Page 18 of Marked (Wicked Heirs #1)

Counting the days since I’d found my mother’s body was an impossible task.

Everything blurred together.

Servants had come.

They took me to my room.

Someone had attempted to comfort me, but I didn’t know who they were and I couldn’t remember what their voice had sounded like.

Everything was muffled.

Noises. Thoughts. Emotions.

All of it was shrouded in shadow.

My mother was dead.

I saw her eyes everywhere, and the feel of her waxen skin had been seared into my fingertips.

It didn’t matter how much time I spent in the shower, or how hot the water was, I couldn’t wash away what had happened.

But what had happened? No one had come to talk to me—no one had asked any questions,or answered any of mine.

There was no inquest, no Sages had come to the mansion… No council members. I’d waited for them— I remembered when the Messana Guards had come to the Academy to talk to the students about their role in ‘keeping the peace’ in Messana. Surely, they would investigate a death like this— a murder.

But they didn’t come.

No one did.

It was as though nothing had happened at all.

The muted grey sunlight that crept into my room was as uninviting as the day itself, but I couldn’t bring myself to close the curtains.

I paced the length of the room and the cold of the hardwood floor seeped into my bones.

My bed lay untouched, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a full night’s sleep.

My mother’s funeral was today.

I glanced at the shrouded mirror. Even the blurred reflection of my face showed how much of a toll the last weeks had taken on me. Dark circles weighed heavy under my eyes, and I could see that I looked as haunted as I felt.

Even though I wanted to stay in this room and never leave, I knew that wouldn’t be possible.

I needed to shower. They would come for me soon enough.

As I stepped into the lavish bathroom, encased in dark granite, and turned on the shower dials, I let out a heavy sigh. I didn’t have to look at the mirrors to know that a shadowy figure watched my every move. I peeled off the oversized shirt that served as both my daywear and nightgown.

The touch of fabric against my skin had become so unbearable that I had simply stopped trying.

Steam billowed out from underneath the frosted glass doors in soft, ghostly wisps. It was hot—hotter than I usually liked it—but today; I craved the scorching burn, and I closed my eyes as I stepped under the rush of water .

As rivulets of water scalded my skin, I took in gasping breaths to fill my lungs with the wet heat until it felt like I was breathing underwater. I scrubbed at my skin until it turned raw, but nothing could scrape away my memories.

After a long while—maybe minutes, maybe hours—I turned off the shower.

The sudden absence of sound seemed loud in its own right. I stepped out onto the cold granite floor, dripping wet. I wrapped myself in a plush towel and stood, shivering and dripping for a moment, before drying myself off with efficient strokes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow move across the mirror’s shimmering surface, muted by the steam that clung to it.

Who was watching me?

Bastian? Valen?

Or even Titus…

Would he stoop to spying on me like his brothers did?

Damp tendrils of hair clung to my face and neck like leeches feeding on my despair, but I didn’t pause to brush them away before I glared at the mirror, wrapped the towel tight across my torso, and walked out into my bedroom.

A silver garment bag hung on the door of my wardrobe—a gift from Lucian that a stone-faced servant had delivered. I knew it was for me to wear at the funeral, and there was something even more upsetting about the fact that someone else had chosen my attire. Even for this—my own mother’s funeral—I was still playing a role and being dressed like a doll.

A possession.

I had no strength left in me for rebellion. So, like a good, obedient plaything, I crossed the room and unzipped the bag.

Inside was a mourning gown, but not in the traditional sense. Rich, midnight-blue fabric replaced the more typical black, woven with threads that glinted spectral silver in the dim light and the neckline plunged so low as to almost be indecent, but a fine mesh panel would mask the curve of my breasts from view and create some hint of modesty. But only a hint.

It was exquisite and somberly elegant, but like all the clothes in my wardrobe, it had been made for a person who was not me.

Ignoring the insistent throb behind my eyes, I unwound the towel from my body and wrapped it around my hair before I pulled the gown from its garment bag and laid across the bed. I selected a pair of underwear that seemed appropriate, but with the cut of the neckline, I wouldn’t be able to wear a bra. My cheeks were hot as I pulled on the filmy panties I’d chosen and frowned at the dress before I unzipped the delicate fastening and stepped into it.

