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The lights in the yard are switched back on, and the bulb directly above us illuminates her blonde hair in such a way that it resembles a halo. Anna falters, but I don’t let her stop. Instead, I distract her with my fleeting touch, making sure that she’s paying little mind to who can see us, and once I’m certain that both Hugh and my father have seen us together, I let her go.
A hollow emptiness invades my chest as I lose control of her. I push the feeling away to smile down at the beautiful girl. The flush on her cheeks and the redness around her lips from my kiss awakens a ferocity in me that is foreign.
I don’t want to let her go.
I want to keep her.
If I could, she’d be thrown over my shoulder and whisked away from every other person who inhabits this earth. I’d lock her up, somewhere underground, free of outside influences, and make her dependent on me for her next breath, sunlight, food—everything she needs to exist.
Strategically, what I do next is completely wrong.
But it’s the only thing that tames the monster in my head as he demands I satisfy his craving.
I bite Anna’s shoulder. It takes every ounce of the chemical restraint that grips me to stop myself from sinking my teeth through the thin cotton of her shirt. I want to penetrate her skin. To taste her blood. To hurt her. To do whatever it takes to make her accept that she belongs to me. It’s a battle I come close to losing, but eventually, I swallow down my need and stake my claim verbally instead.
“You’re so beautiful, and you’re going to be all mine. I’m going to make sure of it.”
I walk away before she can answer. As I go, my monster screams that I’ve made a fatal error. I should have kept her with me. Stolen her, if necessary. Hidden her. Locked her away from the world that’s going to warn her to stay away from me.
To calm myself, I melt into the shadows to watch my unsuspecting victim throughout the rest of the evening. The madness that fuels me finally ends when I see Anna press her fingers against her lips like she’s reliving my kiss. Solid in the knowledge that I’ve made my mark on her, I head for my truck before I give into temptation and allow the slipping control I have on my monster to ruin the progress I’ve made with my prey.
CRAVING CONTROL ~ TWO
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” My mother screeches once the butler has shut the front door behind me. “It’s bad enough your father constantly embarrasses me—now I must suffer humiliation at your hands too?”
Her gin sloshes over the sides of her martini glass, and she stares at the splashes the liquor has made on the marble floor with more longing and love than she’s ever given me. I pass my jacket to Phillips with a weary sigh, nodding once when he meets my eyes. The wry smile that I exchange with the butler before he hangs my jacket says it all.
Here we go again. Elizabeth Kingsley is drunk as a skunk and ready to pick apart every move her only son made during his interactions with the local plebs tonight.
I try to skirt the mess she’s made on the floor. Of course, letting me pass without an argument would be too much to ask of her. My mother takes hold of my wrist and yanks me to a stop. I could easily overpower her and keep moving. I don’t. Because I know that not only will she follow me to my wing of the mansion, but her alcohol-induced diatribe will increase exponentially in length with each extra step I force her to take.
“What are you so upset about?”
My eyes narrow to slits, and she warps in my vision. I let the full force of my displeasure show in both my gaze and my tone when I finally give her the attention she’s demanding. The hurt in her expression used to prick at my conscience—now it simply pisses me off. At home, my mother is a pathetic caricature of the woman she pretends to be when we’re in public. The perfectly coiffed hairdo she wore tonight has disintegrated into a rat’s nest on her head. Her eye makeup is smeared down her cheeks, and her gaze is glassy from the liquor she’s poured down her throat.
As my mother catches on to my thoughts, she smooths her hair with a trembling hand, then she licks her lips, and the tirade begins. “I want to know what you were doing kissing that girl? I want to know why you would listen to your father and pursue someone like her? She isn’t worth your attention. She’ll ruin you, Alexander, with her slutty ways and her filthy family. They’re poison, they destroy everything.”
It would seem that I had more witnesses to my rebellion than first assumed.
“It’s none of your business.” My reply is intended to cut. I want her to hurt. “I can kiss whomever I choose, fuck whomever I choose, until it’s time to settle down and claim my inheritance. Grandfather made that very clear.”
The mention of her tyrant of a father has my mother’s eyes darting around the foyer as if she expects him to appear out of nowhere. The spectre of my grandfather looms large in this palatial house, even though he hasn’t set foot on the premises since my parents’ wedding. On that day, he passed the mantle of ownership to my father, disappearing from sight, so that his reputation wouldn’t smear the political clout he’d just bought himself in exchange for my mother’s freedom. After that, my mother’s childhood home quickly became a tomb that encased her crumbling marriage.
Why two people who loathe each other as much as they do continue to keep up the ruse of marital bliss is beyond me. Well, not entirely. Money and power make for familiar bedfellows. My mother wants to keep her share of her family money, while my father is addicted to the power that remaining married to the sole Maddison heir brings him.
“Bravo. Bravo.”
The devil himself walks through the entrance. The monument to the wealth and power I will inherit seems to shudder with the knowledge that its evil master is home. My father claps his hands, slow and mocking. A face that is an older replica of my own is screwed up in a comedic rendition of a proud parent.
An outsider would buy his display.
My mother and I don’t—we know that he’s never pleased.
Not with us, at least.
“It was quite a sight. My son slumming it with the daughter of the local biker trash.” Dad’s lips twist into a grimace. “You gave the gossips plenty to talk about. My ears have been burning all night.”
I step away from my mother, determined to face this without her support. Not that she’s likely to offer any. Mother is now a statue, wilting under the weight of the tension my father’s appearance brings to the room. With my arms crossed over my chest, I arch an eyebrow in his direction. “They’re probably burning from all the gossip over your puppy dog-like behaviour around Charlotte Hannaford.”
