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He tosses the rod on the floor, and I feel his fingers curl around the leather collar, knocking a cry out of me as he jerks me back. His breath is on my ear, hot and dangerous. “It’s a bold threat to pretend you’ll run back to the Manor, but you and I both know you’d rather die first.” His fingers twist, cutting my air off. “So look at it this way, if you don't want to be sent back to your uncle's house in disgrace, you will learn to submit, my sweet, sweet, Daughter of Darkness, you will learn to never cross me."

My body collapses fully onto the floor, trembling uncontrollably. I hear his footsteps on the floor, the door slam as he leaves.

I don’t move. Not an inch, staying on the floor humiliated, shattered. The room grows still. An eerie, disturbing silence, one that widens and gives space in my chest to the truth of it all:

This is exactly what I deserve.

38

Damon

I wakeat the click of the bedroom door. I'm used to it by now–Hunter taking Ares out for his morning ritual. Still, this morning it yanks me half out of a dead sleep, my head pounding, mouth dry as cotton. I’m not even sure how we got back to the house.

I shove my face into the pillow and groan. The sun is already too bright, too full, spilling through the parted drapes. It feelswrongto be awake in a world that still looks normal when everything under my skin feels shredded.

The hangover isn’t just from the booze, the pills, or the endless bottles of champagne, but from the whole event itself. It was from rituals, the blood, the goddamn sight of her–broken open for us all to see. I push myself up, scratching at my chest. Outside the window, I hear Hunter whistling, calling out in German.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, shove on a pair of jeans, and head down the hall to the door that leads outside,blinking into the light. The cold fall air hits my bare chest, waking me up like a splash of water.

“Hey, man,” I say, walking over to where he leans against his truck. Ares sniffs around the treeline. Hunter’s hair is wild from sleep and he’s in a rumpled white T-shirt and jeans. His tattoos creep above the collar, and cigarette smoke curls from between his fingertips. He looks like he went through hell and back last night. Maybe we did. I nod at the cigarette. “Thought those were only for the radio show.”

“Yeah.” He looks a little guilty. “I needed something to wake me up after last night.”

He offers me a hit. Pinching the cigarette between two fingers, I take a long, much-needed drag. The buzz is light, but hits the mark. I inhale a second time, deeper, before slowly blowing out.

Handing it back, I say, “I’ve gotta piss,” and walk around the other side of the garage. I’ve got my dick in my hand when I see it, the flash of slick black paint through the trees. The King's Jaguar, coming down the drive.

Hurrying, I shake off, zip up, and turn just as the car slows, finally stopping right at us. The window whirs down. Cold air leaks out, carrying the sharp scent of leather and something darker underneath–copper. Blood? One of the Shadows, a junior named Kendrick who seems to be made up entirely of muscles, sits at the wheel. The King is in the back, one leg crossed over the other with today’s newspaper in his lap, his mask glinting in the morning sun, as if the night before never happened.

Hunter tosses the cigarette and straightens up.

“I’m heading into town,” the King says. His voice is sharp, brisk. Like we hadn’t just all experienced the ceremony together the night before. “Business.”

Hunter shoots me a look. I shrug.

“Honeymoon’s over already?” I ask, smirking.

The King’s gaze shifts to me, impassive behind the mask.

“Samhain is over," he says. "As are the festivities.”

There’s a beat of silence. He folds the paper in half before adding, “The Baroness is at the cabin. She’s yours now. All restrictions are lifted.”

Hunter blinks, like he’s trying to translate it. But I get it immediately. The words hit like a jolt of adrenaline straight to my gut.All restrictions.

Finally.

My cock twitches, thinking about how sweet it’s going to be to bury myself in that tight little cunt. The King says nothing else, which is good because the blood is already thudding in my ears as it makes the swift retreat to my crotch. The window hums back up, sealing him away, and Kendrick eases the car back into motion, dust curling in their wake.

I rub my hands together, grinning. It’s a shit-eating grin. I don’t even try to hide it.

Hunter raises a brow at me. “You look like you’re about to do something illegal.”

“Maybe in some states,” I say.

I’m half-hard already just thinking about it–thinking abouther. The way she looked at the altar, the way she moved at the reception, all soft and shiny and perfect and broken in all the best ways.

Hunter is quiet, but those wheels are turning in that big, fat brain of his. He wants the Baroness as much as I do, just… differently. I get that about him, I sense it, which is why I ask, “You wanna watch?”