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"Father!" Jethro screamed, running from the room. "Father, help!"
"Le dijiste a mi madre que gritara. Le dijiste a mi madre que disfrutaste sus gritos," the bastard continued, unfazed. "Esa fue tu misericordia." He released a pained snarl. "Y esto es mio."
His eyes, dark as night, flicked to mine and I felt something shoot straight through me. Tilting his head to one-side, he watched carefully, waiting for something.
Fear?
Resistance?
Permission?
Heart racing hard in my chest, I blew out a shaky breath, eyes still locked on his, and nodded my head.
Do it, I mentally willed him,end the cruel prince's reign.
His eyes blazed with heat, nostrils flaring, and with one swift flick of his wrist, the bastard prince brought the knife down on his brother.
Vasily's screams were drowned out by the thunderous noise of my heart as it pounded violently against my chest bone.
Blood was pouring from the older boy as he screamed and writhed on the floor, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his.
His dark eyes searched mine for something once again.
I nodded, offering him my approval.
Silent as a ghost, he climbed to his feet, kicked his brother out his way, and came to stand in front of me.
"Para ti," he said, speaking to me for the first time since arriving at the estate, as he held the dagger out for me like it was some sort of offering.
Trembling, I leaned forward and took the dagger from his blood-soaked hands. "Th-thank you."
Nodding stiffly, he held a hand out for me to take.
Without a second thought, I tossed the dagger on my bed and placed my hand in his.
Setting me on my feet, he said, "No me tengas miedo,” before reaching for my panties around my ankles and pulling them back up into place, covering me. "No te violaré, corderito."
A whole load of commotion occurred right after that, with dozens of men charging into my room, shouting and roaring.
Two men hurried from the room with a ravaged Vasily limp in their arms, and then many more surrounded the bastard prince.
He didn’t cower or flinch.
He didn’t even fight when they grabbed for him.
Instead, he kept his dark eyes on locked on mine as they manhandled him from my room.
It was several weeks later before I finally managed to translate the words the bastard prince had spoken to me that night.
"No me tengas miedo.”
"Do not fear me."
"No te violaré, corderito."
"I will not harm you, little lamb…"
From the beginning, I had fixated on Fabio's bastard son. The dark-haired boy who had arrived at the estate mere days after I had and only spoke in Spanish. He was thirteen years old and was furious with the world. So was I, but I never dared express my emotions like Trigger had. He was explosive; a loose cannon of rebellion that needed to be dealt with – a free spirit with wings that needed swift clipping.
