Page 16 of Blood and Thorns (Twisted Ever After #1)

Arabella

I must’ve been exhausted, because I didn’t wake again until Sebastian opened my door the next afternoon. Sunlight streamed inside the large window, washing the room in a warm glow that would’ve been nice if eyes of ice weren’t glaring down at me.

Disobey me again, and I’ll carry you out here on my shoulder, kicking and screaming. Have I made myself clear?

I reached beneath the pillow and palmed the knife.

His eyes narrowed on the movement, head cocking to the side. With a few powerful strides he closed his distance, and I pulled out the knife with barely enough time. I nicked him, but not even a second later his hand had encircled my fingers.

But rather than breaking my hold, he straightened my arm and held the blade to his throat.

He showed no fear at death, his eyes clashing with mine. My arm would’ve shook if he wasn’t holding it with an iron grip. If he was dead, my father’s debt would cease to exist, and I could go home. Return to…

Okay, I hadn’t thought this through.

“You think killing me will fix everything?” He pressed closer to his skin, and I tried to yank my hand back, my fingers loose on the handle.

“Stop it.” I tried to pull away again, a sliver of red dripping down the tattooed thorns wrapping around his skin. He twisted my wrist, my hand spasming open, ready for him to catch the knife. My heart raced, blood rushing in my ears as the adrenaline vanished.

“Never pull a weapon you’re not willing to use,” he scolded. “Because trust me, belle , there are many that would use it against you.”

He almost looked down at me with disgust, as if he was disappointed I hadn’t taken it further. I’d never wanted to kill anyone before, but the temptation of it had been overwhelming. Because while it would fix some of my problems, it would also create others.

But now that I no longer held the knife I was… horrified. And a little pissed off at his disapproval.

“Do you need me for anything?” I asked, my voice more of a croak.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Come to dinner.” His sharp gaze didn’t lessen as he tossed a bag at the end of the bed. Without another word he left, taking the knife with him.

It took me a few minutes to gather the enthusiasm to get up, leaning over to reach for the bag.

Relief was sudden and swift, the familiar clothes, makeup, and new bottle of shampoo enough to make me want to weep like a baby.

I didn’t, because I’d hit my quota of tears for the remainder of the year.

So I’d settle for carefully pulling out every object and placing them in a neat line on my bed.

I grinned at the paperback, thankful I’d be able to finish the story, but my fingers automatically reached for the notebook. Clutching it close, I inhaled sharply.

When I was around thirteen, I was advised by the school councillor–who was definitely overpaid because her advice was usually terrible–that writing things down would help me deal with my emotions by concentrating on the good things rather than the bad.

She’d given me my first notebook, and I was initially excited to write down all the things I was grateful for, to remind me to keep going when the world looked bleak.

But the bad seemed to outweigh the good, and the feeling quickly passed. Now I used the notebooks to make up dramatic situations and stories, because that was one hundred percent a healthier coping mechanism.

What better way to deal with my emotions than making them so much worse, but fictionally?

Grabbing the shampoo, conditioner and body wash, I jumped into the shower.

The hot water caressed my skin, and I would’ve happily stayed there forever if I didn’t know Sebastian was waiting.

The thought of him barging in on my shower time dulled my somewhat pleasant mood, so quickly washing my hair, I grabbed a towel and walked back into the bedroom.

He’d only given me three dresses and a pair of jeans. No tops. There wasn’t even any underwear, so with a sigh I washed mine in the sink, and had no choice but to go to dinner bare. Luckily the dress I’d chosen reached my thighs and shouldn’t be too bad if I sat with my legs crossed.

A knock sounded at the door, and I tensed when Chip came in dressed in his sharp suit. His gaze was pointed, but his lips tipped up in what I guessed was supposed to be a friendly smile.

“Ready?” he asked, waiting expectantly.

At my nod, he guided me down the hallway, past the kitchen where the older woman, his mum, was humming to herself, and to the dining room with a table that could easily sit ten.

A golden candelabra sat in the centre, all three candles lit.

Sebastian was seated at the head, and Chip came around and pulled out the chair directly beside him.

