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“No! Okay?” A loud gasp bursts from my lips when he finally stops torturing me and turns me toward him. There is a deep hunger in his eyes. One I’m so caught up in that I barely register him pulling up my shirt. Weylen dips his head, a smirk forming on his luscious lips, and takes my abused nipple in his mouth.
Oh. Oh.
My back arches, giving him better access as he licks and laves, soothing the pain he caused. When he sucks the tight little bud into his mouth, I can’t help the moan that seeps between my lips. How is he doing this? What magic does he have that allows him to control my body so easily?
His mouth pops off my breast, and I shiver as the cool air rushes over the warmed skin. My toes curl as he trails his lips up the column of my throat, nipping and licking at the sensitive skin. Goose bumps shower my body, the feeling he causes to erupt inside me bubbling over. I keep my hands in my lap, fingers twisting together, unsure of what to do with them. Do I reach out and touch him? Do I want to?
Weylen has one hand still secured around my waist, but his other hand wanders, fingertips ghosting over my body like a pianist caressing the ivory keys of a piano. It’s almost reverent, but I tell myself that little bit is my imagination. I’m not anything to these men. Just a chip to be bargained. A pawn to be sacrificed.
“Tell me about your mother,” he whispers against my skin, not stopping his perusal of my body.
My body tenses at his question, the pleasure evaporating. Weylen senses the change and pulls back, his lips leaving my skin.
“I’m the reason she’s dead.”
Chapter 12
Weylen
Thalia pales at my question, her lower lip trembling when she tells me what she believes is her darkest truth.
It isn’t even close.
There are many more secrets to uncover when it comes to our sacrificial little lamb. Deep truths that she isn’t aware of that will cut her to the bone. But for now, those secrets are ours to keep. The pleasure her body has been thrumming with dissipates as her muscles tense and her need to flee kicks in. I suspect that Thalia rarely, if ever, fights against the injustices she faces.
Every question I ask or plan on asking, I already know the answer to. It’s how I win the game. Drystan, Asher, and I know everything there is to know about our little captive. She can’t hide from any of us.
“Is that what your scum of a father forced you to believe?” There is doubt in my mind that she did not come to that conclusion herself. She was an innocent in her mother’s unfortunate demise. Alonzo, her scum father, no doubt led her to believe the lie because of his anger toward his second wife. I read the medical charts. Bridgett’s doctors warned her of the danger in giving birth to Thalia, but she ignored all their advice, refusing to terminate the pregnancy.
“It’s what’s true,” she whispers, her eyes falling dejectedly to the floor. She is curling in on herself. Creating distance between us. I’m not going to allow her to close herself off to me. To any of us. She is ours. Every single inch of her. Her thoughts. Her weakness. Her insecurities. They belong to us, and we will bring her to the edge until she’s broken. Only then can she truly be what we need her to be.
“Your father was a coward,” I hiss, my fingers clenching on her hip. She’s soft beneath my touch. Supple. It has been many years since I’ve yearned for a woman other than a quick fuck. There’s more to Thalia than simple carnal urges. Drystan wasn’t lying the night she saw us fucking the redhead. She wouldn’t have liked our brand of fucking. Or maybe she would have. Only time will tell. Thalia isn’t some nameless woman who’s easily forgotten. She is so much more.
I chuck her under the chin, forcing her eyes to mine. “No one, especially you, was responsible for her death. Death comes for us all eventually, little lamb.” My eyes burn into her, letting her see the truth in my words. Her eyes are like glaciers, such a pure crystalline blue. They pull me in, calling to me like a siren’s song.
She’s quiet for a moment as her gaze searches mine. There’s a hunger there that wasn’t there before, but then it’s gone, snuffed out like a fire as she pulls away.
“How old are you?”
“Too many years to count,” I tell her honestly. “I come from an age of fire and steel. Of warriors and battle. Your historians call it the Middle Age.”
Her jaw drops open slightly, eyes widening as she looks at me again. “That’s over a thousand years ago.” I can’t help the tilt of my lips at her awestruck tone. Our little lamb is a lover of history. My sources tell me that she’s been studying it since she learned to read. She was fascinated with the story of King Arthur and Camelot. Even though the tales were nothing more than simple fables, she chased the history behind them until she became utterly consumed. Thalia has a voracious spirit when it comes to learning. I saw the thirst for knowledge reflected in her gaze when she eyed my sword in the sitting room.
She didn’t need to tell me what was going on in her head, because I could see it on her face. Her eyes had analyzed every inch of it, immediately recognizing its worth. There are very few people who know the worth of that sword. Most people brush over it because it doesn’t shine like the artifacts around it. It’s worn and dingy. The steel is cloudy, and the blade dulled by time.
It surprised me when she noticed it. Out of all the shiny baubles that catch people’s attention, she focused on my sword. The constant reminder of my failure. The permanent scar of my people’s betrayal. I should have died that day on the battlefield, but my fate was torn from me. My time in Valhalla will never come.
Because of Drystan.
It took me decades to come to terms with my new life and even longer to forgive him. I’m not proud of what I did or what I became after he turned me, but that’s in the past now, and all I have is the long, inevitable future ahead of me.
“Tell me something, little lamb.” I shake off the cobwebs of my memories, snaking the hand on her waist into her leggings. She thinks this small layer of fabric will keep her safe from us, but it won’t. “Did you enjoy the spanking Drystan gave you last night? Were your pretty thighs drenched with your arousal as he whipped that ripe bottom?”
Thalia shifts on my lap, her thighs tightening as my hand dips between them. She moves as if to push my hand away, but her hands pause as my thumb circles her clit. Instead, they clench into fists, and her head bows back.
Denial is at the tip of her tongue, but she stays quiet. It isn’t a denial, but she also hasn’t spoken the words I want to hear so desperately.
I dip two fingers into her wet channel and whisper in her ear. “Tell me, Thalia. Were you this aroused and dripping for him? Did you finger that pussy of yours just like this after he left?”
