Page 89 of Wicked Chains
How could I sleep when my body was flooded with the ghosts of her climaxes? One after another, rolling through the mark like waves crashing. I felt her surrender to them, all three of them. The incubus, the vampire, even that damned ghost.
I yank on my jacket and slam the door behind me. The corridors of the administrative wing are empty this early. The blood mark was supposed to be a one-way street. A tool for control, for siphoning power. No one told me it could work both ways, that I would become a prisoner to her sensations. That I would lieawake at night, sweating and hard, as Rose Smith gave herself to others.
She knew I could feel everything, and the knowledge excited her. She wanted me to feel it. Wanted me to know exactly what those men were doing to her, how they were making her feel. It was a provocation.
My Rose likes to play with fire.
I push through the doors leading outside, barely noticing the cold of the morning air. The quad stretches before me, frost glittering on the grass like scattered diamonds. A few early risers hurry toward the dining hall, their breath puffing white in the cold. I ignore them all, my focus narrowed to a single point, the dormitory building where Rose sleeps.
What is it about her that makes me like this? She's just a witch. Just a source of magic. Just an asset.
Except she isn't.
Rose Smith is an enigma. She's defiance and vulnerability in equal measure. She's the first person in decades who has surprised me, who has made me feel something beyond the desire for revenge. I hate it. I hate her for it.
Last night, lying in my bed, I felt her climax around those three men. Felt her mouth on the vampire, the incubus between her legs, the ghost at her back. And beneath it all, her awareness of me. Her deliberate enjoyment of my witness. The way she clenched and flooded at the thought of me feeling it all.
She was fucking them, but she was performing for me.
I take the stairs two at a time, my boots thudding on the treads. Third floor. Her floor. I slow my pace, gathering my composure.I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me affected. Not after the stunt she pulled.
What am I even doing here? I should be meeting with the coven elders, discussing how to contain Helena after yesterday's public humiliation. I should be planning our next move, securing our position. There has been chatter from outside, the Crescent Moon Coven is attempting to regroup, trying to find alliances. If that were to happen, it wouldn’t just be my coven in peril, it would be Rose as well. I have no doubt that they would drain her immediately, as Helena originally suggested we do.
But I don't turn back. There's a conversation that needs to happen. After what occurred in the dining hall, Rose needs to understand her position. Needs to know that while Helena is indeed a problem, the solution isn't to run to her little menagerie of monsters for protection. The solution is me.
I reach her door and pause, listening. The mark tells me she's alone, I can feel only her presence—not the others—and for that she is lucky.
I knock, restraining myself from simply barging in. Inside, I hear movement, then silence. She knows it's me. The mark ensures that.
"Go away." Her voice is muffled through the door.
"Open the door, Rose."
"It's seven in the morning. Unless the building's on fire, I'm not interested."
"You have ten seconds before I let myself in."
There's a string of foul language, then shuffling footsteps. The door swings open to reveal Rose in an oversized t-shirt thatbarely goes down to the tops of her thighs, her hair a tangled mess around her shoulders. Her eyes are puffy with sleep. She doesn't step back to let me in.
"What do you want?" The suspicion in her voice would be offensive if it weren't so expected.
I let my gaze travel over her, taking note of the marks visible on her neck, the slight wince as she shifts her weight. "May I come in? Or would you prefer to have this conversation where anyone might hear?"
She narrows her eyes, her body blocking the doorway. But after a moment's hesitation, she steps aside, grudgingly allowing me to enter. Her room is small, dominated by a bed with rumpled sheets that carry the scent of her night's activities.
"If you're here to threaten me, can we skip to the end? I'm not really in the mood for your villain monologue this morning." She crosses her arms, putting as much space between us as the small room allows.
Even exhausted and vulnerable, she maintains her fire. "That's not why I'm here."
"Then get on with it." She leans against her desk, one hand unconsciously moving to touch the blood mark on her arm.
I watch the movement. "To make sure you understand the situation after yesterday's incident with Helena."
"You mean when you forced her to kneel in front of everyone? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I understand the situation. She's going to murder me in my sleep."
"No. She won't."
Rose snorts. "And why's that? Because you told her not to? Helena doesn't strike me as the type to take orders well. Especially after you humiliated her."
