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I. Am. Not.
This has to be the most archaic and patriarchal ritual of the Anguis. One that I thought had been cast aside.
I shudder thinking about all the women who have come before me. The ones who had no choice but to be put through a Pledging ceremony when the purpose was to impregnate them in front of an audience.
The worst kind of fear.
A Pledging ceremony is nothing more than a show of ownership. Claiming and taking from women, reducing them to nothing more than flesh to own, has been the case for centuries.
But it seems these men are intent on doing everything within their power to torture me and humiliate me. Forcing me to be degraded and treated like nothing more than a blow-up doll and a dumpster to rut into and fill with their semen in front of an audience. That’s how they intend to take control of Noire House.
Right before they no doubt dispose of my body amongst these trees that I’m staring at from my bed.
How many other girls like me are buried out there?
I pause as that thought wanders aimlessly around my brain. Why does the idea of them having other women here before me stir up something that has no right existing in my gut?
I’m sicker than I thought if I’m allowing myself to be attracted to these monsters. But then again, this was the world I was raised in. I can hardly blame myself for finding murderous psychopaths with a god complex attractive.
Biting my bottom lip, I sink beneath the covers, immersed in my nest of self-judgement.
My superpower of summoning them by thinking about their stupid faces is evidently in full effect this morning as I hear footsteps outside, and my door handle suddenly turns—surprisingly, with no unlocking noise this time. I file that little piece of information away for later.
But instead of my surly wolf, in strolls the gorgeous Nordic surfer himself. The asshole is shirtless, with sweatpants slung low on his hips, just to really fuck with my confused brain and unruly hormones. To make it worse, he’s carrying two cups of coffee with him.
I sit up and drag my covers over my chest, eying him suspiciously.
“I hear a little Fox needs some lessons on how to use her teeth and claws.”
That’s the understatement of the year. Not that anyone spoke on the car ride back here last night, but Raven’s bloodied fists and my disheveled state were rather obvious clues that something had gone down.
I’m guessing they discussed the details after I bolted straight for my room without looking back.
Ky crosses the space between us, making himself at home on the edge of the bed like he’s done this a thousand times before. “Almond milk.” He says as he hands me the coffee.
“Thank you,” I mutter as I sniff at the fragrant aroma of roasted beans. Fuck, I could kiss him with how good this smells. Apparently, I am one easy bitch to please.
He studies me over the rim of his own mug. In turn, I try not to stare at all the bunched muscles on display, or at his crotch, or how his hair loosely hangs around his face. There’s a slight curl to it, and some strands are a rich honey color, while others are bleached like white sand.
My horny brain immediately pictures him emerging from the ocean with rivulets of water trickling over every one of those indents on his chiseled torso.
“So, you're up for it?”
I must look as confused as I feel because I’ve completely forgotten what he’s talking about. Lost in a trance of imagining the way I would run my tongue across his sun-kissed skin.
In an attempt to avoid my own sick fascination with these men, I take a long sip of my coffee.
“Get up. Get dressed. I’d like to teach you a thing or two.” His green eyes have a knowing glint to them.
My pussy clenches. God, I practically have to shake myself to regain my senses. Clearly, the fact we’re sitting on my bed, while both half-naked, has allowed my mind to spin off into dangerous territory indeed.
One where he’s teaching me lessons of a very different nature.
The next gulp I take of my coffee burns down the back of my throat, dragging me out of horny-ville and into the present moment. Where were we?
Oh, right. Self-defense.
“I thought I wouldn’t need any, seeing as I’m going to be locked in here for the rest of my life.” Sarcasm is apparently my default setting when in fear of being caught out wondering how big this man’s dick is.