“Sit,” Sebastian demanded, his eyes scanning my dress with a frown.

What was his problem? He, or one of his cronies, were the ones who picked out the bloody thing.

Thanking Chip, I sat down on the chair, keeping my gaze on the plate in front of me.

It was salmon with couscous, and my stomach growled so violently I was confident not only Sebastian had heard it, but so had the King of England and his entire guard.

“Eat,” he ordered.

I automatically tensed at the command but still picked up my fork and proceeded to devour the entire meal because holy shit , it was delicious. So I get to sleep all day, use a shower that was made by the gods themselves, and be served meals like this?

Sebastian was definitely the right decision.

“It’s time we discussed my expectations of you.”

Okay, never mind.

I put down my fork, leaning back in my chair to look at him expectantly.

“It’s simple,” he continued. “You’ll do what I say, when I say it.”

I inwardly recoiled. “So you want me as a slave?”

“Isn’t that what you offered?” He raised his brow, and I remained silent because I couldn’t think of a compelling argument that didn’t result in me or my father getting killed.

Dessert was served, and rather than gobble the slice of Victoria sponge cake like a barbarian, I picked at it, stealing glances at him every now and then.

Sebastian was easier to look at when he didn’t have his full, frosty attention on me. He wore his black shirt, the collar slightly more open to reveal a ragged scar across his collarbone, right beside the thinnest cut that no longer oozed blood.

An apology touched the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down.

His cuffs were pulled up, revealing his forearms covered in a dusting of dark hair and tattooed thorns. They dipped onto his hands, encircling some of his fingers where he wore heavy rings.

The candlelight flickered, bringing out his scars in darkened slashes across his skin.

His cheekbones were envious, as was the angle of his jaw.

His lips were sensual, the top slightly rougher where the scar had split it, and in this light his beard was a shade darker than his hair, which he’d pulled up into a messy bun.

“You’ll be coming with me to the club tonight,” he said, his gaze brushing mine before I realised he’d caught me staring. Shit , I clearly wasn’t as subtle as I’d thought. “There’s a fight.”

“Does me attending count towards my debt?”

“Do you really believe you have a choice either way?” His eyes dropped once more to my dress, his scowl deepening.

“Would you like me to change?” The pale pink dress had the longest hem, and with the whole no underwear situation, it was the safest option considering I had jeans but no shirt. I was a huge fan of no bras, but I would rather die than go out with my actual breasts on display.

“I’ll have someone bring you some more suitable clothes.”

Okay, rude.

“You’ll also be wearing this.” Sebastian gestured behind me, and Chip appeared with a wooden box. He placed it on the table between us. “You’re to wear it every time we’re in public. No exceptions. ”

Licking along my bottom lip, I reached across to lift the lid. It was a choker, black, with a red rose pendant in the centre. “A collar? What am I, your dog?” I scoffed before I could stop myself.

“That’s exactly what you are.” His fingers moved to pick up the choker from the box.

I stilled when he stood, walking around until he was behind me. He brushed my damp hair away from my neck so he could lock the choker into place. It wasn’t as heavy as I expected, but it was tight.

Sebastian didn’t say anything else, his hand hot as it hovered on the exposed skin of my collarbone. His fingers were rough, calloused as they stroked with a gentleness I didn’t expect. His breath suddenly feathered across my neck, and my lips parted to try and take in more oxygen.

“Tu vas bien te comporter, n’est-ce pas Arabella?”

It took a moment for me to realise I couldn’t understand him, his presence distracting. Overwhelming. “I don’t speak French.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound tightening the air around us until it crackled. A shiver wound its way down my spine. Part fear, and part…

Nope.

Not happening.

Team reluctance.

“Who’s fighting?” I asked, pointedly ignoring the heat left by his touch. It was just a natural physical reaction. Nothing more.

Sebastian didn’t answer me, instead pulling out my chair before walking over to the lift. A car was already waiting for us in the underground garage, with Chip as the driver, and before long we arrived outside The Thorn .

