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She never once looked away from Colt. Instead, she moved even closer.
He visibly fought that beast inside himself, wrestling like it was his own personal demon. In a way, it was. One who could take control.
“Yes,” she answered Carven. “I am.”
The beast stared into her eyes as Carven left the room and returned moments later. Thick leather straps were in my son’s hand, ones I had had especially made for the nights when the storms hit. Now it looked like the storm raged all day and night.
She took one strap and lifted it. “Beast, hand please.” My son obliged instantly, watching her as she cinched it tight around his wrist. She held out her other hand. “The other.”
Like a well-trained animal, he lifted his other hand for her to strap it tight.
“To the bed,” she commanded.
He turned his head toward me. That dangerous, possessive gleam rose swiftly, making him turn his top lip up and growl.
“Don’t you worry about them,” she urged. “They will not hurt me. You need to understand that. You need to learn to… share.”
He swung his gaze back to her.
“It’s that or nothing.” She laid down the rules. “So it’s up to you.”
One wave of her hand toward the headboard of my bed and he flinched, shaking his head, wrestling with the idea of that. For a second, my mind went to the gun under the edge of the headboard. All it’d take would be one wrong move, and we’d all be dead.
Murder-suicide.
I shook my head. This was a bad idea…a really bad idea.
Until, with a clink of steel, the creature that occupied my son turned and, like a good puppy, climbed onto the bed and lifted his hands for her to secure him to the headboard.
Jesus…this was happening, wasn’t it?
I swallowed hard. Fear moved through me as she secured one wrist and then the other until both arms were outstretched tight.
“London,” she called, turning her gaze toward me. “It’s all or nothing.”
I had no choice here…not if I wanted to keep my family together. With a desperate snarl, I strode forward. “Pet…you’re dancing with death here.”
“We all are,” she answered, and lifted her hand for mine.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Vivienne
London dropped his shirt onto the floor, then kicked off his shoes. “Carven,” I murmured, turning back to the beast. “The other side of the bed.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “My brother’s gonna tear us apart.”
I turned to the beast as he strained against the bonds around his wrists to get to me. “No, he won’t.”
I moved closer and reached up, spearing my fingers through those thick curls I loved so much. Any other time, I’d be gentle with Colt. Any other time I’d be soft, caring. I’d kiss his bruises and lick his scrapes. I’d ride him slowly, letting him take control and tell me what he needed.
But this—the beast growled softly—this wasn’t him.
I burrowed my grip in the strands of his hair, fisting them taut, and yanked until his head snapped backwards.
“Fuck,” Carven groaned behind me.
I ignored him, my focus on the beast…and the beast alone. Corded tendons pulled tight along his throat. “You will do what I tell you to do, won’t you?”
