Page 17 of Marked (Wicked Heirs #1)

I stumbled into my bedroom and slammed the door shut behind me.

My chest heaved as I slid down the solid wooden surface and collapsed onto the floor in a tangled heap of despair.

I pressed my ear to the door—would they follow me?

Why would they do that?

To finish what they’d started.

The thought sent a chill through me.

They wouldn’t dare.

Would they?

My veins hummed with the remnants of my climax, and I hated myself for wanting more—

I bit down on my lip as the truth of it twisted in my stomach.

As much as I hated them—I did want more.

Imagine if you willingly gave yourself to us.

Imagine how good it would feel.

My pussy throbbed as Titus’ words echoed in my mind.

The memory of the way Bastian’s dark power had fired through my body was enough to make me let out a soft moan before I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth.

No.

They had assaulted me. Forced me to endure their twisted caresses.

It wasn’t right.

I shouldn’t feel this way.

And to make it all worse—I couldn’t escape them.

My stepbrothers.

The image of Titus’s cruel smile, Valen’s enigmatic gaze, and Bastian’s chilling laughter haunted me even in the supposed sanctuary of my room.

Their touch, their words, their very presence was a curse that clung to me like a shroud.

They had forced me to watch my mother and Lucian—

I had never seen anything so…

I cradled my head in my hands. The air in the room was suddenly too thick with shame and yearning. My body felt wretchedly complicated—it had become a treacherous battlefield where the mere thought of their touch stirred up a perverse pleasure I didn’t want to acknowledge.

But I couldn’t look away.

I curled in on myself, a pitiful ball of wretchedness and confusion.

Tears welled up and spilled over, tracking salt trails down my cheeks, but I made no sound.

The stillness was thick and suffocating as I tried to comprehend everything.

Could I really stay here? Could I really accept that this was my life?

A horrifying yet enthralling thought occurred to me—was I like them? Did the same darkness reside within me too?

I swallowed hard, tasting the bitter nugget of truth. I had felt their magic stirring within me, hadn’t I? And it hadn’t repulsed me—not completely. There was something about it that had awoken things...things I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I wanted to shower and wash everything that had happened off my body.

But the knowledge that my stepbrothers would be watching my every move made me pause.

Instead, I pushed myself off the floor and stood on unsteady legs that I didn’t quite trust not to buckle and send me tumbling back to the cold hardwood.

I crossed the room and barely registered the feel of the smooth wood beneath my bare feet as I made my way to the window. I pulled the curtain back and stared out at the darkness—it was almost dawn and even the moonlight seemed to fade away into the gloomy clouds that shrouded the estate.

My reflection in the glass was a stranger, pale and hollow-eyed. But there was something else, too.

I should have been shaking with fear, but...

A shameful heat flared deep within me, tingling down to my core at the memory of their merciless touch.

Their dark laughter echoed in my head like a haunting nightmare as I stumbled back from the window and the heavy curtain fell back into place to shield the garden from my view. Valen’s groan as he had rubbed his hard cock against my hand. The heat of Bastian’s power as his fingers had moved against my clit. And Titus—his voice in my ear, his hand over my mouth to muffle my pleas for mercy, and his fingers in my pussy—

Nausea swept through me and I gripped the edge of the windowsill as I confronted the cold reality: They were monsters that pulled me towards them with strings originating from the darkest corners of my existence. Strings filled with undesirable longing and unwanted desire.

I felt the walls of the room closing in on me as if Withermarsh itself was constricting around me, squeezing the life out of my lungs. The room reeked of my shame; the scent clung to every surface—but I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t escape myself.

I found myself trapped, not just within these four walls, but also within myself.

Panic clawed at my insides as claustrophobia settled its icy grip around my trembling form. My breath hitched in my throat—a frantic whimper escaping past clenched teeth as hysteria threatened to consume me whole.

Stop it.

You’re stronger than this.

The thought made me want to laugh out loud.

What if I wasn’t stronger?

Titus had mocked my power, and he was right.

It was weak.

I was weak.

I stumbled back from the window and forced myself to walk across the room to the bed. I fell down on the softness of the coverlet and buried my face in the heavy material.

I didn’t care about crawling under the covers, I just wanted the world to go away.

Days blended together, but I didn’t leave my room.

I had expected my mother to come and see me—but no one but the servants had come to my door. There were no summons for dinner or any attempts to draw me out of my sanctuary.

It was as though I’d been forgotten.

My only companions were the shadows that flowed across my mirrors and loomed behind me as I showered .

I didn’t know which of them was spying on me—or what they wanted to see. I showered as quickly as I could and kept myself wrapped in a towel before rushing back to the bedroom, where all the mirrors were covered to keep them out.

Bastards.

It was almost worse than if they had come after me again—the waiting, the uncertainty.

Not knowing when they might decide to pay me another unwanted visit was a torment all its own.

I didn’t know how much time had passed, but I could see that the ghostly fabric that had been draped around the garden for the wedding reception was gone, and they had long since removed the flowers that had filled the house with their heady scent.

