Page 14 of Depravity

She’shere. Right in front of me.

Her eyes widen. She takes a step back and I’m quick to reach out, to grab her, to ensure she can’t escape.

She’s wearing a uniform, her school uniform. Christ, does she look so innocent in it. She’s got a plaid skirt that stops just above her knees, and the crisp white collar of her shirt sits on top of her dark woolly jumper. Her brown hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and I can imagine exactly how it would feel to grab a hold and yank her head right down to where I want it.

“Yyyyyou…” She stammers.

“Did you miss me?” I murmur, catching her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Her skin is soft, delicate – everything about her is delicate, really. Like fine china that needs to be handled with care, but also needs to be moulded, shaped while it’s still malleable.

Her cheeks flame, and I’m curious; is it embarrassment or anger that makes her react like that?

“You, you, you can’t…” She trails off, glancing around. “You can’t beeee here.”

Her voice sounds off, her words sound almost slurred. Last night I put it down to fear, but now I’m not so sure.

I frown, wondering if she’s drunk or high, but as I grab her face and force her to look at me properly, I realise that’s not it. She’s not under the influence of anything. She’s stone cold sober.

“What the fuck is wrong with your voice?” I ask.

She winces, her face flushing more red.

“I, I…” Whatever words she’s trying to say get lost and I can’t tell if it’s her fear of me, or her fear of something else making her stammer.

“Conrad, darling.”

We both freeze as that awful, grating lilt rings out down the corridor.

Brynn seizes the moment to slip from my grasp, only she runs right into her aunt, who pins her in place with a look that says it all.

And just as I open my mouth to argue with her, one of the servants comes running.

“Lord Blake.” He says, bowing low. “Your brother is on the line.”

I narrow my eyes, taking a step, wondering why the fuck Magnus would be calling the house and not simply calling me directly. And then I realise of course he would call here, he’d want to make sure I’d actually arrived. That I wasn’t lying aboutmy stay, that I hadn’t managed to come up with some miracle to get out of this.

Brynn looks at me, and our eyes meet for the briefest of seconds. Do I imagine the plea in them? Or is that my own desperation wanting her to feel it, wanting her to get on her knees and beg for my help?

My cock seems to throb at the memory of what she did, that last night she was more than willing to make her distaste for me known.

Maybe this will be a lesson to her. Maybe she’ll learn from this that if she wants something, then she has to play nice, to be nice. She can’t expect all the honey when she’s been acting like a little bitch.

I mutter something barely comprehensible to Giselle and then I turn on my heel, leaving them to it.

Let them fight it out between them. With any luck, Brynn will ring her aunt’s neck and solve all my problems for me.

My head slams into the wall. I cry out as it feels like a whole galaxy of stars dance before my eyes.

“Why the fuck aren’t you in your room already?” My aunt snarls. “And more importantly, why the fuck were you with him, talking to him?”

I can taste blood, I can taste it on my tongue. Does a bleed on the brain do that? Did she hit my head hard enough to do real, permanent damage?

I guess it’s my bad luck that I ran into him, ran into both of them, when I was simply trying to get to the safety of my room.

“Talk, bitch.”

She slams my head back again and my knees buckle. I slide down, falling into a heap at her feet.

“He, he…”

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