Page 26 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

H unter

“Gesch?ft.”

Ares bolts into the dark, grassy area in front of the chapel, happy to be out of the house.

I feel the same, needing a moment of quiet.

The frat meeting went well, it’s just that forty college-aged men are loud as fuck.

The tension building up to the Hunt had eased considerably, the members of the group happy to have the leadership settled.

I still feel out of place, like I can’t actually believe this has happened to me, but I’ve spent a fair amount of my life feeling like the odd man out, so really, this is nothing new.

Now I just have power.

I pat the inner pocket of my jacket, a subconscious move from the days when I smoked a lot more than just during my shift at the radio station. It’s not even the nicotine I crave. It’s the routine–something to do with my hands.

The meeting ran late, meaning Ares had to hold out for a trip outside. Now he’s exploring, rustling under the hedges. We’re both nocturnal, even on the nights I don’t work at the station.

I’d found him last winter, half-dead in the alley behind WXFU.

Soaked through, limping, one eye swollen shut, and completely covered in fleas.

Just a skinny shadow of a shepherd with more ribs than muscle.

No tags. No collar. Just a quiet kind of desperation, like he’d been running from something worse than the cold.

I didn’t need a dog. Didn’t want one. I was already stretched too thin with class, the station, my projects. But when I crouched down and held out my hand, he didn’t flinch–just looked up at me like he’d already decided I was his.

I wrapped him in my jacket, brought him home, and gave him a warm bath. I never said out loud that I’d keep him. Sometimes you find a stray and sometimes the stray finds you, and when you’re both a little broken, it makes sense to stick together.

He’s smart, protective, and took to training well. But that doesn’t mean he’s not slow as hell when he’s trying to find the perfect spot to piss.

Fuck. I really want a smoke.

“ Hier, ” I call, followed by a sharp whistle. In the pitch black that surrounds the house I see his eyes first–the yellow reflected off the light over the doorway. He trots toward me, stopping one last time to lift his leg, before we go back inside.

We head down the hallway that leads back to the room DK and I share.

Ares’ ears perk up just as I see a shadow cross the far wall.

Not a Shadow, but the actual shadow of a person.

“ Sitz, ” I command quietly. He drops to his haunches with a low growl.

A moment later, Arianette tiptoes past, looking over her shoulder.

“Huh,” I mutter, looking down at my dog, who has visibly relaxed now he recognizes her, “what do you think she’s up to?”

I’d actually planned on seeing the Baroness tonight, but the meeting ran long.

“ Komm .” We walk down the hall and turn toward the south wing of the building.

There are two bedrooms down here. One for the Barons and a separate one for the Baroness.

There’s also a den with comfortable couches and an entertainment system.

A small kitchenette sits off to the side.

I’d explored everything the first night we moved in, wanting to get my bearings.

But other than the ride to and from school, this is the first time I’ve seen her outside her room.

Down the hall, her door closes with a soft click.

I pass by and enter the den. Ares darts ahead, rushing to see DK, who is sprawled out on the couch, playing a video game.

“Hey, bud,” he says, rubbing his palm over Ares’ head. They get along, which is good. Dogs feel better when they have a pack and it’s been just the two of us for a while. He circles around and lies down at DK’s feet. I walk over to the cabinet and grab a glass. “You feel good about the meeting?”

“I think so.” I shove the glass under the lever for the ice maker and the motor churns. Ice falls in a rush, the cubes clanking loudly against one another. “You okay with the Fury decision?”

That had been the big topic during the meeting: who was going to represent brN during the next Friday Night Fury.

Traditionally, one of the Barons steps up, but neither DK nor I have any interest in the ‘traditions’ of this place.

Mateo fought last year, and was eager to defend his win. Works for both of us.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes trained on the game. I notice that when he’s concentrating his teeth toy with the hoop in his lip. “There’s plenty of time to get our faces smashed in by one of those lunatics.”

“Agreed.” Getting punched in the face increases the chances of a concussion. I need my brain to be fully functional, not impaired by choice.

He holds up the controller. “You want to play?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

I start toward the doorway and Ares lifts his head.

“ Bleib, ” I command, then dip into the bedroom.