The fabric was cold against my skin, and it bit like winter frost as it clung to me.

It wasn’t enough—I needed something to cover my shoulders. I felt—exposed.

This was a funeral, not a cocktail party.

I walked to the wardrobe and selected a perfectly tailored satin blazer. It didn’t match the gown in any way, but it made me feel a little more respectable.

Satisfied, I walked back to the vanity and sat down with a heavy sigh on my lips.

I glanced at my reflection in the shrouded mirror. A specter stared back at me, with sunken eyes and sallow skin. I pulled the veil from the mirror and unwound the towel from my hair. I didn’t care if they watched me. I looked like shit, and I had to do something about it.

I pulled a brush through my damp hair and grimaced at the sharp tug of the knotted strands. The quiet hum of activity from outside my room was muffled and distant, but even that small noise seemed too loud, too intrusive.

My fingers trembled as I braided my hair and pinned it up with a set of silver hairpins I found in one of the vanity drawers. It would have to do. As I reached for my makeup kit, the soft brushes and delicate powders seemed like strange, foreign tools. I wasn’t used to painting my face like my mother was and I didn’t know if my skill would be enough to cover up the hollows under my eyes and bring any color to my cheeks. If my magic had been stronger, I might have been able to manage a convincing glamor—but not today.

I had to try, but as I laid out the unfamiliar products—expensive brands I’d only admired in shop windows—it felt like I would be putting on a mask in an attempt to make myself look like someone else—someone who wasn’t mourning.

Swirls of foundation blended into my skin, followed by streaks of concealer to hide the shadows that lay under my eyes. The application was clumsy and mechanical. It seemed a pointless endeavor; no amount of beauty products would be able to hide the grief that consumed me.

I stood up abruptly, knocking over my chair in the process.

The soft thud it made as it hit the floor echoed throughout the room like a gunshot.

My heart pounded erratically against my chest as hot tears pricked at the corner of my eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Would your mother mourn for you this way?

The thought was an invasion—Titus’ voice whispering in my ear.

“Shut up,” I muttered.

But even as I said those words, I knew they were futile.

Before I could sink further into my self-consuming thoughts, there was a knock at my door.

A sharp stab of dread pierced through me. It was aggressive, this knock.

I clenched my hands into fists and walked across the room to the door and wrenched it open .

“What?”

I’d expected to see a servant standing there, but Valen stood in the doorway.

He lounged against it casually, and his dark eyes held mine.

“Valen?” I choked out, surprised by his presence. “What are you doing here?”

“May I come in?” he asked, his voice was soft but still commanding.

I didn’t want to let him in—but I didn’t want to be alone, either.

“I— Sure,” I said hesitantly as I released my hold on the doorknob and backed away. What possible reason could he have for visiting me now?

The door creaked open and Valen stepped into the room. “I... I wanted to offer my condolences, Avril,” he said quietly, his gaze holding mine.

“Thank you—” I couldn’t help the way my voice trembled, and I realized I was desperate for any semblance of comfort. The weight of the day pressed down on me, bending me under its crushing force. At that moment, all I could think of was how much I needed someone, anyone, to help me bear the burden of my mother’s death.

Maybe Valen wasn’t like his brothers…

Even so, I hesitated, unsure of his intentions, but there was something about his presence that offered a flicker of warmth.

“I know this is a hard day for you. I hope you’ll allow me to escort you to the funeral.”

His words surprised me.

What could he possibly gain from accompanying me? Did he have another motive? Or did he truly have genuine concern for me?

I studied his face, searching for any sign of deceit, but found none .

“Alright,” I replied after a moment. “Let me— let me get my shoes.”

He waited for me to fetch the elegant black heels with gold-painted soles that had been sent with the gown. Valen followed me across the room and extended his hand toward me to help me balance as I stepped into them.

I hesitated, but not for long before I accepted his help.

