CHAPTER FIFTEEN
15
Morwenna
Well, that sums up my thoughts for today.
The air crackled with unspoken power as the Princes of Sin settled upon their respective thrones.
A flurry of activity reached my ears – the rustle of clothes, the hiss of zippers. Frustratingly, my view remained limited.
Still kneeling, my head bowed low, I couldn’t meet Draven’s gaze.
The symphony of fabric became my sole visual, painting a vivid picture in my mind.
They were indulging. The Princes, that is.
Seven princes, each a personification of a cardinal sin, bound by blood and title. Their names were common knowledge, whispered on every breeze in Chimera. I’d devoured every scrap of information I could find, yet they remained shrouded in mystery. Faces on a screen, courtesy of a clearly deranged mayor who’d once welcomed them with open arms.
There was Aric, the embodiment of Lust. Cassian, draped in the apathy of Sloth. Viktor, fueled by an insatiable Pride. Malek, forever chasing Greed’s insatiable hunger. Rafael, fueled with the storm of Envy. Vorax, a bottomless pit of Gluttony. And lastly, Xul, a tempestuous storm of Wrath. The infamous seven.
I only managed to learn their names thanks to Theresa. However, she never spilled them directly to me.
I happened to walk by while she chatted with Mom, the air thick with hushed whispers about the Princes of Sin. Notebook and pencil, my trusty companions, were clutched in my hand that day, a reflex for a girl who couldn’t afford to miss a single detail.
Except, there was a glaring absence among the seven supposed brothers or rather eight.
The Prince of Wrath, the one they whispered about with a mixture of fear and morbid fascination, was absent.
Perhaps his servants present was just only there to fill in for his absence.
I wondered what would happen to the Prince of Wrath’s servants now that he wasn’t around.
Would the rest of the Brothers of Sin engage in the ‘you know’ act with them? I couldn’t say for certain, but it’s plausible that they would.
I also pondered because Lord Draven, who is so feared, shouldn’t all seven brothers be present, no matter the cost? Another head-scratcher. Unlike Theresa or Elara, I wasn’t privy to their inner circle, their twisted family dynamics. Just another outsider peering through a cracked window.
But dwelling on it wouldn’t change the situation. The ritual – whatever dark ceremony it was – had concluded. Now, a different kind of indulgence loomed.
Did these rituals involve mere indulgence, as the name suggested? Or did they delve deeper, into the carnal realm of… well, you know.
My stomach lurched. The servants, from what I could hear, sounded human. No unearthly pallor, no unsettling characteristics. Did that mean the ritual demanded a sacrifice? Blood? The thought sent a cold terror slithering down my spine. Draven wouldn’t… would he? This was just a ceremony, right? My breath hitched in my throat, caught in the snare of that horrifying possibility.
A prickle of unease crawled up my spine. The Princes of Sin were here, surrounded by their underlings. That meant Theresa, and by Elara’s account, her master, Aric, the Prince of Lust, were likely nearby. I had to see for myself. Just a glimpse.
Crouching low, I cautiously lifted my head, hoping to steal a peek over my shoulder. But a voice roared in my mind, stopping me cold.
“Don’t!” He boomed, the force of it pinning my head in place. My neck, seemingly paralyzed by another one of his infernal spells, refused to budge.
Damn him.
I didn’t bother fighting the urge to turn my neck to check for Theresa behind me again because I knew I was no match for his powers. Stubbornly resisting would only bring me more pain, and at this point, the pain I referred to was the unbearable headache.
My neck remained under his spell, rolling back to its normal position, and I still felt his spell pulling me to gaze at him.
I could feel the intensity of his gaze, making me breathless, and the last thing I wanted was to look at him.
This, this was exactly what I needed to resist.
No, no, no... I should keep resisting, I told myself. No matter what.
But I knew that resisting would only intensify the pain.
Reluctantly, I gave in. There was no choice, really. My eyes met his, intense and chilling. The amber depths held a hunger that seemed to promise consumption. A gasp escaped my lips. I’d never witnessed such a transformation in his gaze, those captivating amber eyes now blazing with raw seduction.
