Chapter 33
DEMON
The world is a kaleidoscope of black, white, and blood red as we stagger down the hallway. Fire and venom course through our veins, our jaw grinding so tight our teeth hurt.
We slap our face with our hand, sending pain and more fractals of light sparking through our vision.
We do it again and again, just like he taught us.
Pain is a center. Pain is an anchor.
Focus.
Stop spiraling, weakling.
STOP FUCKING THINKING ABOUT HER.
With a roar, we kick open the door to the observatory and stumble inside. We grip the windowsill tightly and press our face to the cool glass. Our fragmented gaze takes in the mountains and the forest below, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t her.
She wasn’t supposed to do this to us.
We’re stronger than her storm.
We ARE the motherfucking storm.
We kissed her.
Yes…and she kissed us back.
For brief fraction of a moment, we have clarity. For a flash of a second, there’s almost even a smile on our face, and warmth in our heart.
We want so much more of her lips. Not just the way we’ve had them thus far—moaning for us, squealing in pain and pleasure, or wrapped drooling around our cock as we fuck her slutty little throat.
We still want all those things, of course. But we want more.
And there might not be any going back now.
“You’re losing control.”
Our eyes squeeze shut, our breath knotting in our chest as his voice rumbles behind us.
Within us?
“Again,” Quentin adds.
No, we’re quite sure he's behind us. We turn, and our eyes lock on the man dressed in black, leaning heavily on his ebony cane.
“Talk to me, Grandson.”
I, not we.
I, not we.
We repeat the mantra to ourselves silently before we take a breath.
“I’m in control,” we growl.
Quentin scoffs.
“Of course you are, Grandson,” he murmurs. “Why else would you have captured that snake Beaumont and then…what was it?” He smiles coldly. “Ah, yes. Let him live.”
Our jaw tightens. “He was tortured. He’s still being tortured. I can’t just kill—”
“Yes, you can,” Quentin snarls. “You’re the goddamn Marquis! Start fucking acting like it!”
“You don’t understand,” we hiss. “Executing him would embolden those who follow him, or who followed Veyrac.”
Quentin barks a cold laugh. “Don’t lecture me, boy,” he snaps, thumping his cane on the floor. “You don’t torture snakes. You don’t placate them.” His eyes narrow. “You stomp on them until they are dead.”
Our mouth purses. “W—I understand, Grandfather,” we murmur.
“And this business with Xavier d’Auvrelle?”
Our blood heats. “You weren’t there,” we snarl. “You didn’t see the way he disrespected her.”
“My God,” Quentin spits. “You lost your fucking cool and beat the shit out of one of the single most powerful and influential men in the underworld because he insulted your little slut.”
Venom floods our system. A black fury ignites within us, and before we know it, we’re storming across the room and slamming him into the wall.
Even as we snarl into his face, Quentin laughs into ours and shoves our arms away.
“You can’t hurt me, boy. I am you. Isn't that what you always wanted?”
Our eyes close. “We should cut you out, then,” we choke.
He laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your focus needs to be on d’Auvrelle anyway. You crossed a line there, boy. A big one. You’ve potentially put this entire organization in a crosshairs from which it may not be able to escape.”
He exhales heavily, and his hand lands on our shoulder.
“I shouldn’t have called her that. But enough is enough. You’ve had your fun. You’ve played your sick little games with her.”
We wince.
“Now end it, before you have no more empire to save.”
“I can’t,” I murmur. “I won’t.”
“Yes, you will,” he says gently. “You must.” He shrugs. “You already play choking games with her, don't you? Push it just that little bit further.”
Our throat tightens.
“Accidents happen, Vaughn, especially when people play the way you do. Allow that to happen. Bury her and your obsession with her.”
He squeezes our shoulder a little harder.
“You’re so close, Grandson.”
He pushes the leather riding crop into our hands and closes our fingers around it.
“Don’t let me down.”