Page 10 of Summer’s Seduction (Sinful Seasons #2)
LARKSPUR
O ne minute I’m getting ready to remind Poseidon that just because I have breasts and a really fine ass doesn’t mean anyone is entitled to my body without my permission, and the next, Morpheus has me by the throat, neck bared.
A part of me didn’t think he’d actually do it. He’s the son of a psycho with the reputation of a sinner, but some strange, foolish part of me had let down my guard. I’d been ready for the hyenas at my front, prepared to be shredded as I clawed and maimed right back, but I hadn’t seen the lion lurking in the brush at my back until he’d pounced.
Sharp fangs pierced my skin, the flash of pain replaced by a euphoric high as Morpheus drank. Each pull of his lips sent another pulse of pleasure racing through my body, pooling and coiling at the apex of my thighs. Every nerve ending was alight, sparking with the need to come.
I stopped fighting, choosing instead to lean into him. Why had I ever wanted to prevent this? I needed more of him, wanted him to take my blood. My body. To suck and fuck every inch of me until he was just as desperate for me as I was for him.
A moan fell from my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, the faintest friction causing slickness to build between my thighs as my arousal scented the air.
Morpheus groaned against my neck as I fought to get closer. Teeth and fangs dug deeper as he yanked hard on my hair, a wash of warmth flowing down my neck as my skin tore.
More. More. I needed more?—
“Stop!”
Hecate’s booming command hummed in my veins, snapping the two of us apart. My chest heaved as I fought for breath, gripping the edge of my chair as spots appeared along the edge of my vision. I felt the color drain from my face, leaving my head spinning and my heart racing.
What the actual fuck just happened?
But when I looked at Morpheus, intent on laying his ass out, I saw just as much shock reflected in his gaze as there was in mine.
“Your persuasion spurred Morpheus on,” Hecate breathed, her soft voice carrying in the silent hall. Even the staff appeared like frozen statues, gaping at the sticky wash of red along my neck.
“I didn’t—” I started to protest, shaking my head, but then stopped. It had started out as an unwilling bite, but the moment his venom entered my blood, it was like I couldn’t get enough.
Poseidon chuckled, the sound like the fatty residue spotted along spoiled meat. “Oh, but you did. And by the sounds you were making, it’s clear you enjoyed being a good little bloodwhore.”
Morpheus tensed, his fists clenching as those red-ringed eyes stared at me. He hadn’t looked away, but the shock holding him in place seemed to thaw into something akin to horror as he looked at the wound still bleeding in the crook of my neck.
My heart beat frantically in my ears as I desperately tried to keep the sting of tears from showing. I’d never been bitten before. It was an easy thing to accomplish living among witches who loathed The Night Children, but still. It had been something I’d avoided—a small thread of my dignity remaining intact to my otherwise mangled reputation—and Morpheus had just taken it from me.
Swallowing back a wave of bile, I looked away from the bastard, doing my best to ignore the barbs Poseidon and Zeus were throwing, and concentrated on Hecate.
“His venom took away my free will,” I said, proud of the way I kept my chin up and back straight under the probing eyes of The Olympians. “I’ve never given my permission to be fed from and, as such, was not prepared for how it would affect me.”
“Lark,” Persephone breathed, her voice cracking.
My nostrils flared as I looked at her green eyes brimming with tears, her perfect hair, her shimmering, golden crown. Even her corseted dress was adorned with priceless gemstones. And there was Hades, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her thigh as if what just happened to me was hard for her.
“We intervened as soon as possible,” she stammered. “It all happened so fast, and he blocked everything with his wings. Hecate broke the spell in just a few seconds.”
Her words rang through the shadows of my mind, joining the faint ringing in my ears. It felt like I was floating, aware of the world around me and watching from afar, numbed to the sting of reality.
In just a few seconds.
The massacre of my soul.
In just a few seconds, everything had changed. I was myself and not. My body was whole save for a few pieces of skin and pints of blood but irrevocably altered.
“Forgive me, Lady Persephone. I’m not feeling well.”
She started to speak as a tear spilled over, coating the soft curve of her cheek. She understood body autonomy's importance to me, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying anymore. Everything was hovering just beyond reach. The stoic look etched across Hera’s pale face, the shame and discomfort radiating from Cupid as he shifted in his seat; even the indifference emanating from Ares felt withdrawn.
“I can escort you to your room, Larkspur.” Morpheus’s voice lashed through the welcomed fog of my consciousness, my eyes finding his before I could think to look away.
