Page 14 of Marked (Wicked Heirs #1)

The heady scent of incense wafted through the air and mingled with the strange metallic tang that seemed to permeate every corner of the gardens. Although mostly hidden by the overwhelming perfume of the flowers, the subtle aroma would occasionally hit my nostrils and make me flinch. I didn’t want to know what it was, or where it was coming from.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the answer.

I stood at the edge of the reception and felt incredibly out of place as society women flocked around me like vultures sensing a vulnerable prey.

“Darling, you simply must tell us all about yourself,” one woman cooed, her eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. “We have heard so much about you, but we must hear it from you—”

“Really, my dear,” another chimed in, “we’re just dying to know what it’s like living in Withermarsh. Tell us everything .”

My cheeks flushed, and I struggled to find my voice.

What could I say? They didn’t want to hear me complain that my life had taken a nightmarish turn ever since my mother had brought me to this place. They didn’t want to know that everything I thought I knew was… a lie? But was that even the truth? I didn’t even know anymore.

Being in this place had made me doubt everything, even myself and my own memories.

“Ah, well,” I stammered, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s quite... different.”

“Surely you have some thrilling tales to share,” probed a woman in a gown that seemed too elaborate for the occasion. Her eyes practically glowed with an insatiable curiosity.

I could see it in their faces—they were all hoping for a juicy piece of scandal, something they could titter over in their social circles, at their tea parties or midnight gatherings. They were all a part of Lucian’s inner circle… and I couldn’t shake the knowledge that they were just like him.

There were no familiar people in this crowd—no one from the ‘bride’s side’ to comfort me or give me a place to hide.

It was stifling in this place… and cold. Their eyes glittered like sharp-edged stones in the lantern light.

Eyes like snakes.

Predators.

All of them.

“I mean, it’s not as exciting as you might think,” I attempted to deflect, striving to keep my voice level. “The house is old, the weather is dreary... It’s somewhat isolated...”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was seeking solace in understatement.

Before I could continue, movement on the dance floor caught my eye and the group of women who had gathered around me turned to face the new distraction.

“How beautiful she is,” someone sighed.

“Just like Lucian to take such a stunning bride— His Camille was so lovely—the same raven hair.”

“And Helene— ”

How many weddings had been celebrated at Withermarsh?

How many brides had Lucian claimed?

And now my mother was one of them.

I swallowed hard.

Another woman let out a gasp of remembrance. “And Willa—”

Someone hissed a response I couldn’t make out, and the voices of the surrounding women blended together into a strange murmur as my gaze followed the newlywed couple.

My mother and Lucian were taking the stage for their first dance as husband and wife, and they smiled and inclined their heads as applause rippled through the garden.

The ornate silken lanterns dipped and swayed in a sudden breeze that sent chills over my bare shoulders, and I resisted the urge to wrap my arms around myself.

Whispers flowed through the crowd like dark water as my mother and Lucian took their places for their first dance as husband and wife.

As the music began, I watched in abject horror as Lucian’s hands moved over my mother’s body with predatory intent.

Her head fell back and a sensual smile played on my mother’s lips as she responded to his touch.

A wave of humiliation washed over me, leaving my cheeks burning and my heart racing.

“Isn’t it simply enchanting?” one woman gushed, her eyes glued to the spectacle before us. “Such a beautiful couple!”

“Indeed,” I choked out, forcing a smile even as bile rose in my throat.

“Lucian is such a powerful man,” another woman whispered, her voice low and conspiratorial. “We were all quite stunned when Julia was presented as his intended bride…”

“Really?” I murmured, casting a wary glance at my new stepfather. He seemed to sense my gaze upon him, for his pale eyes met mine with a cruel smile and I shivered at the way his gaze lingered on me and swept over my body.

“Yes— I mean no offence, my dear. But the Romanos have such a fascinating history. Lucian came from nothing , you know. Survived so many attempts on his life—”

Her dark gaze flickered to me with meaningful weight, as though I knew exactly what she was talking about.

Traitor’s whore.

The whisper was loud in my ear and I spun around, but no one was behind me—just an older couple who eyed me with thinly veiled disdain before turning their attention back to the dance floor.

“—and look at him now,” the first woman continued, oblivious to my discomfort. “And you’re part of it all, Avril. How thrilled you must be.”

“Delighted,” I muttered. “If you’ll excuse me.” The woman inclined her head and waved me away and I turned without looking at her. I felt sick to my stomach as I made my escape from their suffocating presence and hurriedly pushed through the throng of guests.

I had to leave—but where could I go?

