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What I can’t explain is the difference between how I enjoyed Raven forcing himself on me last night and the sickening feeling rising in my throat the longer this man paws at me.
I can’t cause a scene in here, not in front of all the Anguis. I’m playing the dutiful part of my father’s heir, after all. By going along with their plan, I’m protecting Em and safeguarding my mother’s memory from their sick lies and twisted, false claims. But my skin is crawling, and my chest grows tighter with every turn around the dance floor.
Eventually, the man groping me speaks up. “Do you remember me?” His face smiles serenely at the room, nodding periodically at whoever looks our way.
“Yes.” I force a smile. His face is familiar enough, but right now his name evades me, and I’ll gladly do without knowing it. In fact, I would happily go without ever seeing his leering expression ever again.
“Andreas and I had plans; you may or may not have been aware of these sorts of things. Especially considering your lengthy absence from Noire House.”
His beady eyes flicker down to look at me and I want to vomit.
“Well, my father isn’t here now, and I’m taking his place as the last remaining Noire.” Lies, but I don’t need him knowing that.
“You’ll be needing a steady hand.” The man’s teeth are polished white against his overdone fake tan. “A naive girl like you knows nothing of this world. What you require is someone who can successfully guide the Noire seat and this Household within the Anguis.”
“I am more than certain I’ll do just fine.”
“There will be expectations of you as the Noire heir to fulfill certain duties.”
Ew. If he’s suggesting I get knocked up in the name of Noire House, no thank you.
“Wouldn’t want a pretty little thing like you to end up beyond her depth with the Anguis. Your father made certain of that.”
I bet he fucking did.
Just as I’m starting to fall apart at the seams, a shadow looms large over my shoulder. Our movements halt abruptly.
“If you’ll allow me, Crane.”
Miles Crane. The name rears up in my gut like a bull ready to charge. I remember him, or more to the point, I remember being threatened with the prospect of being sold to him as a teenager.
But I don’t have time to roll into horrid memories of my father’s schemes, the sudden recognition of this man is not what captures my attention. The deep, velvety voice and solid wall at my back isn’t either of my so-called protectors who I arrived here with tonight.
It’s Thorne.
His palm comes to rest against the curve at the base of my spine, and sparks begin to soar from that tiny point of contact.
“Of course, be my guest, Calliano.” The sleaze steps aside, gesturing the length of my body with a disgusting look on his face as if I’m already his to lend to Thorne for a twirl around the floor. I have to fight every urge that wants to spit in his face.
Thorne comes to stand in front of me, and I’m never prepared for this man, it would seem. He’s dressed in black to match Ky and Raven, with his hair tousled and jaw looking fine in a coating of stubble.
Where the fuck has he been all this time?
I want to slap him and kiss him and have his hands on me all at once.
“Good timing. I think I was about to be the evening’s ritual sacrifice to appease the Gathered.”
Thorne steps into my body and wraps my hand inside his massive palm, while the other snakes around my waist. I nearly gasp when the weight and heat of his possessive hold feels as though it might burn through the fabric of my dress at any moment.
“He deserves his tongue cut out for touching you like that.” The gruffness in his voice makes my thighs clench.
Well, fuck. Murderous, possessive Thorne is my kind of temptation, it would seem.
“Any time you want to bring me that vile man’s tongue, would be a wonderful thing.” We don’t exchange civilities or greetings like normal people might do after not seeing each other for an extended period of time. It seems almost laughable—the first words we’ve spoken to each other in a week, or since the moment he left me on those steps the night of the auction, are about dismemberment.
Because nothing about this life is normal.
Our bodies move intuitively with the music, and of course, this asshole knows how to dance. He’s smooth and suave and smells so fucking good I want to melt. His giant paw dwarfs my hand inside his while holding me steady. There’s no escaping him, and maybe it’s because I haven’t seen him for days; I find myself perfectly content to be held by him. Clearly, my hormones are acting like lusty bitches again, since not one single fiber in my being wants to flee his presence.