“Stay away from me… please.”
The last word was a broken whisper, too soft for the others to hear. My brows furrowed as I tried to match the concern coming from this Morpheus with the same self-entitled actions of the man who had been here moments ago.
Servants started moving again, three of them carrying in a roasted pig set on a gleaming platter. The head was intact, with its mouth stuffed and opened in an infinite scream. A farmer once told me pigs were intelligent and smarter than dogs or even young children. I wondered if it knew this would be its end. Would it have tried to run? Or live the remainder of its allotted time in resignation?
I would run every time.
Everything was so fucked . Staring at the vacant, black eyes and crispy skin as servants started sawing off hunks of meat, I realized how outmatched I was—a single sow surrounded by ravenous wolves—but I couldn’t just give up, at least not yet.
The chair screeched across the polished floors as I pushed from the table. The room swam as I stood, my body swaying from the loss of blood. Morpheus was there offering me a hand as if he hadn’t just violated me in the worst way.
“No,” I muttered, recoiling from his touch to retreat into the numbness of my mind. It was better if I didn’t feel, just for a little while.
“Come now, girl,” Poseidon said. His words were muffled as he spoke, fatty pieces of pork and spit spraying out as he chewed. He reached for the goblet in front of him as I stumbled for the door. “Let your prince tend to you. It’s one of the perks of being owned.”
My stomach twisted as shame clawed at me. Each step I took caused the mending skin along my neck to pull as the wash of blood finally started to slow. The metallic scent of my own blood coating the air, paired with the amused laughter of the gods after witnessing my mortification, caused bile to burn the back of my throat.
“Lark, wait!” Persephone’s voice trailed after me as I flew through the double doors and down the hallway, only slightly stumbling.
She nearly caught me as I rounded the corner to my room. Her cheeks were flushed, breasts heaving over the tight corset of her golden dress. My first thought was to ensure she didn’t faint from the exertion in such a garment, but the scent of her fear-tinged pity doused the air in the next breath, and I slammed the door in her face.
I ’m not sure how long Persephone waited outside my door. Her muffled apologies were overshadowed by the hammering of my rapid heartbeat thrumming in my ears until I finally realized she wasn’t going to force her way in. Dizziness invaded my vision as I turned off the shower, my fingers griping on the gilded knob for purchase as I tripped over slick tiles and braced myself on the marbled counters in front of the mirror.
Steam coated every surface, a reminder that I’d turn the water as hot as I could as I scrubbed the night away. It felt oddly familiar to be surrounded by mist—no, not mist, steam. There was a prickling sensation in the back of my mind that yearned to return to the cold. Once Psyche was safe and all of this was behind me, maybe I could find a quiet place in the mountains, surrounded by banks of pristine white and playful snow leopards with serpents as tails.
I closed my eyes, shaking the ridiculous thought from my mind. Securing a towel across my chest, I reached up, wiping a section of the mirror clean to stare at my reflection. There was a hollowness beneath my green eyes, one I’d seen too many times in the past—the haunting look that comes after realizing they’ve taken something from you.
That was the worst part—not Morpheus or even that fucked up display of control that happened, but the spiral it sent me down from the haunted memories of my past. The wound on my neck had already healed, just like previous bruises and cuts had over the years under other unwarranted touches. But that feeling of being invaded never left.
Maybe it was a weakness on my part. Maybe others really were able to move past it. Some had tried to help me. Comfort me. They’d told me, ‘Time heals all.’ One witch among The Earth Coven even went as far as telling me the atoms of our body regenerated. She said there would be a time in the distant future when the molecules that made up my body then would be gone. And I would be untouched by the past.
Maybe that was true, but my mind—my soul—was forever marred.
What Morpheus had done wasn’t like the others, not nearly as shattering, but it felt similar in the worst type of way. He’d awakened that broken part of my past—of myself—tearing out the sutures I’d only just managed to stitch.
And Persephone expected me to stay with him through The Underworld? I didn’t fucking think so.
I allowed myself a minute—one minute of taking deep breaths—before I stared back at the hardened eyes of my reflection.
“Time to get shit done, bitch.” I forced myself to keep eye contact, wishing I could use persuasion on myself. It was a tactic I’d taken comfort in as soon as my magic manifested. “You don’t need them. You never did.”
Dropping the damp towel to the floor, I reached for the bundle of clothes and willed myself to believe the lie.