Then came the moans... Not from me, but from the servants indulging with their masters. It was a scene of overwhelming sensuality, a throng of bodies writhing in unison, and I felt like a lost lamb navigating through it all.
Each Prince of Sin, I knew, commanded a retinue of more than ten servants.
The moans, a suffocating chorus, threatened to drown me.
If only I possessed a sliver of Elara’s power, the ability to mute this cacophony.
But alas, such gifts were beyond my reach.
His gaze remained locked on mine, a predator assessing prey.
It felt like an intrusion, a violation as he probed the depths of my mind.
Needing a distraction, to break free from his relentless scrutiny, I managed a whisper, “May I rise?” My mind was a blank canvas, save for the desperate plea to escape the ache radiating from my knees where I knelt on the unforgiving floor.
Ignoring my words, he says, “I don’t need you looking at anyone.” The absurdity of it nearly had me scoffing. In this haze of spilled liquor, cigarette smoke, and muffled moans, how could I not be drawn to a distraction? Curiosity gnawed at me, but a virtuous streak – perhaps a remnant of naivety – kept my gaze stubbornly forward.
“Focus on me,” he commanded, his voice thick with a possessive hunger. “Only me.”
Our eyes locked, his amber eyes that seemed to pierce my defenses.
Discomfort coiled in my gut, the intensity of his scrutiny pushing me to break free.
I needed a diversion, a way to sever that connection before he unraveled the secrets I desperately guarded.
“Are we…?” I stammered, quickly refining the question. “Are you planning to indulge?” It was a gamble, but one I had to take and guess what... it worked. Thank the Gods.
My plan worked, at least for a while, distracting him from delving deeper into my thoughts. The question seemed to amuse him. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, but his answer remained frustratingly elusive. Instead, he mirrored my query, the words dripping with a dangerous undercurrent. “Should I indulge?”
My breath hitched. I hadn’t anticipated that response. “No!” I blurted, a desperate yearning to escape clawing at me. I yearned to vanish, wished I could rewind and slip back through the very portal I’d arrived through – magic.
A throaty chuckle escaped him, his eyes lingering on my face. “Whatever you say,” he replied, the amusement in his tone a stark contrast to my rising panic.
Surprise again. This wasn’t the reaction I’d expected from a Brother of Sin. Wary suspicion gnawed at me. “Why?” I pressed, my voice tight. “Is it because I said no, or is there more to it?” Surely, his intentions weren’t as innocent as they seemed.
He offered a frustratingly noncommittal shrug. “Neither,” he said, a hint of something unreadable glinting in his eyes. That single word only fueled the fire of suspicion already burning within me.
“There has to be a reason,” I insisted, frustration coloring my tone. “Why won’t you tell me?”
A single eyebrow quirked upwards. “Didn’t you hear my answer? Are you unsatisfied with it?”
Unsatisfied? I was far from it. His veiled answer only deepened my suspicion. A shiver danced down my spine as the playful smile vanished from his face, replaced by a chilling seriousness.
“No,” I whispered, the coldness in his gaze sending shivers down my spine.
“Do you think I’m lying?” he questioned, his face was serious, just like his words.
My throat tightened, swallowing a lump that refused to budge. “I-I don’t know,” I stammered.
“A simple yes or no, Morwenna.” His voice, once silken, had turned glacial.
“Honestly, I—”
“Yes or no?” he cut in, a frosty edge creeping into his tone.
“Yes,” I finally let out. I haven’t trusted vampires fully, so why should I trust him?
He gave no expression as he tossed another question my way, “And do you believe I’d renege on my word?”
Confusion clouded my mind. Was he backpedaling on his earlier, well, suggestion?
“I...” My voice trailed off. Words refused to cooperate.
“Enough dawdling, Morwenna,” he commanded, a hint of impatience lacing his voice. “Answer me.”
“Yes... maybe,” I hedged. Or no. I don’t know.
