

And then, all too soon, his hand reaches out, he pulls me back and silently we return inside.

We eat in the hall.With Conrad there.

Unlike the last time, I’m not on my knees, forced to watch. No, this time I’m there, sat almost as an equal, though I’m very much aware of the fact that I’m not—my lack of clothes all but screams it out.

I don’t speak. I keep my eyes down. Trying to use my cutlery in a manner that makes as little noise as physically possible.

Conrad glances at me every now and then, but most of his attention is on his brother. Magnus is listing off what else is needed for some wedding. What final pieces need to be sorted.

Conrad is scowling, his hand clasps his knife like he might just launch himself at Magnus.

The food is fancy. Far fancier than the meals I normally am served. The lamb is so beautifully cooked that it practically melts into your mouth.

While they drink some fancy red wine, I sip my water slowly. There’s a niggling voice in my head telling me to be careful, to behave. The last time we were here, like this, I was laid out and fucked by the pair of them. Though I don’t mind if Magnus treats me so, I don’t want his brother’s hands on me, or any other man’s for that matter.

Am I naïve to think that perhaps that won’t happen now? Perhaps, after the way he reacted with Antonio, he won’t let anyone else touch me again? God, I hope so.

Magnus’s lips curl as if he knows where my head is at, and that sends a nervous shiver down my spine.

But then Conrad speaks, mutters something that clearly pisses Magnus off enough that he snaps back.

I drop my gaze, worried about where this is headed, an angry Magnus is not a good thing.

“If you’re so determined to have a wedding, why don’t you marry your whore?” Conrad sneers.

My eyes dart to Magnus’s face before I can think not to.

I imagined him to look even more pissed off, but instead he leans back in his seat, picks up his glass and takes a sip as though he really is contemplating it.

“You mean a double wedding?” Magnus murmurs. “You think Giselle would be happy to share the limelight?”

Conrad rolls his eyes, then stabs at a carrot on his plate only it shoots off, sliding in the buttery sauce to the other side.

I gulp as quietly as I can. Oh, I know it’s a tease but somewhere underneath, it is also an insult to me. Whoever this Giselle woman is, she apparently is worthy of marrying one of them while I, I’ll never be more than a slave to this family.

“Would you like that, pet?” Magnus says, turning his attention onto me. “Would you put on a pretty dress for me, promise to honour and obey me for the rest of your days, and become my lawfully wedded wife?”

It’s a joke. I know it is. And yet, I’m still petrified of the old Magnus, the one who would trick me with his words and then hurt me when I couldn’t reply appropriately. My mind seems to lock up. I’m caught by my own paralysis, and I stupidly stare from one brother to the other.

Conrad lets out a laugh almost as cruel as his brother’s.

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