Page 30 of Stormbinder King
“You might be the Alpha King, but you don’t know e-everything,” I retorted. “Jack does love me.”
“As the k-king,” Symeon snarled harshly, gripping my arm, “I am in control of discipline in the Stormbinder Pack. You might be bound to Jack, but I am the one ultimately responsible for your behavior and discipline. Do you understand?”
My arm ached where he gripped me.
“I do,” I said.
“And I will expect you to present yourself better in future.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dress better.”
His words fell heavy and shameful on me.
“Wear a goddamn longer skirt for once.”
He stepped closer, broad and imposing in the moonlight, and twisted my arm.
The tears started to my eyes, both at his cruel mockery of my stutter and the way his fingers bit into me.
But how could he hold me so tightly with Jack’s protective spells?
My mouth fell open at what the spell must be doing to him.
“Are you—you resistant to the magic? Does the spell not hurt you?”
His fingers were digging into my skin.
“Oh no, Andromeda,” he said, my name sounding wrong and unfamiliar in his mouth. “It hurts quite a bit. Now listen good, you brat. Keep what appears to be your natural impulses to be a whore in check. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see you sucking my brother’s dick at the table. I don’t need your dripping cunt stinking up the room. Control yourself and behave or I will be forced to control you myself. Now go.”
He shoved me away from him.
I fled. And didn’t look back to where he stood like a huge, hateful shadow in the darkness.
10
“What did my brother want?” Jack asked later that night, as I prepared his evening tea, crushing the fragrant herbs between my fingers.
It was such a simple ritual, but it was the only thing that made me feel a little bit useful and have a place in the Pack.
Mint, lemon, and rosemary made a lovely combination, and I balanced a few of tart cookies beside his cup as I walked it over.
I loved our evenings together before bed, the lights of the other treehouses flickering outside our window with a comforting glow. At night, the humidity would break and the dark treetops would glimmer in the silvery night sky.
Then I’d sit on his lap or curl in beside him as he’d sharpen knives or carve intricate designs into wood.
Tonight my mate looked up at me, his hands resting on his powerful thighs as he sprawled out lazily in the chair.
“He didn’t like what we did at dinner,” I muttered resentfully.
After all, what was it to Symeon where I sucked his brother’s dick?
“Why does he dislike me so much?” I asked plaintively.
“He’s an asshole,” Jack answered lazily. “He doesn’t like new people. Did he say anything in particular to you?”
My jaw ached where the king had gripped it. It was too embarrassing to share what he had said. What if Jack agreed with him?
