Page 42 of Depravity

“Yes,” She whispers.

I draw in a long breath. “If you’re lying…”

“She’s not.” Her mother hisses. “We kept her pure, we followed all the regulations of the Brethren. She’s old enough to marry too. One of your men…” She trails off pleadingly, as if looking for a volunteer.

“No,” the girl screams, jerking against the hands that hold her.

“You’re offering her as a bride?” I state, more than a little amused now. Less than two days ago, her father was conspiring against us, acting like we were the scum of the earth. Now, her mother suddenly thinks we’re good enough for marriage.

The mother nods. “Yes, she’s a good girl. An obedient one.”

“Mother…” The girl sobs, “I don’t want, I don’t…”

“Better you be one of their wives than a whore in Oblivion.” Her mother hisses back.

My lips curl. I’m tutting before I can stop myself, and they both look at me.

“You think I can make such decisions?” I murmur.

“You’re a Blake.” The mother gasps. “You have the power…”

Even if I did, I wouldn’t.

I drop my gaze, taking in the girl’s body. She’s thick. Curvy. Some men like that, like suffocating beneath fleshy thighs. “She’ll go to the auction.” I state.

“No, no,” I don’t know which one of them says it, if they both say it, but it doesn’t really matter. Their fate is unchanged.

Both of them will go to Oblivion. The mother will become a permanent slave, and the daughter will go on display. Her virginity will fetch a fine price and once she’s spoiled, she’ll join her mother in the halls. They at least will have that.

As I stroll back out, I see the van waiting ahead. I can hear Lord Upshaw banging on the side like someone’s going to simply open it up and let him go after all.

“Someone knock that fucker out,” I snarl. I’ll be damned if I have to listen to him the whole way back to my brother’s house.

“How long did it take for you to know?” I ask, thinking out loud.

My brother pauses, his whiskey poised at his lips. “Know what?”

My eyes land on his wife. She’s sitting so docile. So meekly. But six months ago, she was locked in the basement, beaten, battered, and half-broken from what Magnus did to her. It was quite the art, quite the skill to dehumanise her the way he did; to take a woman as strong as she was and turn her into the masterpiece she is today.

She’s wearing a sheer dress. I can make out those plump breasts of hers, the nice curves of her hips. He likes her like that,on display, because it’s a testament to how much control he now has. Her hair has grown back enough that it sits just above her shoulders, all that bleach she had at the start is gone, and it’s a beautiful shade of copper now.

She looks back at me, holding my gaze with a hint of fire, and I can’t help but smirk. The old Magnus would have had her on her knees for that, would have had her bent over and forced to take us both.

Pity, he’s not into that anymore. I used to enjoy those games, used to enjoy the way she cried and begged.

I clear my throat, reminding myself that right now I have Brynn and if I choose, I can do the same to her. I can beat her, maim her, hurt her until she begs me to stop. Only, I wouldn’t share her the way Magnus did. I wouldn’t let anyone else lay a finger on her. She’s mine to devour. Mine to enjoy. All fucking mine.

“How long was it before you knew it was working?” I ask, “Before you realised you were actually breaking the bitch?”

Liliana flinches.

Just a little. Just enough.

If Magnus sees it, I don’t know. If he does, I wonder if he’ll enjoy that reaction or punish her for it after I’m gone. I know he hasn’t changed; I know in his core, my brother is like me. He wouldn’t grow soft, simply because he loves her. No, the mountain doesn’t bend because it enjoys the caresses of the wind. It stays where it is. Majestic, and unmoved.

“You thinking of your wife-to-be?” He asks, with a distinct sharpness to his voice.

Wife. Not wife-to-be. But yes. My eyes fix on Liliana again, on how perfect she is for Magnus.

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