“You’re so confused right now, Morwenna,” he says, reading the confusion in my thoughts, again until he finally rested on his final words, I hope. “There’ll be no indulging, Morwenna,” he says, and then he added with a stern warning, “as long as you don’t think dirty.”
I almost scoffed at that. I doubt that.
Just the moaning and spanking sound emanating in here is enough to conjure the dirtiest of thoughts in the most innocent mind. This, I feared, was a battle I couldn’t win.
“Remember, Morwenna,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Disobedience comes with consequences.”
He knew exactly how difficult it was to banish those illicit thoughts. It was a near-impossible feat.
Resist, resist, resist, resist... I repeated the mantra in my head as I tried to cloud my thoughts with sunshine and rainbows. I should picture myself gardening... or wait, I hate gardening, but I should picture myself gardening, planting different types of flowers like daisies or wait again, I’m allergic to daisies. Oh, or maybe roses, I love roses. No, I don’t. “Do you really hate flowers this bad? Morwenna,” my subconscious chided, “your pathetic attempts are failing miserably.”
I’m not meant to like gardening or anything; I’m just meant to pretend I like gardening as a way to distract myself from thinking dirty.
Okay, now from the top.
I picture myself: gloved hands delicately uprooting vibrant blooms, inhaling their nonexistent fragrance with practiced adoration. I imagine myself putting the flowers that I’ve uprooted in my room as a source of decoration. Oh, wait, I don’t have a room. This isn’t my room, not truly. It’s a borrowed space, a shrine to his deceased wife. The charade crumbles. Technically this isn’t working; I give up trying not to think dirty.
And then, as if the heavens or rather hell were against me, the moans intensify followed by cries, one of pain and pleasure but mostly... pain.
I don’t know if pain is a sort of way the Princes of Sin enjoy as pleasure; that is something I’ll personally not know.
Wait, does that mean Theresa, being there, is somehow in pain or... pleasure? If I could look back now, I could, but I can’t.
Oh, freaking Christ.
I just thought of it. The very thing Draven warned me about.
Frustration gnawed at me. Every attempt to banish him from my thoughts – him, and the memory – ended the same way. Moans echoed in my head, a relentless, maddening chorus. “Oh, for goodness sake,” I muttered, the words barely a whisper. “How can I possibly think straight when all I hear are those wretched moans?”
Of course, fate, in its cruel amusement, ensured he wouldn’t miss it.
A flicker of awareness crossed his face, and a low growl rumbled from his chest.
Damn. I hadn’t meant for him to hear, but then again, the man seemed to have a knack for inhabiting every corner of my thoughts.
“The only words that are going to come out of your damn lips will be yours,” he declared, his voice husky with a predatory undercurrent that sent shivers down my spine.
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Confused, I mumbled, “What?” My voice, a mere squeak, betrayed my churning emotions.
“Up!” His command was curt, leaving no room for argument. Despite a throbbing ache in my legs from kneeling for so long, the primal urge to obey took hold. Sex, of course, was the first assumption that leaped to mind.
“I-I didn’t mean to say that,” I stammered, a desperate attempt at justification. “It was an accident.”
He met my flustered explanation with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. “On your feet, Morwenna,” he repeated, his voice firm.
With a sigh, I rose from my kneeling position, the rush of blood returning to my legs in a dizzying wave.
Minutes seemed to have passed since I’d last stood, and a dull protest emanated from my joints as I took my first wobbly step. Draven mirrored me.
The tremor in the earth wasn’t an earthquake – it was him rising from his damned throne.
Now, what am I going to do? Walk to him like an obedient sheep? Nope, I’m not obedient. Or run, being a disobedient goat? Yes, I’m disobedient, but where the hell do I think I’m going to run to? My eyes lingered too long on the stupid plan I was about to embark on.
“I-I thought we...” My voice cracked. “You said you wouldn’t indulge!”
“That was until you decided to think about sex!” he really had to say the word.
Heat rose to my cheeks. “It was an accident,” an accident that I succumbed to.
