He endured the worst of his father’s torment when we were young. He was so protected by his mother that after she was gone, he had no one to shield him anymore. I don’t think he’s felt a loving hand since the day she died.
You’d think he’d be kinder because of it. He knows what it’s like to feel only abuse. And yet, he only regurgitates that cold cruelness his father always showed him.
She stands on stumbling feet. While she slides her arms through the long sleeves of my shirt, the tattered remains of her black dress slip down her thighs and to the floor. The gold chains beneath the shirt are hidden, but the lines of where they lie press against the fabric. My shirt covers her but rises against her thighs with every move she makes. Smooth, pale skin demands my attention but I focus only on the alarm sparking in her big green eyes. Until she folds her arms tightly around herself, and reminds me of her perfect tits that are now pressing hard against the weak little button of my shirt.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath. I look quickly away, but Seven catches my gaze, a hinting smirk pulling at his lips as he glances my way.
Fuckers. Both of them.
They think I’m weak and too kind for my own good.
I’m not. I’m a warrior to a throne that despises me. I’ve slain thousands for a man I’d kill myself if given the chance.
I just happen to give a shit about the world and the state of this fucking kingdom. It needs stability right now. If Boris were to be violently killed, his limbs removed one by one before his meaty head was ripped off, the Fae Kingdom would strike.
Stability. It’s entirely too important right now.
Carelessly, Christian lights a cigarette. The red smoke of it curls around his fingers before he inhales so deeply, the magic in the smoke nearly snuffs right out. His eyes remain closed for a long, long moment.
“Seven, take her back to the room. Get her some of your Hallistal salve for her back.” Christian’s attention isn’t on the woman he’s speaking about at all. Hooded, steely eyes remain focused on the door his father exited just moments ago.
Just like a true king, the list in his mind never ends. I just don’t know what that list entails at the moment.
“Then meet Rorrick and me in my office.” He’s striding away before anyone even has time to process his words.
There it is.
Those dark secrets I mentioned; those are on the list.
Chapter 10
Crymson
I’m a whole damn idiot.
I actually thought I could just look pretty and slip out of this fucking Anne Rice hell!
It’s silent as we slowly walk back through the twisting halls. My arms are crossed so tightly, it hurts, but I can’t bring myself to lower them from where they’re wrapped around myself. Neither of us speak, and I don’t think I even have the ability to. If my voice lifted from my throat, the sobs I’ve held back would overtake my words in an instant.
Seven doesn’t rush me like Christian did. He lets me trudge at his side on steps that feel aimless and numb. I don’t try to calculate my steps. I don’t try to run.
It’s all pointless. So much so that I don’t even realize when we’ve entered the bedroom, and I’m suddenly sitting like an empty shell on the very edge of the most luxurious bed I’ve ever seen. Seven trails through the room and lights candle after candle until the entire emerald-green walls are alit with a warm glow that should feel calming.
If I wasn’t trapped in a literal nightmare.
I watch him for a long moment while memories of vampire lore flit through my mind. In a feeble attempt, I lift my hands and cross one index finger over the other. I thrust the little hand sign of religion toward him.
He peers at me out of the corner of his eye. He gives me some attention, but it’s like he’s uncomfortable and doesn’t want me to know he sees me. Hesitantly, he seems to wait for me to lower the insulting cross. But I don’t. This could be the only protection I have. He seems forced to acknowledge my threat. Pitifully, he looks at me fully with confusion pinching his brow.
“What—what the hell are you doing? Is that a mortal gang sign? Are you in a gang?”
A quiet sigh slips over my lips as I realize the sign of the cross doesn’t affect him in the least.
I know what they are though. Boris has to be...
“Was he a vampire?” I ask, the words just tumbling out of me.
Seven pauses in his work as he opens a small box on a dresser just across the elaborate room.