I strip off my shirt and pants, grabbing the worn sweatpants from the edge of the bed and stepping into them quietly.

The house creaks in the kind of way that lets you know it’s listening.

I pause, still barefoot, eyes landing on my backpack slouched against the wall.

Right. The container.

I crouch, unzip the front pouch, and slip my hand inside until my fingers graze the cool glass container.

Small, inconspicuous. Not the kind of thing anyone would notice unless they were looking for it.

I pull my hoodie over my head, tuck the container in my pocket, and grab the glass of ice.

DK is still focused on the game, and I use the distraction to exit quietly, slip into the hallway, and head straight to Arianette’s room. I tap lightly on the door.

“Come in,” she calls out.

I step inside the room. It’s similar in shape to ours, but hers only has one bed instead of three.

It’s massive and made of iron, with scrollwork not only at the foot and head, but underneath.

A stone fireplace sits in the corner with an armchair nearby.

She's sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to her chest. “Oh,” she says, eyes darting to the door behind me and then back at my chest. “It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” I glance over my shoulder. “Were you expecting someone else?”

She shakes her head, but there’s an edge when she asks, “What do you want?”

I could ask her where she’s been. Why she was creeping around the house, but it’s not really any of my business.

My job, as instructed by the King, is to keep her safe.

To train her for her position of wife. Assessing her, she looks to be in good shape, other than her general wariness.

To be fair, the last time a man came into this room, he inserted metal bars into her tits.

“I came to check on the wound, make sure it’s healing appropriately.” I set the glass and container on the bedside table. “Take off the sweater.”

I’ve already seen her topless once today, so there’s not much hesitation as she unbuttons the cardigan and lifts the camisole up and over her head.

My mouth dries at the sight of the round fullness of her breasts, and my body predictably reacts, a surge of heat rushing between my legs.

I like how big her areolas are, and the urge to run my thumbs over them–to suck them into hard peaks–brings a burning flush to my skin.

Between her tits, the bandage is discolored from the wound underneath, and white tape is still plastered over her nipples.

The color is glaring against her brown skin.

It should be a turn off, but it’s anything but.

I did that.

We did it.

She’s ours.

“Any pain?” I sit on the edge of the bed. My erection fights against the cotton front of my sweats.

Her jaw drops. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I glare at her. “It’s just a quest–”

“Yes, Hunter, I’m in pain. Everything hurts.

The wound is bad enough, but my tits feel like there are hot needles seared into them.

Somewhere between a throbbing ache and firecracker stuffed inside.

They’re tender. Swollen. Every single move feels like I’m being stabbed.

” Her hands move to cup them, full and fleshy, and gold flashes on her thumb.

A gold band that wasn’t there earlier in the day.

“Why did he do this to me? You already marked me. The Claiming was over.”

My eyes shift to the bandage between her breasts. I don’t have to ask DK why he came in here and mutilated Arianette a second and third time. He wanted to leave something permanent on her, just like I had.

“Let me take a look.” I’m not a doctor. Zero interest in spending decades in school only to get mired in a pile of bureaucratic paperwork.

I’ve taken a few first aid courses and managed to earn a merit badge in medical emergencies for Scouts before I dropped out.

I peel away the bandage slowly, making sure not to rip off any repairing flesh.

It’s still shiny from the ointment, but the first thing I notice is that the design doesn’t look that bad.

In fact, I’m pretty goddamn impressed with my work.

The cuts are clean, even, and the pentagram is fully legible.

The circle isn’t perfect, but it’s not like I had my compass out there.

“Why are you smiling?” she asks, her brown eyes narrowed into slits.

I cough, peeling off the rest of the tape. “It’s healing well,” I assure her. “It looks good.”

She nods, but then asks, “And the piercings?”

“That’s why I brought the ice.” I dig out a piece from the cup and hold it up. “It’ll help with the pain and remove the adhesive.”

Closing her eyes she settles against her pillow and slightly arches her back.

I touch the cube to the side of her breast first, and she exhales, “Christ, that’s cold.

” A ripple runs along her flesh, goosebumps rising to the surface.

I run the cube up and over the tape, gliding from one nipple to the other.