As our fingers intertwined, I felt a subtle, forbidden thrill course through my veins, but I did my best to push it away. He had been just as hungry to abuse me as his brothers—and the lust I’d seen in his eyes had haunted me in more ways than I wanted to admit.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

I didn’t know how to respond. This was hardly the time to be flattered, but I couldn’t help the flush that crept up my cheeks.

He led me through the house, and his hand never left mine as we made our way to the limousine that waited in the courtyard. His palm was cold against mine, but his presence was comforting.

Where were the other two?

Valen opened the door for me, and as I climbed in and settled into the black leather seat I allowed myself to take a breath as Valen spoke to the driver. But instead of closing the door, Valen ducked down and slid onto the seat across from me.

“Oh—”

He smiled and pushed a hand through his tousled hair before he leaned back against the seat.

The door closed, and I pulled my jacket around my shoulders and turned my gaze to the window.

As the vehicle began to move, each bump and jostle only heightened my growing anxiety.

I averted my eyes as the car slid by the garages where my stepbrothers kept their motorcycles. “Why are you really here?” I asked, unable to keep the question at bay any longer .

Valen shrugged. “Isn’t it enough that I want to be there for you?”

“Do you really expect me to trust you?” I countered with a bit more venom than I’d intended.

I expected him to laugh, but my stepbrother’s expression was serious.

“Maybe not,” Valen admitted. “But I do care, Avril. More than you think.”

As the limousine passed through the gates of Withermarsh and I closed my eyes as we passed through the shuddering binding spell that had been laid over the perimeter of the estate. I was certain that’s what it was now—would I be able to pass through it without permission? Or would I be punished for attempting to escape—

I imagined being caught in the binding, as though it was an electric fence, or a net. Helpless.

As I sat there, I found myself torn between the desire to trust Valen and the fear of letting my guard down. I couldn’t believe anything he said—even his most genuine moments might contain treachery.

And yet, despite the danger, I couldn’t help but crave the solace that Valen’s presence offered, if only for a fleeting moment in time.

As we journeyed on to the humming city of Messana, I studied Valen out of the corner of my eye. He was gazing out the window, his profile etched against the gray gloom of the overcast day. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain melancholy about him I hadn’t noticed before.

“Have you ever thought of— leaving Withermarsh?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t know where the question came from, but I couldn’t stay silent for the entire journey.

Valen’s smile was curious, and he hesitated before answering. His long fingers tapped a restless pattern against the leather seat and I remembered the strength of his grip when he’d held my hand against his cock in the dark hallway outside my mother’s bedroom.

“Once or twice,” he said, his smile fading as he looked away. “But there’s always something keeping me here.”

“Like what?” I asked and I was suddenly acutely aware of the vast expanse between us.

Valen sat silently for a while, and I watched as his knuckles turned white against the supple leather of the seat. His gaze flickered back and forth between the view outside and me. “Like you,” he said finally.

I swallowed hard and sat up a little straighter. “I— what do you mean?”

A wicked grin played at the corners of his lips. “There’s a certain allure to the forbidden, isn’t there? To the things we know we shouldn’t want, yet somehow we crave them all the same…”

I licked my lips quickly, but there was something in his words that set my nerves alight. It was as if he’d reached inside me and laid bare the secret urges I fought so hard to suppress.

“I— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I choked out.

“Of course you don’t,” Valen murmured, a glint of amusement in his eyes that made my cheeks grow hot. He leaned back into the seat and stretched out his long legs in front of him. “Forgive me, sister . It’s already been a long day.”

The casual way he dismissed my confusion only intensified my interest. Not for the first time since I met him, I found myself drawn in by his enigmatic charm.

“Will you tell me?” I asked.

He regarded me with hooded eyes. “Tell you what?”

“About...why you’re really here… with me,” I persisted.

Valen’s gaze met mine and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Do you really want to know?”

I hesitated .

Did I?

I didn’t know what secrets lay behind those eyes... or what darkness was concealed within his heart.

“Yes,” I found myself saying through the lump rising in my throat. “Tell me.”

His smile deepened as he leaned forward and braced his forearms on his thighs. He seemed to examine me, like a predator inspecting its prey before the kill.

“You intrigue me, Avril,” he admitted after a long silence. He paused and his gaze lingered on the neckline of my gown and the way it clung to my curves. “You’re not like the others.”