The garden was full of wedding guests, and I could only imagine that more than a few of them would stay in some rooms in the vast mansion. They were everywhere.

Judgemental eyes watched me.

The hiss of whispers followed me through the garden as I took a stone path that I hoped would lead me back to the house.

The path was narrow and the gray stones snaked through gardens overflowing with flowers of unnatural shades: so deeply red they were nearly black, whites with an almost reflective luminescence, and yellows dark and rich as a harvest moon.

Their sweet scent was an overpowering veil that clung to every breath I drew; and yet beneath that aroma, the persistent metallic tang that seeped into every corner of the estate lingered on the back of my tongue.

The lanterns that lined the path cast an iridescent and almost ethereal glow on the petals as I hurried past them.

With every step, the music from the wedding party faded away, but it was a dissonant echo that I wished I could fully escape.

Finally, the looming mansion came into view and I swallowed hard as I looked up at the stark spires that sliced angrily into the somber night sky.

Its shadow blanketed me like a shroud and threatened to swallow me whole.

But it wasn’t completely dark. They had strung silken lanterns, like the ones in the garden, along the entryway, and lamps burned in the windows.

I had to find some comfort in that.

The door stood open and servants bearing trays of food and bottles of expensive wine streamed out into the night. I stepped out of their way, and they rewarded me with only a few cursory glances as they passed. No one questioned me, or paid any attention as I walked into the house.

I grabbed hold of my gown and pulled it up just a little so I could rush through the foyer and up the grand staircase that led to the second floor.

The moment I entered my room, I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it. I pressed my palms against the cool wood of the door and closed my eyes as my heart pounded against my ribs and my chest heaved painfully.

At last, I was alone—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

I pushed away from the door and kicked off my heels. I let out a small sigh as my bare feet pressed against the smooth hardwood floor .

The curtains were open and someone had made my bed, and I wondered what else the servant who had been in the room had done—it wasn’t that I didn’t trust them, but I still hadn’t gotten used to having someone do things for me like this.

I’d done my own laundry at the academy. I’d done everything for myself…

This place still felt so strange, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to it.

I grabbed the heavy curtains and drew them across the windows, but at the last window I paused and stared out at the lights that swayed over the garden. I couldn’t hear the music, but I could see dark shapes moving through the shrubbery and around the enormous flower arrangements.

The image of my Lucian groping my mother on the dance floor for everyone to see flashed into my mind and I gripped the heavy curtain tight and pulled it across the window to block out the sight of the garden.

I didn’t want to know what they were doing now.

If what I had already seen was a sign of what was to come—there was no telling how debauched the rest of the evening would be.

A shower seemed like the only way to cleanse myself of the evening’s events.

I walked toward my vanity on legs that were suddenly unsteady and unpinned the diamond brooch from the shoulder of my gown.

As I pulled the pin free of the expensive silk, the strap fell down with the weight of the semi-precious stones that were sewn to the silk, and I resisted the urge to grab it and prevent it from dropping.

The cut Titus had made in the fabric was clean—the edge of his knife had been so sharp, the glint of the blade was burned into my memory—and I stared at my blurry reflection in the shrouded mirror as I placed the diamond encrusted pin down on the dark wood of the vanity.

Were they watching me?

With a trembling hand, I grabbed the edge of the gauzy fabric I’d thrown over the mirror and pulled it away.

It fell to the floor with a whisper and I studied the mirror’s gleaming surface to see if any of the shadows that stalked me through the house had followed me here. But the only figure I saw in the mirror was my reflection.

I frowned at myself and hurried to unpin my hair. I tossed the pins down on the vanity and ignored the few that spun across the polished wood and clattered to the floor.

My trembling hands forced me to pause and clench them into tight fists. I took a few deep breaths as I tried to regain control and calm myself down.

Stop it.

Take a shower. Get into bed.

Everything will be better in the morning.

I swallowed the sob that rose in my throat and threatened to choke me.

Nothing will be better in the morning.

I bit down hard on my lip and tasted blood on my tongue as I fumbled for the zipper at the side of my gown and pulled it down.

Weighed down by the semi-precious stones sewn into the bodice, the gown slid down my body and pooled at my feet in a whirl of soft gray silk. I stepped out of the puddle of expensive fabric without looking back at the mirror, and made my way toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub off the memories of this dreadful night.

As I walked into the washroom I kept my eyes off the mirrors as I turned on the water and took a deep breath as the steam rose around me like a protective veil .

