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“For as long as I can remember,” I murmur, taking a bite of the croissant in front of me. Miriam’s cooking puts all others to shame. The croissant is light and flaky, the buttery taste dancing across my tongue. It’s heavenly.
“Do you know what the different colors mean?” she asks curiously, her eyes full of what looks like wonder and concern. It’s a look I’ve rarely seen in my life, and it makes something in me want to sob. She’s been so kind since I’ve become a captive here, and despite knowing that she will never be on my side or go against the Kings, she still tries to make a connection with me.
Even when I don’t deserve it.
I felt like shit for nearly yelling at her the other day. She’d been kind enough to ask about more freedoms for me, and I threw it in her face. She may not necessarily be an ally I can rely on to escape, but she can at least be a friend while I’m here.
“Some of them are pretty self-explanatory,” I tell her, sitting back in my chair with my coffee. “Anger. Sadness. Happiness. Those are emotions I see on people the most. They were easy to learn. It’s when the emotions start to get complicated that it becomes harder to decipher the meanings.”
I tried reading one of those woo-hoo books about auras once, and it got me nowhere. It was just a bunch of nonsense with no basis. I was disappointed in the research I had done because nothing added up. The books made people’s auras out to be one-dimensional, but they aren’t. They’re a myriad of layers, one bleeding into the next and the next.
Some, like my father, have a predominant color that overtakes everything else. It’s how I knew my father was not a good man, even before I fully understood what that meant. His colors were dark, rough strokes of black and gray. Near his death, they became chalky, like Lia’s. He was sick. Maroon often bled into his colors, especially near the end, when his anger was at its worst.
“What can you see on me?” she asks, straightening herself. I give her a small smile. Miriam has always been light. A blush pink that glitters and glows. There’s a dark tinge at the edges, but it’s faint. Knowing that she’s part vampire tells me that it isn’t a darkness that sits there, but eternity. The blackness of near immortality. When I tell her this, she beams at me, her eyes reflecting something I’ve never seen before.
Pride.
She’s proud of me. The thought makes butterflies erupt in my chest and tears sting in my eyes, causing them to water.
“There aren’t many who can do what you do.” Her expression turns somber. “Your mother’s people, even as strong as their bloodline was, rarely had someone who could read people the way you do.”
My mother’s people.
“Did you know my mother?” I ask her. Miriam’s eyes widen as if she’s said too much, and her aura pales. She hurriedly gets up from the table, brushing her apron and pushing in her chair. “Miriam,” I call, but she simply shakes her head as she walks away.
“Everything you’re seeking will come, Thalia,” she whispers sadly. “But you might not like the answers you are looking for.” With those parting words, she disappears into the house, leaving me with more questions than answers and a dark, empty pit in my stomach.
Chapter 27
Thalia
Anxiety rolls through me like a ship through a storm. Every nerve ending in my body is lit up like the night sky as I make my way to Drystan. The king has summoned his toy again. Weylen escorts me this time. He’s a silent giant as we make our way toward our destination. I’m in another blood-red lingerie set, this one far more revealing with crisscrossing straps that barely cover my bits. Luckily, I’m able to hide beneath the robe.
For now.
Weylen leads me past Drystan’s office and to a small sitting room. I’m surprised to find that Asher is waiting for us as well. They are both sitting on a large emerald sofa that dominates one wall, deep in conversation. Upon hearing us enter, they immediately cease their words and turn toward me.
“Remove the robe, Thalia,” Asher says, his eyes on me, irises blown wide with hunger. Without hesitating, I slip off the warm silk and let it pool at my feet. Three pairs of eyes peruse my nearly naked body, their gazes filled with a deep, insatiable hunger that peeks through the stone walls of their auras.
Lust.
It’s a heady sensation of power that rips through me knowing that I’m the reason for their molten desires. I’m the reason that their pupils are dilating and their cocks are no doubt becoming stiff in their pants. But the feeling fades when reality hits me again. They desire my body, but they don’t desire me. Not like a woman should be desired, anyway. I’m a pawn, but it’s hard to remember that when the three men are looking at me like I’m the queen to their throne.
“On your knees, little lamb,” Drystan purrs. This time, I hesitate to obey the command, wondering if they’re trying to humiliate me and remind me of my place.
Weylen’s large hand presses gently on my shoulder, and my body obeys, despite my brain screaming at it to resist. I clench my jaw as my knees hit the soft rug beneath me. There’s a twinkle in Asher’s eye, one that tells me he knows I’m being defiant despite my outward compliance.
“She doesn’t look so happy, brother.” He smirks, lifting his tumbler to his lips. My throat bobs as I watch the whiskey slide down his throat, my thighs clenching slightly as a warmth spreads through me. Drystan answers with a smirk of his own as he leans back into the sofa, uncrossing his legs, spreading them wide open.
“Crawl to me,” he orders, his voice as smooth as the bourbon in his hand. My chest is heaving as I struggle to overcome the blatant want traveling through me. It wants to go to him, to please him, but the red flags waving around in my mind keep me steady. When he sees that I’m not obeying, his lips curl into a snarl. “I won’t ask again, Thalia. Disobey, and there will be consequences.”
The reminder of his belt on my ass and the denial of pleasure has me on my hands and knees, crawling toward him like a supplicant to a king. The act of crawling doesn’t send waves of humiliation through me as I thought it would. I watch their gazes as I move toward Drystan on my hands and knees, my ass in the air, breasts swaying slightly behind the silk straps. They’re enraptured. Enthralled. It’s the best drug a girl could ask for, seeing them so captured by my body.
I place myself between Drystan’s legs, sitting back on my heels with my hands in my lap subserviently. His desire for me is evident beneath the straining material of his jeans, and I lick my lips in an unconscious gesture as I stare at it, remembering what it felt like in my mouth. The salty taste of his precum. Ugh. Down, girl. They took you captive, remember? But despite that reprimand, I still react to the sight of him. To them. The three vampires who turned my world upside down. Who make me feel cherished one moment and like a sex toy the next.
They’re like fucking yo-yos. Ones I want to cut the strings from.
“Look at me, little lamb.” My mouth twists at the nickname. I hate it. Hate how they see me. A naïve little lamb they can slaughter with their sharp teeth. Still, I obey, my gaze meeting his. His eyes are lighter than they’ve been since the night they came to claim me.
