Page 19 of Summer’s Seduction (Sinful Seasons #2)

LARKSPUR

T he pulse of the drums far below us vibrated through the floor, reminding me I was so close to escaping, to someone finding me. There were hundreds of people around, and still, I was invisible. I would be just another story to warn young girls about—a foolish woman who thought she could be strong in this fucked up world.

He dragged me in close, pressing a kiss to my cheek, damp with tears. The waiter pushed my cloak off my shoulders, each brush of his clammy fingers feeling like an eel slithering over my skin. Curiosity flashed in his cold, blue eyes when a slim gold necklace spilled from one of the cloak's pockets.

“You belong to Morpheus?” he asked, eyes bouncing from the necklace to me.

Unable to move my head, I held his gaze, forcing him to see every ounce of hatred I had. Because the first thought that came to my mind when asked if I was The Dark Prince’s was, ‘yes’. Yes , I belonged to Morpheus. In some twisted fuck-up turn of events, I wanted to scream that I was his, that he would hurt anyone who dared to lay a hand on me.

The piece of shit before me must have been able to tell because he laughed, the callused sound sending a chill down my spine.

“Destroying the prince’s playthings is a bonus.” His hungry eyes roved over my face, down my chest. “There was a time I thought he would be a great ruler—when he did and said everything Hypnos wanted him to. But now,” he tsked as he dragged his gaze up my body. “Now, he’s gone soft. Maybe showing him what a real man does with a sweet little thing like you will remind him of the god he once was.”

My stomach twisted as his foul breath coated my skin, his cracked lips brushing against my ear as he leaned in and whispered, “You will do anything I want you to do because I hold the power here. If I tell you to sit on my lap and fuck me until morning while I take every ounce of blood from your body, you will.”

I pulled deep within myself, seeking the numbing quiet I’d gone to before when things turned for the worse. I’d survived the others. I would survive him. But how much more could my body endure? What other horror could my soul undergo before it just… shattered?

Footsteps were moving in the office down the hall. Heartbeats. My fear was palpable in the air, drenching the hallway, even as I tried to separate my mind from what would happen to my body.

“And if I want to continue using your lifeless corpse for my enjoyment as your soul watches from above, I will.”

My cheeks were stained with tears, my lungs heaving from soundless cries. From trapped screams. As his sweaty hands pulled me into the dark.

I was just another story. Another tragedy.

Where was the outrage? The demand for vile creatures like him to be held accountable? Every day—every fucking hour— shit like this was happening. It was always the victim’s fault. What was she wearing? Why did she go for a walk by herself? What made her think she could speak— could fucking breathe —in a room of men?

And this piece of shit had seen Psyche. I couldn’t think of the other very real possibilities. Not yet.

“Because you are nothing but a whore to be used. A body to fuck and then end.” His voice was unhinged, growing louder and more frenzied as the rest of my body was pulled inside. “Boys will be boys, after all.”

And then I was weightless.

Morpheus

S he was here. She was fucking here, on this floor, and something was very, very wrong.

My nostrils flared as the scent of Larkspur’s fear and infinite rage doused the air. Megara and Camilla drew concealed blades, reacting to the tense set of my shoulders. Every muscle in my body was poised for a fight as I searched.

It took no longer than a heartbeat for me to find her. For my leathery wings and piercing talons to snap into place as I flitted down the hallway, snatching Larkspur’s stiff body from the enveloping darkness she was being dragged into.

She was shaking— trembling , her cheeks coated with salty tears, and her dark skin far too pale. Her chest heaved as her green eyes found mine, spiraling with horrors.

I watched her break—held her weakened body as whatever spell that had kept her frozen vanished. I would have held her forever, giving her whatever strength she needed for however long she would have me. But my little monster did the last thing I expected her to do.

She eased herself from my arms, the tears and terror present only moments ago now tampered down into promised retribution.

“He compelled me not to move,” Larkspur breathed, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands.

“This weasel of a being?” Camilla hissed, peering into the dark.

The dark one seemed to be weighing his options of escape before slowly stepping from the shadows. The scent from the room behind him was unnerving, like the harsh scent of herbs and alcohol used to treat wounds. It would need to be explored further, but I waited to see what Larkspur would do.

It was torture not ripping his head from his body the moment he stepped into view, to let him continue breathing. To hear the continuous, steady beat of his pathetic heart for even one second longer when I knew what he intended to do to my little monster, but this was her kill to claim.

As desperate as I was to bathe in his body, I wouldn’t take this from her.

“I think he might have done something to the drinks, as well,” Larkspur said, holding her hand toward Camilla’s blade.

“It was just a compulsion spell,” the male before us huffed. His beady eyes met mine, brows raised as if to infer that my little monster was overreacting about her impending assault. As if him distributing tainted drinks to help others destroy consent was nothing to be worried about.

“You will be still, and you will be silent,” I seethed, my wings flexing wide behind me as my fangs extended. “Or I will rip your head from your shoulders and use your corpse to decorate the cavern walls.”

He paled but clamped his mouth shut as the sour scent of his fear filled the space. Good. I wanted him to be afraid—wanted him to beg and plead at Larkspur’s feet; to feel each moment of helplessness he’d inflicted on others tenfold.

“A blade,” Larkspur said, her eyes remaining on the coward before us. Camilla looked down at her waiting palm and back toward the man trapped between them. Huntresses didn’t share. Each item of armor, each weapon, was earned through pain and sacrifice.

I reached for one of my own to offer, but Camilla’s fierce gaze flicked to mine, stilling my movements.

She placed the hilt of her sacred blade into Larkspur’s hand. “Make sure it hurts.”

Larkspur’s lips quirked into a vicious grin as she stepped forward. “I intend to.”