I shed the lacy scrap of my underwear and tossed them onto the tiled floor as I stepped under the rush of the shower. As the hot droplets cascaded over my skin, I imagined they were washing away the remnants of the reception.

But even as the hot water scalded my skin, it couldn’t wash away my thoughts—or the way they kept returning to what had happened with Titus in the alcove at the base of the stairs.

My throat tightened at the memory of the fear that had coursed through me as Titus had pinned me to the wall with his hand around my throat—but my pussy throbbed as I remembered the unwanted, but expert, pressure of his fingers against my clit.

I gritted my teeth against the rush of arousal that coursed through me. He had left me on the edge of a climax—purposefully showing me how much control he could exert over my body whenever he wanted to.

Bastard.

I forced the water hotter, nearly hissing as it hit my skin.

I took the bar of soap and scrubbed my body roughly until it felt raw. I could almost hear Titus’ voice whispering in my ear as I struggled to keep calm.

Pretty bird. I can make you sing.

Despite the warmth of the water flowing over my body, I shivered as his voice, filled with a delicious malice, echoed in my mind.

My soapy fingers slipped against my skin and tracing over places he’d touched earlier in the night. The battle within me raged between fear and longing, and tugged me apart piece by piece, but I couldn’t stop the motion of my hand.

My mouth fell open as my fingertips teased against the hard nub of my clit, and I rubbed it in slow circles, mimicking what Titus had done. I leaned against the cool tiles and let my head fall back as a jolt of pleasure shot through my body. It was different now—or maybe I didn’t want to admit that the sting of fear and the press of Titus’ dark power had sharpened my arousal.

How was it that a man as cruel as Titus could elicit such physical pleasure from me?

Not just any man—he was family now.

As my touch became more insistent, the ache of desire grew. His dark voice echoed in my ears.

Pretty bird...

I bit down on my lip as I recalled how his fingers had pressed against my entrance through the silken fabric of my gown—and how much I’d fought against wanting him to do more.

I clenched my eyes shut, and my hand copied his motions, and slid two fingers into my slick channel without hesitation.

The unexpected intrusion sent a jolt through me and a gasp escaped my lips.

I was lost in the memory of Titus’ unwelcome touch, which I was now so shamelessly replicating. The imprints of his hands seemed to burn over my skin as if he were in the bathroom with me, taking pleasure from pushing me to my limits.

My pulse raced as I continued to touch myself. The pleasure was intoxicating, and unlike anything I’d experienced before. My breath hitched before I released a moan that echoed around me before it was swallowed by the steam and the relentless rush of water.

Heavy dread pulled at my bliss—but it didn’t stop me.

My actions were my own small rebellion in a world where everything else was controlled for me. The one thing I was allowed—needed—to control was this moment of fleeting pleasure.

As my rhythm increased, images of Titus invaded my mind. His eyes, black ice that burned with an indefinable heat, danced in the darkness behind my eyelids. Those powerful hands gripping me, his hot breath against my neck, his wicked grin... Dear gods, what was this?

I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood again, using the pain to ground myself. But it did little to distract from how close I was to the edge.

I could almost hear his velvety voice coaxing me toward release. “That’s it, pretty bird…”

With a sharp gasp, I clung to the moment before letting go completely. The pleasure washed over me in crashing waves as my legs buckled and trembled.

Only when I had slowly come back down from the dizzying heights of pleasure did my mind finally find some peace. My body felt heavy and languorous under the still pattering stream of hot water.

And then came the guilt.

Not because of what I’d done—but because of whom I’d thought of when I’d touched myself.

Titus Romano.

The same man who made my skin crawl and my heart pound in fear every time he was near me, yet who had also featured in the most intimate fantasies that raised pulsing flames of desire within me.

The truth was an unwelcome stranger.

I didn’t want him. Yet, I’d submitted to thoughts of him.

Maybe you do want him…

Even within the freedom of my mind, I wasn’t safe from his cruelly expert touch.

The water turned icy against my flushed skin, and I shivered as I forced myself to step out of the stream and slapped at the faucet to turn it off.

I wrapped a soft towel around my body and dried myself with shaky hands before I glanced into the mirror.

My reflection in the steam-fogged glass only vaguely resembled me. The false warmth had disappeared from my skin and left goosebumps trailing down my arms and legs despite the heated tiles beneath my feet.

Flashes of guilt burned through my post-orgasmic haze. My knees buckled, and I barely managed to grasp the edge of the sink to keep myself from falling.

Images from earlier replayed in my head in a sickening loop—Titus’ cruel smirk, his cold eyes as he brought me to the brink of release only to leave me teetering on an edge filled with unbearable pleasure and pain, his dispassionate words laced with dark mirth as he watched me squirm under his ruthless hands.

