Page 7 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

H unter

With his arrow still nocked, Damon walks over and picks up the knife. My chest rises and falls with every breath. I didn’t know what to expect when I followed the other two men in the forest, but it certainly wasn’t this.

I circle around Armand, his blood now one with the forest floor, and nudge him with my boot.

The body shifts lifelessly and I squat, fingers searching for a pulse.

His skin is warm, but I don’t find one. Not a surprise considering the pool of blood that came from the wound on his throat.

Whatever happened, we just missed it. “He’s dead. ”

If I expect some kind of reaction from the girl, I don’t get it.

“Looks like you’ve caused some trouble, Sister.” Damon’s words come out as a taunt, which, to me, feels like a bold choice, considering the circumstances. “Killing a Baron, your Baron, seems pretty fucking stupid.”

The girl says nothing, just lifts her chin in defiance.

When she’d walked into that ceremonial circle, I hadn’t been impressed.

She seemed small. Lost. Overwhelmed. But out here, covered in blood and dirt, with that knife steady in her hand, I see something else—something fierce simmering beneath the surface.

Her slender neck, the way her hair falls loose and wild around her face, those soft lips pressed into a line—I catch myself watching, looking for what I’d missed between then and now. How I’d missed it.

She’s dangerous.

Damon smirks, and glances over at me. He’s also coated in sweat, pieces of his dark, slicked-back hair falling onto his pale forehead, covering the bloody pentagram. He’s still got the bow tight in his hands, knuckles white with tension. “An act of defiance like this could lead to immediate death.”

“Do it,” she dares, “and bring my body to the King. Lay me at his feet. Then see whose blood will be spilled.”

He looks like he’s considering it–and it’s fair.

Killing her would be an act of loyalty, we’ve just declared our fealty to the King, but something about this whole thing seems off.

How did she get the upper hand? Armand is a big guy, twice the size of her, and although I don’t believe a fucking word of his hunting stories, she shoudn’t have been able to take him down.

“He’s right,” I say, moving closer. I can breathe easier now, but the adrenaline continues to pump through my veins.

“We could kill you for this.” My hand shoots out, fingers clenching around the soft column of her throat.

She gasps and struggles against me. My palm aches from the cut but I ignore it, tightening my grip.

“A sacrifice no one in Forsyth would argue.”

“You won’t.” Her words come out in short gasps. “You’re different from him. Both of you.” Her blood-soaked and dirty fingers pull against mine. “He wasn’t one of you. He wasn’t loyal to our King.”

“And how the hell do you know that?” I ask, my curiosity more genuine than I’d like to admit.

I’d joked earlier about Armand being from East End, but the kicker is that I’m from there too. Just different ends of the spectrum. He grew up behind iron gates and private security, a family crest above the fireplace.

Armand’s family has power. Mine? The opposite. They take care of the powerful.

That’s the food chain in Forsyth. Someone like me, smart but broke, doesn’t rise.

I get noticed for doing things quietly, not loudly.

I’m the kind of person they ask to fix their car, update their computers, be their tutor–then pretend I’m not in the room.

And if I’m lucky, they toss me a scholarship and call it charity.

But for some reason, it offends me that this girl notices it right off.

She licks a splatter of blood off her lip. “His blood is wrong. Tastes like sin and treachery.”

Christ, this woman isn’t just a killer. She’s deranged.

Damon walks the perimeter of the area, kicking over leaves and rocks, like he’s looking for any other weapons. He bends suddenly and picks up something soft and pliable. Carrying it over, he holds it out and it only takes a second for me to realize what they are; dirty panties.

“He did this?” I ask.

She nods.

He tried to rape her.

Damon, who has said nothing about me having the girl by the throat, walks toward me slowly, unwrapping the black cloth from around his hand.

I release her, pushing her toward him, and watch as she sags and takes a gulp of air.

He reveals the cut the King gave him on his palm.

It’s dark, but still fresh, and he holds it up to her face and asks, “You said his blood tasted wrong. What about mine?”

She grabs his wrist and pulls his hand close to her face, tongue darting out and laving the wound. I watch them in both horror and fascination, a clench deep in my belly. “Salty,” she says, “like the earth.” She drops his wrist, unimpressed. “But none of you are him.”

“Him?” Damon asks, curling his fist.

“My King,” she breathes. “Even if he gives me to you, I will only belong to him.”

“Is that what you really think?” Damon asks, his voice slightly muffled under the bandana.

“Because if you survive the night–which I’m not so sure will happen when the King finds out what you’ve done–you’ll belong to us, too.

And right now I see a stupid, crazy bitch who thinks she’s better than her Barons.

That she’s smarter than her King, who, by the way, hand-picked us for leadership.

Including the one you killed. Who gave you to us, not the other way around.

” He laughs, empty and hollow, the sound reverberating against the dark night.

“It seems to me that maybe before we finish out the ceremony, you need to learn a lesson.” His hand, the one without the cut, lands hard on her shoulder. “Get on your knees.”

Fuck.

“No,” she says with an authority she doesn’t possess.

He cuts me a look, maybe asking for permission. I shrug, more than willing to see this play out. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, you Baron-killing cunt.” He shoves her down, her knees scraping against the dirt. “Open your fucking mouth.”

She clamps it shut, but his fingers grip the sides of her jaw, forcing it open.

He makes a loud noise in the back of this throat and bends over her, their foreheads nearly touching.

Lifting the bottom of his mask, his lips part and a glob of spit hangs between them and lands, slimy and warm, against her tongue.

She coughs, gagging, but Damon’s having none of it.

“Swallow it,” he commands, thumb grazing over her throat, forcing the muscles to relax.