I frowned at him, unsure of what he meant. “What others?”

“The women our family attracts,” Valen said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The weak ones, the obedient ones... the ones who bow down without question. Even the ones who are hungry for power—” His smile turned into a smirk as he met my gaze again. “That’s not you.”

I opened my mouth to argue, insulted on my mother’s behalf, but I found myself at a loss for words. I didn’t know how to respond to his compliment... or if it was intended as one.

Valen chuckled softly and leaned closer to me. The move was sudden enough that I jerked away instinctively, but he reached out and caught my wrist before I could pull away completely. I winced, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

“Don’t be afraid, little bird. I won’t bite.” His eyes bored into mine with a mysterious intensity that sent shivers down my back.

“That’s the thing,” I gasped out as I pulled my hand from his icy grip. “I don’t know whether or not you would.”

Valen chuckled, a deep resonating sound that echoed in the tight confines of the limousine, and made me squirm in discomfort.

“I suppose it adds to the mystery, doesn’t it?” he murmured.

A haunting silence followed his words, filled only by the hum of the vehicle’s engine and the pounding of my heart in my ears. His gaze never wavered from mine, and I wondered what he was thinking.

But did I really want to know?

My thighs tightened as my pussy throbbed.

He wanted me.

I knew that much.

The world outside the limousine windows faded into a blur of muted colors, as though reality were slipping away. My breath hitched in my throat, the air between us thick with an intensity that threatened to consume us both.

“Valen,” I whispered, “I don’t know if this is right.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted, his gaze never leaving mine. “But I can’t deny what I feel for you any longer, Avril. Don’t you feel it, too?”

I did.

It was impossible to pretend that I didn’t.

With every ounce of courage I could muster, I reached out to touch his face and traced the curve of his cheekbone with my fingertips. The electricity that sparked at our connection sent shivers down my arms and ignited an ache deep within me that demanded satisfaction.

I leaned closer, every breath mirroring his.

“Avril…” he murmured.

Before my mind could register what was happening, his lips met mine. It was a kiss of desperation, of yearning that had been bottled up for so long that it now burst forth like a dark monster pouncing on its prey.

His tongue delved into the recesses of my mouth, gentle yet assertive in its exploration. It was like tasting darkness dipped in honey—contradictory and confusing, but strangely addictive.

His hands left burning trails on my skin as they roamed—from my shoulders to the curve of my waist before finally ghosting over my breasts. His movements elicited gasps that alternated between shock and pleasure.

He pulled back all too soon, leaving me reeling from the force of his desire. His breath was ragged—hot against my flushed skin. I watched him struggle for control—watched as reason fought against desire in the depths of his eyes.

I shouldn’t be feeling like this.

We were going to a funeral—

My mother’s funeral.

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Valen said in a ragged voice, and my eyes widened as I stared at him.

“What—”

“You’ve suffered so much,” he said. “I want to make those voices go away—”

“I—”

His gaze held me captive. “I know what you’re going through,” he murmured. “When I lost my mother, I thought the voices in my mind would never go away— I should have done more, I should have saved her— But I was too weak.”

My heart broke for him as he shook his head, and his mouth twisted into a grimace for a moment as his memories overcame him.

“Guilt was the only constant thing in my life,” he continued, “and I didn’t have anyone to help me through it. Let me help you forget… just for a little while.”

“I— How?”

Valen leaned forward and laid his hands on my thighs. His gaze held mine as he lowered his voice. “Just say yes.”

I bit down hard on my tongue as I stared back at my stepbrother. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and then slid off the leather seat and knelt in front of me, pushing my knees apart as he did so. My throat tightened as he gathered the material of my skirts in his hands and lifted it up, revealing my bare legs to his gaze.

He inhaled deeply, and a shiver rippled through my body as my pussy clenched.

Valen’s fingers traced along the smooth skin of my thighs as he bent his head and pressed his lips against my inner thigh just above my knee.

I could have said no. I could have placed my foot on his shoulder and pushed him away—but I wanted this.

I wanted the choice.

“Yes.”