A shadow moved across the mirror and I could have sworn that I felt the pressure of shadowy fingers on my bare shoulder.

I reared back and stumbled away from the counter, slapping at the air.

They were watching me.

They’d seen—everything.

I swallowed hard.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I muttered.

But was I?

I dried myself quickly and kept my eyes averted from my reflection in the mirror. I bit down hard on my lip as I focused my gaze on the tiled floor, but I knew the mirror boiled with shadows.

My hair was still wet as I dashed out of the bathroom, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from them .

I breathed a small sigh of relief as I padded across the hardwood floor toward the bed. I paused for just a moment to throw the gauzy scarf back over the vanity mirror to shroud the bedroom from whoever might be watching me.

With all the mirrors covered, and the curtains drawn over the windows, I was mostly insulated from everything happening outside—the noise of the revels in the garden was muffled, but not entirely.

It was enough.

I glanced at the door of my room and wished for the hundredth time that my magic was stronger—the protection sigil I’d placed there would have faded by now.

Pathetic.

It wasn’t fair.

With a sigh, I pulled a filmy nightgown over my head and wrapped my hair in the towel before I sat down on the edge of the bed.

The gathering in the gardens was a joyous celebration of my mother’s marriage to Lucian Romano—a union that bound me to a family of darkness and deceit. I was here against my will, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Not yet.

The dark joy that had rippled through the guests and the atmosphere of the party was a symbol of my captivity, and every moment I had spent watching their revelry only reminded me of my powerlessness.

I pulled back the heavy damask coverlet and crawled into bed. The lamps I’d left lit filled the room with a comforting light—maybe I just didn’t want to admit that this place had made me afraid of the dark.

One of my old textbooks from the academy was my companion for the night. It was a history textbook, my least favorite subject, but I needed something to take my mind off what was happening in the garden.

But as much as I tried to focus, the words swam before my eyes, blurring together until they were nothing but meaningless shapes.

My thoughts refused to be silenced, and they raced relentlessly through my mind, taunting me with what I had seen and heard—

But as I struggled to immerse myself in the words on the page, my mind kept wandering back to the unsettling desires I sensed from Titus and his brothers. Their dark intentions weighed heavily on me, pressing down until I felt as though I might suffocate beneath their burden.

“Damn it,” I muttered. My agitation only seemed to grow with each passing moment. The images of the wedding reception, of my mother and Lucian, their brazen display, Titus’ leering smile and the darkness in his eyes as he focused on me while Valen and Bastian loomed behind him—it all haunted me like a waking nightmare.

No longer able to pretend that I could escape my thoughts, I slammed the book shut.

The sound echoed through the room, amplifying my frustration.

With a heavy sigh, I stared at the closed curtains, hiding the debauchery that continued just outside my sanctuary.

What was I supposed to do now?

I had hoped, in vain, that something would delay the wedding—I had even imagined that something would cause the engagement to be called off altogether.

But luck had never been on my side.

Some girls at the academy had joked that I was cursed—but what if they were right?

What if I was cursed?

“Now you are being ridiculous,” I scolded myself.

But the idea lingered in my mind.

Titus and his brothers—my stepbrothers now—had mocked me as a traitor’s daughter. What if they were telling the truth? What fate awaited a traitor aside from death? I opened the history textbook again. Generational curses were absolutely something that existed in Messana’s history. Powerful families had been exacting revenge upon their enemies—real or perceived—for centuries in Messana. Had my father been cursed?

It would explain a lot.

But not everything.

I pulled the heavy damask coverlet up to my chin and focused again on the textbook in my hand. The dread that curled like a viper in my stomach refused to settle, though I tried hard to immerse myself in the stories of vicious feuds and petty rivalries that shaped Messana’s gruesome history.

The tales of murders and betrayals committed in the name of power would have been engrossing, if not so terrifyingly apt to my current predicament. Every line seemed to echo with my own fears, each new chapter was a dark mirror that showed me another facet of my impending plight. But an odd feeling crept in—as though there was something missing from the facts that were written on the pages.

Why was there no mention of the Necromi?

If anyone was casting curses, it would be them.

But every entry that mentioned a curse or betrayal always ended with the Sages passing judgement on the aggressors and the wronged party was grateful to be relieved of their curse—

No harm done.

Well, no lasting harm.

I closed the book and tossed it toward the end of the bed.

It wasn’t possible.

There were no happy endings in real life.

Especially mine.