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“Tell me you didn’t find relief by her hand.”
“No!” The boy slammed his palms to his ears, and in the silence of his mind, a soft feminine voice rose up from the darkness.Lustina’s. ‘Pain in pleasure is beautiful,’ she said in that calming sing-song voice.
When he opened his eyes, the girl stood before him, wearing the white gown that revealed her much smaller breasts. She stroked a gentle hand down Cerberus’s back, and the dog stilled alongside her as if suddenly contented, no longer fussing over the baron.
“Do you not touch yourself to thoughts of me, My Lord? When you are in pain, do you not bring yourself to climax?”
Shame and humiliation beat through him, and he lowered his gaze from hers, unable to look her in the eyes.
“Would you like me to relieve you now, Your Lordship?”
Another stab of pain struck his groin, and he bent forward, cupping himself. The girl knelt to the ground beside him and reached down, resting her hand over his.
“Please. Let me touch you.”
“You are not real.” Somewhere beyond him stood his father, watching. Undoubtedly ridiculing, though he could only hear Lustina’s sweet voice.
The innocent and demure smile on her face sharpened, and not a moment later, he was no longer peering back at Lustina, but Syrisa.
Repulsed, he shoved her away from him, and her body exploded into a white dust.
“We have needs,” his father said. “Needs that are subdued under the iron fist of virtue. I am not your enemy, Son. I am your father, and I love you.”
“You do not love,” the baron gritted out past clenched teeth. His body vibrated with the anger that moved through him like a storm. “You do not know its meaning. You are weak!”
“Weak? Allow me to show you what true weakness looks like. Tell me, have you ever gazed upon a creature and wondered what it looked like when it suffered?”
The sound of agony drew the boy’s attention to his right, where Solomon sat on his knees, wincing. “He is not real,” the baron said aloud, his voice carrying an edge of uncertainty.
“Isn’t he?”
Screams slashed their conversation, and the baron’s muscles twisted up as he watched Solomon’s body bend backward into an unnatural and grotesque arc of his body, trembling as if in intense pain.
Cerberus barked, but kept his distance.
The baron shot to his feet, his hands balled to tight fists at his side. “Stop this! Stop it now!”
“Did you honestly think I would not find out about your little meetings.”
“He has nothing to do with this! Let him go!”
“Has he not taught you how to properly destroy my kind? He cannot do it himself, so he has employed you to do the honors.”
The sight of Solomon stirred a surge of something else inside the baron. He looked down to see tiny jagged lights dancing across his palm. The same bits of lightning he’d noticed when he’d healed himself.
“Yes, look how magnificent!”
The rage simmered inside the boy as he stared back at his father. He imagined a bolt of lightning straight through the elder man’s chest. Could feel the heat burning inside of him. Urging him.
Kill him. Kill him now.
“It is calling to you, Son. The darkness in your belly longs for blood and carnage.”
“Jericho!” Solomon shouted back at him, his body still twisted and trembling. “Do not … kill him!”
The sound of his name struck the boy, as Solomon had always referred to him as young lord, or baron. He lurched toward the older man, but stopped when Lord Praecepsia raised his hand.
“I would not get too close.”
