Page 12 of Queen of Whispers and Mist

It made him hard. The woman was fearless. Even when she was so clearly outmatched, she did not shy away from the fight. He took great pride in it, attributing her core of steel to the magic that ran through her veins, even as he wanted to snuff it out.

But wasn’t that always the way with beautiful things? Like a wild horse that must first be broken in order to become a valuable asset. Beauty’s true worth lay in ownership—if one could master it, they also inherited its power.

“Come here.”

She hesitated only a second before closing the distance between them, her hands loosely fisted at her side.

He gripped her chin. “I take no pleasure in hurting you.”

“Yes, you do.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, I do. But only because I love to watch you break. I live for the moment you come back to me. When you remember you are mine.”

She gasped softly, her eyes locked onto his as he latched onto her mind. Running his fingertips along the side of her face, he called his magic to the surface, pouring it into her. She shivered, her eyes going hazy as those first few tendrils took root and flourished. Like seeds newly planted, they leeched the soil of its nutrients, drawing that which they needed into themselves and growing stronger in the process.

His compulsion was the seed, Shadow’s mind the soil, and her magic the nourishment.

“Do you know who I am?” he whispered once she began to sway.

Voice dreamy, she replied, “The one I live to serve.”

“And who does that make you?”

“Your most devoted servant.”

There you are, my beautiful girl. How I so love these moments of surrender. Even if they are forced.

Another time, her words would have been enough, but tonight he needed everything. There could be no doubt as to what happened once she was allowed to leave this room. So he continued to weave his web, taking full control of her mind while robbing her of her birthright. Her knees buckled, her already battered body unable to hold itself up against the onslaught. Having expected it, Erebos caught her easily, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to her bed.

She could have been a princess from one of the mortal’s faerie stories, in her black gown with her starlight-colored hair strewn over the silk of her pillow. Her pale skin and fever-bright eyes only added to the illusion of a woman in desperate need of a rescue. She had the kind of ethereal, timeless beauty men would immortalize in poems.

A low chuckle slipped out at the thought. In the would-be poets’ desperation to impress and woo her, they’d compare her eyes to exotic gems and her lips to dew-kissed petals. None of them would guess, seeing her this way, that they’d got it backward. She wasn’t the one that needed to be rescued.Theywere.

Shadow wasn’t the rose, she was the thorn... and her prick was lethal.

She gave him a sleepy blink, every inch the compliant little doll waiting for instruction. That’s when he knew she was ready.

Skating his fingers along her forehead, he planted his compulsion deep. When there was no reaction, no sign of hesitation or disgust, he asked, “Do you understand what it is I need from you?”

“I do.”

“Tell me.”

“You need me to destroy the threat.”

“What threat?”

Her expression twisted, no longer peaceful but filled with righteous fury. “The red-haired deceiver. The one who seeks to take what does not belong to him.”

“And what’s that?”

“Me.”

He cupped her cheek, his voice turning tender as he asked, “Who do you belong to, Shadow?”

“You, my lord. Always.”

The proof of her successful reconditioning had the last of the tension and anger fleeing. He didn’t just feel relief, he felt... giddy. Expectant. He’d gone from being issued a blatant challenge to his rule to finding himself on the cusp of dealing a devastating blow to Luna and using her own warrior to do it.

---