Sebastian placed his mask on, his shoulders straightening and his body more rigid as he stepped out of the car. He waited at the door, and after a beat I followed him towards the entrance. The street was already busy, the crowd hushing once they’d spotted Sebastian.

The late afternoon air chilled my skin, and I couldn’t control the tremble as I tried wrapping my arms around myself.

Sebastian grabbed my hand, pulling me tighter against his side.

I would’ve usually recoiled, but considering he was the size of a door, if not bigger, he was a good block for the wind.

The same bouncer as before lifted the rope, and Sebastian paused at the entrance.

“You let anyone else in you’re not supposed to tonight, Miles?” he asked, an acerbic edge to his tone that was sharp enough to cut.

Miles the bouncer dipped his head, a flush appearing along his face. His eyes darted to me, as if I could help get him out of the conversation. I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t attached to a man who seemed to terrify everyone.

Sebastian continued, “You were made aware Detective Graves wasn’t allowed in, and yet you were on the door.”

“Sneaky fucker got past us,” Miles said with a visible wince, his eyes now dipping to me accusingly. What did I do? “Sorry, boss.”

Sebastian stiffened a little, his temper swift but quickly cooling. Without another word he pressed his palm against the bottom of my back, escorting me inside.

I’d forgotten how electric the atmosphere was, too nervous the first time I was here to really appreciate the sensual music and tempting darkness that greeted you inside.

The dance floor was thriving, bodies moving to the music that was pumped through the strategically placed speakers.

Guests were talking, mingling, and I was pretty sure we just walked past someone enjoying some caviar with their champagne .

I spotted Langdon on the far side, a burst of light every now and then as he played with his lighter.

More pressure against my spine, Sebastian’s hand forcing me to step faster. He guided me to where two men, clearly twins if I went by their creepily identical images, stood guarding the entrance to a booth tucked away in the corner.

Neither of the guards acknowledged me at all, simply nodding at Sebastian before returning to staring straight forward. They were hard to tell apart with their dark skin, dark eyes, and dark suits.

Before I could take a seat, Sebastian grabbed my wrist and tugged, forcing me onto his lap. “Sit,” he ordered.

I awkwardly sat, conscious that my skirt had risen up, and of course Sebastian had chosen to sit at the edge where the table didn’t cover us.

Luckily not many people were looking our way, too absorbed with their own lives.

If people did glance in this direction, their gazes were fleeting as if not wanting to risk being caught.

Sebastian never relaxed beneath me, his body like stone. After a while I found myself soaking the warmth radiating from him, because it wasn’t like I had anything else to do.

“Am I to just… sit here?” I asked quietly, not really expecting him to speak considering he hadn’t said anything other than the single command.

“Yes.”

“Why?” I tried to turn in his lap, but his hands on my thighs stopped me.

I froze, his thumbs rubbing little circles on my skin.

“Because they see you as my pet,” he replied, and I bit back a retort. “As my whore.”

“You said you’re not into reluctance.”

His thumbs never stopped moving, but I was achingly aware of them. “I have enough women throwing themselves at my feet. I don’t need to seek sex elsewhere.”

“And yet I sit on your lap.”

“The word ‘ no’ doesn’t get me hard, but you see everyone watching? They need me to be the monster that goes bump in the night. And I’m happy to perform if need be.”

My pulse did the foxtrot at the silent threat, my stomach cramping as if I’d swallowed ice.

Sebastian leaned forward, his voice dropping beneath his mask. “But what does get me fucking excited is your submission. So continue to fight me, mon belle petit lapine. Keep telling me no, because it’ll be that much sweeter when I finally have you begging for my cock.”

It took me a moment to understand the words, distracted by how his accent deepened when he spoke in French, more throaty. Only then did the skin of my cheeks prickle, followed by a strange warmth spreading through that ice that I pointedly ignored.

“And trust me, you will. I can already imagine the way your cunt will drip for me,” he whispered against my heated skin. “Taking every inch of my cock like the good girl you are.”

“Never.” The word was barely audible above the pounding of my heart.

His thumb stoked higher, and I could almost hear the smirk that curled his lips as he spoke next. “I can’t wait to fuck this defiance out of you.”