“At that moment, I understood my father did not view me as his son, only as an instrument to wield and shape into the most ruthless extension of his will. And if I failed to become that heartless embodiment of his power. . . then I was nothing at all to him.” The wood of the crate cracks under my hand. I didn’t realize I’d been holding it so hard. I step back and wipe my hand down my pants.
“Did you do it?” Cinder breathed after I told her what happened. “Did you keep beating the other kid?”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t do it.” I paid for that.
It was the first day I learned what true pain was, but it wouldn’t be the last.
“Since then, I’ve almost made it my mission to disappoint Daddy Dearest.” The partying antics, the sleeping around, they were partly proving that I was exactly what he said I was—useless, irresponsible, and no real royal. The rest was because I was trying to fill that hole inside me where I imagine parental love should be.
“But your mother loves you,” Cinder points out even as she crosses her arms over her chest. “At least you have her, still.”
I nod and grip the back of my neck. “My mother does love me, as much as she can, but she doesn’t have much to give. I don’t know when it happened. I was too young to realize it for a while, but something in her is broken. I’ve no doubt my father is responsible,” I finish darkly.
Yet another reason on top of the pile of cruel sins he’s committed that he needs to pay for. If only I could get the Mice to help me with making him pay for them.
“Cinder,” I start again, dropping my arm. “About the scars.”
A pair of perfect lips press against mine, and my question scatters.
Chapter 39
Eaten by a Vampire
CINDER
Our hands explore and pull at clothing until we are naked and exposed under the dim candlelit storeroom.
“We don’t have protection,” I say, suddenly.
“Hold that thought,” Kaison says, pushing up to stand then he disappears behind some stacked crates.
He comes back with a couple packing peanuts in his hands. After some finagling, he thrusts them up into his mouth, covering his fangs.
My heart squeezes so tight, I fear it might explode.
The proud grin he gives me is goofy, and I hate how my heart beats faster and feels lighter.
“What does my mistress want?” He waggles his eyebrows, but then his face darkens.
How does he do that? He skates almost effortlessly between light and dark. As if he could laugh and kill in the same breath.
His complexity has my throat thick with want and my center pounding with need.
“Kneel,” I command.
We aren’t in a position for me to pillage the depths of his sex closet for dominatrix tools, but I intend to continue the dynamic we started.
As he does so, I grab a small rickety stool from a corner of the room and bring it over, setting it in front of his naked body.
“Put your arms behind your back and keep them there.”
He does as I say, crossing his wrists over each other as if invisibly tied. Kai’s eyes drink me in hungrily as I sit on the stool before him, but I see the question lurking there with displeasure.
Where are the scars from?
Who did it?
But I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to go back there.