I knew I couldn’t hide forever.

I needed to speak to my mother.

The wedding was behind us now; maybe she would be more open to my request to send in my college applications.

Escape was the only answer.

I scraped my hair away from my face and pinned it up as best I could.

Choosing expensive clothes from the wardrobe seemed odd when I craved sweats or flannel—two things I hadn’t seen since I’d been taken away from Messana. It seemed like a simple thing—unimportant—but for some reason, the sight of the elegant contents of my wardrobe filled me with despair.

But I didn’t have any other choice.

The dress I’d chosen was plain and buttoned up the front, but the pale green silk was exquisitely tailored and an undulating pattern of snakeskin that flexed and changed as I moved was hand-painted on the fabric in shimmering gold.

I slipped my feet into a pair of black satin flats and walked across the room with what I hoped was a confident gait. My mother didn’t respond well to weakness, and if her treatment of me before the wedding was any indication, I shouldn’t expect that her attitude toward me would have changed.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t hoping she would be happy to see me.

Her reactions, particularly at the wedding, felt more like jealousy than anything else.

But why? What would she have to be jealous of?

What mother could ever be jealous of her own daughter?

It was impossible to consider—but I didn’t know what else could have happened, or what else I had done that would make her lash out at me in that way.

As I pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway, some of my bravery slipped away.

The last time I’d stood in front of my mother’s bedroom door, I had seen—

I didn’t want to think about it, but the images flashed into my subconscious and the echo of her moans made my stomach tighten with revulsion.

What would she do if she knew I had seen her?

My throat was tight as I forced myself to walk down the hallway toward her room. I expected that she would have moved into a different suite in the house—to Lucian’s wing of the house—it would make the most sense.

I was prepared to search for her and enter parts of the house I hadn’t seen before.

But I thought I would check her suite, anyway.

The sound of my breathing echoed in my ears, the rhythm punctuated by the muffled thuds of my footsteps. The thought that someone—or something—was watching me from the shadows persisted.

I thought I would get used to the sensation of it—eyes roving over my body, shadowy whispers in my ears—but that seemed like an impossible task.

As I moved through the house, the air felt heavy and my senses were stretched to their limits, attuned to every tiny shift in the atmosphere.

My heart beat strangely in my chest as I approached the closed door of my mother’s bedroom.

The last time I lingered in this hallway, Titus, Valen, and Bastian had found me—

I bit down hard on my cheek to keep myself focused and I closed my eyes for just a moment as pain flowed through me.

Another deep breath.

You can do this.

This isn’t scary.

She’s your mother.

I laid my hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. I expected it to be locked—I’d hoped that it would be locked—but it turned easily and the door swung open.

My chest constricted with dread as I peered into the room.

“Mom?” I choked out.

The room was quiet, but the lamps illuminated the space with a comforting glow. As I looked around the room, I realized that the woman who inhabited this space was a stranger to me. The jewelry, the clothes in the closet, the pieces of art on the walls—I never would have guessed that any of it was her taste.

Maybe I’d never known her at all.

I forced myself to step into the room, but my gaze lingered on the unmade bed.

I didn’t want to think about what had happened in here before I arrived. Someone had thrown pillows onto the floor and ripped back the blankets. The expensive sheets were rumpled in ways that made me wonder if Lucian had been here .

A shiver rippled over my skin and my hands clenched into fists at my side.

“Mom?” I repeated.

No reply.

“Are you here?” I whispered to the silence. There was no response, only the echo of my voice bouncing off the walls.

I hesitated just inside the doorway, then, gathering my courage, I crossed over the threshold into her space. I glanced at the mirror above her vanity.

It was draped in black, similar to the mirrors in my room. The reflection offered me nothing but a distorted image of myself wreathed in shadow.

Who was she hiding from?

Were Lucian’s sons spying on her, too?

Neatly arranged perfume bottles sat on the vanity table, each one more extravagant than the last, their stoppers dusted with gold and adorned with precious stones. None looked used or recently touched.

A small jewelry box stood open at the edge of the vanity table. There were no photos on the table. No indication that she might have cared about me—did she even have any of my school photos? I couldn’t remember the last time she had ordered any.

In this setting, it was too clear to me—my mother seemed more like a ghost than a living person.

A sickening sense of dread coiled in my gut as I realized how quiet everything was—this place was abnormally still and unoccupied for a house that was home to so many people.

The scent of spiced black roses—her favorite—filled the room, but beneath it lurked a familiarly unsettling undercurrent of metal; a smell that made my stomach twist and forced me to cover my nose. I blurted out her name once more, louder this time. My voice echoed around the room before dwindling into an eerie silence again .

I crept toward the adjoining bathroom door, dreading what I would find on the other side.

And then I heard it—a faint rustling sound. My pulse jumped at the possibility that she might be there after all.

The bathroom door was ajar, and as I pushed it open, a shiver ran down my spine. I stared into the dimly lit room, every instinct screaming at me to turn back, but I’d come too far already.

