Page 6 of Depravity

It's only as we say our goodnights and we all retire to our rooms that I finally get a glimpse of my real interest.

She slips down what can only be one of the servant’s stairs and tiptoes past the sombre looking portraits, barely making more sound than a ghost would.

Of course I follow her. I’d be a fool not to.

Opportunity has presented itself so nicely that it’s almost as if it’s a sign from God.

She doesn’t seem to realise she’s being tailed though, and I’m smart enough to keep my distance until I realise where she’s headed. At first, I thought she was sneaking out, making a real break for it. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she was, if she was seeking more thrills than these turgid walls could grant. But no, angel that she is, she isn’t looking for cheap thrills and cheap entertainment; I could almost laugh out loud when I realisewhere she is headed. What a contrast she is to her aunt, to her entire family.

She opens only the left of the massive double doors, pausing for just a moment before she slips inside.

And now I know that I have her trapped. I pick up my own pace, cross the polished parquet and step into the cavernous room beyond.

It’s a marvel. I’ll give them that. Clearly some past relative curated this collection, because I know neither Quinn nor any of his immediate family members would have the knowledge, nor the taste, nor the ability to collect such a plethora of books.

It’s not just a library, it’s a monument. Dusty tomes cover the walls from floor to ceiling. I can practically breathe in the words seeping out from the pages. They must employ someone full time just to maintain this collection and though I’m not much of a booklover myself, I can appreciate the knowledge that is here.

A shadow flickers ahead, and my prize takes timid steps, as if she’s afraid one of these books might just come to life and fly off the shelves at her.

But it’s also clear that she knows exactly where she’s headed. I don’t doubt she’s spent hours perusing every shelf, learning where her favourite genres and authors are. My lips curl up into a smirk.

She’s such a darling, isn’t she? So sweet, so innocent.

I can imagine how we would be if we were a couple; me off seeing to the demands of the Brethren, her tucked up at home, waiting contentedly for my return while she wiles away her days with one book and then another.

It’s a nice image, a nice idea.

And sadly, one that will never come into fruition.

No, I must take the precious few moments I have before all that freedom and happiness is shut away.

So I step forward, not caring that my own steps may carry. After all I’m an honoured guest here, and more than that, I’m a Blake.

Her hands falter, her breath hitches, and the book she was cradling so carefully crashes to the floor with a thud. Those big brown eyes widen to an astronomical size as she stares up at me in horror.

“Caught you.” I murmur, letting her hear the taunt in my voice.

She gulps, scooping down to hastily grab the book that’s fallen into a heap of crumpled pages and bent spine, only, I don’t let her get to it. Instead I pick it up, holding it just beyond her reach, more curious with what book had her so desperate to find it that she left the safety of her room in the middle of the night.

“Please…” She whispers.

“What?” I don’t lower my voice, I don’t keep quiet, though common sense tells me I should. The louder I am, the more likely we are to be discovered, and the less time I will get with her.

Her lip trembles as she clearly considers her next move carefully and it makes me wonder, do I scare her that much?

“Is it that good of a book?” I ask.

She draws in her breath, her eyes darting over my shoulder like she expects her entire family to be there, judging us both.

I don’t know what I expected, I don’t know why I thought she’d behave differently, why she would respond differently if we were alone. In truth, I’m almost disappointed by her standoffishness. Then I remind myself, I’m almost twice her age, I’m a Brethren Lord, and I’m a Blake. Those facts alone should be enough to put the fear of God into anyone. And little Brynn here has never been bold, has never been courageous. Her family has brought her up to be obedient, to bend, to be the perfect submissive. I can hardly fault her for that. I can hardly hold itagainst her, when those very traits are what make her so very attractive in the first place.

“Don’t be afraid.” I state, “You’re safe with me.”

That’s not exactly true. But if it makes her feel better, then so be it. I’ll whisper whatever niceties I have to, if it means I can make her more amenable.

“You’re safe with me.”

Those words don’t ease my fear in the slightest. Besides, I know it’s a lie. I know this man is not safe. That he is a selfish, conceited, arrogant piece of shit that considers his own wants far more than he considers anyone else’s. That’s shown by the way he behaves, by the way he treats my aunt. Sure, she’s a bitch but if he had any manners, he would at least give her the decency of being respectful in public instead of showing the world how much he does not want this marriage to take place.

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