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I stare at him, questioning his sanity for the hundredth time since I met him. “You want me to go to dinner like this?”
“Yes.” His fingers skate over my jaw, a gentleness to his touch that’s a complete contrast to his commanding voice.
“With your come still leaking down my thighs?” I ask in disbelief.
His eyes flare, betraying just how much he likes the idea. “Yes,” he answers gruffly. “Exactly like that.”
Before I can protest further, there’s a knock at the door, effectively ending the conversation.
“Yes?” Azrael calls out.
I recognize the voice of the housekeeper as she replies. “Your grandmother asked that I remind you dinner is ready, sir.”
If I thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell I could get out of this dinner, I would have taken it. But Azrael hauls me to the dining room, his palm guiding me along until it’s too late to run.
As we make our grand entrance, silence falls over the table, and all of his family’s shocked gazes fall upon me. If I didn’t already know how obvious it is, their expressions are confirmation enough that it’s no secret Azrael just had his way with me.
Heat flushes my cheeks as I try to smooth out my tangled hair, but it makes no difference. I can feel the dried mascara that bled from my eyes when he choked me. My lips are still swollen from his kiss.
When Salomé narrows her gaze on my ripped dress, I find myself wishing a crater in the earth would just swallow me whole.
Emmanuel shoots his brother a questioning glance as he helps me into my seat, and Rébecca stares at me ,wide-eyed and innocent.
“Are you okay, Willow?” Her voice severs the quiet tension in the room. “You look…” She doesn’t finish that thought, but she doesn’t need to.
I look wrecked. That’s what she meant to say. But something in her expression tells me she doesn’t have the slightest idea what happened. I think she’s been far too sheltered to understand the depravities of men.
But who am I kidding? Because clearly, I’m just as depraved.
“Azrael.” Salomé’s indignant tone pierces my ears. “I’d like a word. Now.”
“It will have to wait.” He takes a seat at the head of the table, nodding at the food. “Dinner is ready.”
She clenches her jaw, casting a withering glare my way, as if I’m responsible for his refusal.
I shoot her a sweet smile in response, only because I know it will piss her off.
Dinner is a stilted affair. While the food is lovely and elegant, Salomé’s company most certainly is not. She continues to mean-mug me through all four courses while Emmanuel and Bec carry most of the conversation. Emmanuel is well-spoken, charming, and intimidatingly large, just like his brother. He’s handsome like Azrael too, but there are subtle differences between them—most notably their distinct eyes.
While he asks me casual questions about my family, I feel the heat of Azrael’s gaze on my face. It seems to caress my skin like a physical touch, and I wonder if he notices me squirming in my chair as his come sticks to my thighs.
I try to focus on the food, devouring almost everything the chef sets on the table. I plow through the butternut squash ravioli and baby kale salad, embarrassingly famished after Azrael’s ravishing.
The only thing I don’t touch is the lamb. The smell nearly makes me gag when it’s presented. I’m hoping nobody noticed, but I don’t get so lucky.
“Is there something wrong with the food?” Salomé asks right in front of the chef. “Is it not to your tastes?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the food.” I offer the chef an apologetic glance. “It’s just… I’m a vegetarian. That’s all. But everything else is so delicious, and I don’t think I can possibly eat another bite anyway–”
“Vegetarian,” Salomé scoffs. “How puritanical of you.”
I wonder if she recognizes the irony of her words, considering the Puritans were the same lot who used to hang witches for not complying with their ideals.
I snort, barely able to hide my amusement when Emmanuel takes it upon himself to interject. “More for us, right Azrael?”
Azrael scowls at his brother, and I wonder what’s set his mood ablaze.
Emmanuel takes it in stride, smirking as if it's a private joke between them before he returns his attention to me. “Tell us more about you, Willow,” he says.
“As if we haven’t heard enough this evening?” Salomé scoffs.
Emmanuel shrugs. “I find her fascinating. It’s not every day you get to have dinner with a Wildblood.”
“It’s Delacroix now,” Azrael corrects him.
“No, actually, it’s not.” I shoot him a glare. “I haven’t legally updated my name, and I have no intentions of doing so.”
Azrael tosses me a reproving glance that feels like a spanking. “A conversation for another time.”
“Let her keep her name,” Salomé muses. “All the better not to taint ours.”