“Mom?” I called once more, peering into the darkness. The only response was the steady drip of water droplets falling from a silver faucet, their echo creating a haunting rhythm in the thick air.

The bathroom looked normal enough—more luxurious than mine, with marble tiles and gleaming fixtures, but something wasn’t right.

Someone had arranged candles that had burned down to nubs around the sink, and my gaze was pulled toward the enormous claw-foot bathtub on the far side of the room. The candles on the marble ledge next to the tub were still burning, but wax had dripped onto the floor and the flames danced erratically as I approached.

“No—”

Long tendrils of raven hair spilled over the edge of the tub and clung to the porcelain.

Mom.

My knees buckled as I stumbled toward the tub and my foot slipped in a puddle of water on the marble tiled floor and sent me tumbling to my knees.

I let out a sharp cry as pain jolted through me, and I bit back a desperate sob as I scrambled toward the tub.

My mother’s naked, lifeless body was slumped in the luxurious bathtub. Her once vibrant eyes, now dull and empty, stared at nothing, and her cold, pale skin retained an almost ethereal glow as the clear water lapped against her breasts.

“No,” I whispered. Hot tears streamed down my face as I reached out a trembling hand to touch her icy flesh. It all felt so wrong, so unnatural.

What had happened? How did she die?

My gaze flickered to the side of the tub, where bottles of exotic liquor lay spilled in a chaotic mess.

The shards of a glistening, crystal goblet lay scattered across the pristine tiles and reflected the dim light of the candles that still burned around the tub.

The spilled liquor had a sweet, sickly smell that invaded my nostrils and made me shrink away from the puddle that spread across the tiles.

I dragged my gaze back to my mother’s lifeless form. Her long, pointed nails brushed the surface of the water.

If her eyes had been closed, she could have been sleeping—lounging in a decadent bath—but she wasn’t sleeping.

She was dead, and her staring eyes haunted me.

The drip of water was rhythmic and jarring, and I reached over the tub to tighten the faucet and make it stop.

“Who did this to you?” I whispered, but my voice cracked under the weight of my grief and confusion.

As much as I wanted to cling to the hope that it was an accident, something deep within me knew that something darker had occurred.

Small sigils—arcane symbols that I couldn’t decipher—marked my mother’s luminous flesh.

I reached out to push a strand of wet hair from her forehead and brushed my fingers across her chilled skin.

The sensation of it was too much to bear, and I snatched my hand back with a gasp. My fingertips throbbed as if I had been burned .

Had Lucian done this to her?

I closed my eyes as the memory of watching my mother and Lucian together flooded into my mind. He had sliced into her skin with a knife during their lovemaking—

Could I even call it that?

There was nothing loving about what I had witnessed.

And now— what would happen now?

I fell back on my heels, unable to take in the sight of her any longer. Water soaked into the hem of my dress, ruining the silk, but I didn’t care.

The walls of the bathroom closed in on me and my heart pounding loudly in my ears.

I tried to breathe, to focus, to think…

But all I could see were her lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above.

Aching sobs wracked through my body as the reality set in—she was truly gone and there was nothing I could do about it.

Nothing I could say or do would bring her back—despite everything that had happened, everything she had done. I wanted her back. I thought things could be different—

I noticed the silence then, a deep and chilling quiet that spread through the manor like a shroud.

Forcing myself into motion seemed impossible; every limb weighed a thousand pounds.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I knelt on the cold, unforgiving floor and my hands shook violently.

The frigid touch of my mother’s skin still lingered on my fingertips. The shattered goblet and spilled bottles screamed danger and my mind reeled with unanswerable questions—

Had she been poisoned?

Drowned?

Was it an accident?

Or —

It was impossible not to believe that something sinister had occurred in this very room—and I had been left entirely alone to face it.

Sobs choked me as I crawled across the floor toward the counter and hauled myself to my feet.

“Help—” I croaked.

Yet, no response echoed back. The confines of the bathroom continued to stifle any pathetic plea for aid that escaped my lips.

“Help!”

The only answer was my echo, which rebounded off the ornate glass and marble surrounding me.

With tears streaming down my face and a throat constricted by grief and horror, I lurched from the bathroom and into my mother’s suite. The soft carpet seemed to tug at my feet as I careened toward the door and I leaned against it as I gasped for breath.

The grand staircase was empty, and pale sunlight filtered through the high windows above.

My fingers tightened on the door as I drew in a shuddering breath and shouted into the empty corridor.

“Help me, someone! My mother— Help!”

My knees gave way as the image of my mother’s face swam into my mind. Her eyes, open and staring. The way the candlelight had reflected off her pallid skin and left sparks like dull stars behind my eyes.

“Help!”

Voices echoed in the house—someone was coming.

Relief flooded through me as I sank to the floor and clung to the edge of the door.

“Help—”

The sound of footsteps filled my ears. Frantic on the stairs. They were coming.

Tears dripped down my nose and fell onto the pale green silk of my dress and I watched the drops spread across the delicate fabric as despair filled me up.

They were coming.

But no one could help me—not really.

Not now.