Her body reacts instinctively and I see the bob of her throat as she swallows.

She gags again, but he forces her mouth closed and holds it shut with his dirty fingers.

“That’s a good girl. I knew you could do it. ”

The instant his hand is off her jaw, she leans back, gathering her own saliva, and spits in his face. He blinks, momentarily stunned, until he moves so fast that I barely see his hand swing back until the crack of his palm slams against her cheek.

“Fuck, it figures,” I shake my head, biting back a laugh, “she is a crazy bitch.”

Damon’s hand slips behind her head and he grips Arianette’s hair, yanking her face up. “A crazy bitch that’s about to know what it feels like to choke on my cock.”

His words are definitive, and after what I’ve witnessed tonight, there’s no doubt he’ll do it.

And fuck no, I’m not going to stop him. I’ve been wound up all night.

First with the ritual, then with the hunt.

She hid from us longer than I expected, but I see now that this girl shouldn’t be underestimated.

The look in her eye is wild and feral, similar to the way Ares looked when I found him in the back alley behind the radio station.

Skinny. Dirty. Traumatized. He almost bit my fucking hand off.

I have no doubt this girl would do the same if she was given the chance.

Ares needed to learn to obey his handler and she is no different.

Damon has no problem unzipping his pants with his cut hand and releasing his length.

It’s long and thick, already hard, and she eyes it with horror.

“I’m going to give you one last chance to act like a good girl, Baroness,” he says, fingers twisted tight against her scalp, “and treat me with some goddamn respect.” He pulls out the blood-stained knife and holds it to her throat as if he knows it’s an ask too far without some added pressure.

“You’re going to suck my cock. You’re going to swallow every last drop of cum, and then you’re going to do the same for my brother over there, understood? ”

She glances over at me, eyes pleading. If she’s looking for help she’s going to the wrong person. Watching her get throat fucked? I’ve been hard since he spit in her mouth.

“Listen to him, and maybe you’ll survive the night.” It’s like my words pierce through her like Damon’s arrow, the hope extinguishing from her eyes. The resistance draining from her body.

It’s kind of pathetic.

Damon widens his stance and strokes up and down his cock. “Touch it, Sister. It won’t bite.” She takes him in her hand, but pulls back suddenly. He shivers and inhales. “Fuck yeah, don’t be afraid of the metal.”

Of course this guy has his dick pierced too.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Damon’s been cool since recruitment started.

A little quiet and moody, but that works for me.

I’m not moody, but I prefer to be alone.

It was obvious from the jump that neither of us had the pedigree to be in this position.

No bloodline. No legacy. Two randoms plucked from Forsyth because the King sees something in us no one else does.

We were brought here for a reason–what, I still don’t know–but all expectations fell away when we entered the ceremony.

The rules of society were replaced with those of the Barons.

Hours later I’m sweaty and pumped with adrenaline as I watch my new brother get a handjob.

Again her eyes meet mine and I let her see me run my hand down my thickening cock, then tell her, “Lick it.”

I just about shoot my load when her tongue darts out and swipes over his tip.

Fuck.

“That’s right. Jesus ,” Damon mutters. “Now open that sexy little mouth and let me fuck those pretty lips.”

He guides her by the back of the head, the knife still precariously close. There’s no fight when the head of his cock pushes past her lips, and her mouth circles around him. He groans, and I stifle my own quiet moan, shoving my hand down my pants.

“That’s right, Sister, take him in–all of it–every fucking inch,” I jeer, stroking myself as I move closer. Damon thrusts in and my balls clench. “That’a girl.” I look up at him and add, “Fuck, she’s doing it.”

“Yeah, she is.” Damon’s hips rock, pounding into her, quick and hard.

It’s too much, too fast. She tries to catch her breath, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t care.

He’s caught in his rhythm, slamming his cock into her mouth over and over like a dog rutting.

She cuts her watering eyes to the side toward me, noticing that I’ve unbuttoned my fly and have my dick in my hand.

This is even better than at the Sanctum.

I imagine that it’s her mouth around me instead, my cock pumping into her, gliding past her teeth to the back of her throat. The image makes me desperate. Hot. Sweaty. Achy, and the last fucking thing I want to do is come before Damon does.

Thankfully, another shudder runs through him, and his thrusts grow jerky, his breath erratic.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, lost in the motion, until his spine seizes, fingers twisting tight in her hair, and he stutters to a stop.

He groans, pumping into that red, open mouth, filling her up.

She sputters and gags, choking on his cum.

That’s enough to set me loose, my orgasm exploding in a long stream.

I grip the base, spilling out on the forest floor.

She watches me– sees me –and fuck if that doesn’t make it even better.

Damon pulls out while keeping her jaw open with his strong fingers.

“Last squirt,” he tells her, leaving a pool of cum on her tongue.

He steps back and exhales under the mask, the tension eased from his shoulders.

“You want her?” he asks, with a little jump and the zip of his pants. “I got her loosened up for you.”

“Nah, I’m good.” I tuck myself back in and kick dirt over the seed on the ground. I look up at the sky, still dark, but we’re running out of time.“We probably need to head back.”

Damon turns back to her and grabs her by the arm, jerking her up until she stands on wobbly feet. He studies her, then says, “You’ve got a little…” he lifts the edge of his mask, and wipes a shiny spot next to her lip with the corner of fabric. “There, all good.”

As if that little wipe can clean up the mess we just made.

Damon must know it too because he adds, “I won’t tell the King what happened to Armand, as long as you keep your mouth shut about what just happened.” His eyes dart between the three of us and something firm passes between us: an understanding.

We walked into this forest as hunters and prey.

Now we’re walking out with secrets.