“I like it when you make accidents!” he whispered, his voice hungry, and then a warmth bloomed in my traitorous body. Before I knew it, I found myself drawn to him. Thankfully, no imposing staircase separated us. Just a few short steps, and there I was, enveloped in his dark, intoxicating presence.
Resisting his allure felt impossible. My body, as usual, betrayed my better judgment, succumbing to his unspoken commands.
Even my mind… no, my traitorous mind… began conjuring forbidden images.
He closed the distance, his hand cupping my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. “Every ‘accident’ you make is...” he whispered, his voice a low rumble, the words heavy with unspoken meaning. He leaned closer, his breath cold against my face. “...is intoxicating.”
I swallowed hard.
His gaze held mine intently. “Do you know why I brought you here?” The question hung heavy in the air, and a tremor ran through me. The answer seemed obvious, a scenario both thrilling and terrifying. Saying nothing felt safest.
I shook my head, fearing a verbal confirmation would fuel his intentions, whatever they might be.
His touch, chilling and lingering, traveled from my cheek to my hair, which he then gently stroked.
Holding my head, he drew me closer until our bodies pressed together.
The intimacy sent my heart into a frantic rhythm.
“Because,” he murmured, his voice a husky caress. My face rested against the solid wall of his chest as his lips brushed a soft kiss to my head. “I needed to know. Needed to know if you were truly her, Morwenna.”
My breath hitched. Did he suspect I was Victoria… reborn?
He continued, his voice low and thrilling. “I felt it, Morwenna. I felt the echoes in your thoughts, the spark that ignited between them...” His words were laced with a suspense that tightened my throat.
My own frustration mirrored his veiled pronouncements. Was it Victoria’s essence he sensed within me, or simply a reflection of his own desires? This agonizing uncertainty gnawed at me.
His hand tightened in my hair, tilting my head back until our gazes collided and within his amber eyes, I glimpsed a mixture of sadness and pain.
Was it possible to see emotions like whispers in someone’s eyes?
Perhaps it’s a skill reserved for witches, not for someone as ordinary as me.
Then again, perhaps I am not merely ordinary; perhaps I am something more.
“I know who you are,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against my ear. He was reading me again, unraveling the secrets I desperately tried to keep hidden. My mind scrambled. What was the plan? Which ridiculous scheme had I concocted to handle this situation? Gone. Completely forgotten.
My desperate eyes scanned his face, landing on his lips. Full, and slightly chapped, they seemed to beckon me closer.
A traitorous thought, a flicker of something entirely unwelcome, sparked in my mind. Maybe just a taste... to dampen those enticing lips. Ridiculous! But the desire was undeniable.
Ignoring the traitorous voice in my head, I leaned forward, my lips capturing his in a surprised collision.
It wasn’t planned. It was a desperate improvisation born of panic and that undeniable spark.
My surprise mirrored his, a flicker of something akin to shock in his eyes.
The kiss was clumsy, a mere brush of lips. My intention was a simple touch, a dampening of that tempting dryness.
But the moment our lips met, a jolt of electricity surged through me.
I pulled back abruptly, gasping for breath.
It wasn’t just the kiss itself, so utterly unlike my usual reserved nature, but the reaction it elicited in me.
A brief silence followed, during which I realized that we were not alone. Others were watching, perhaps lost in their own world, serving their respective masters. But what if the Sin Brothers noticed? Were they too preoccupied with their own desires to care about what unfolded between Draven and me?
“I—I...” My voice faltered, betraying my reluctance. I never intended to kiss him; the only words I could muster were ones of apology. “I’m so-sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was an acc-accident, I...”
“I like accidents,” he murmured, a husky edge to his voice, laced with a hunger that sent shivers down my spine.
His response didn’t sit well with me. “I promise it won’t happen again!”
But I doubted that.
Ignoring my protest, he called my name, his voice rough with possessiveness. “Morwenna!”
“Yes?” I squeaked, my body caught between apprehension and a strange, unfamiliar pull.
“Shut up and kiss me again,” he commanded, his dark eyes holding mine captive. My breath hitched. This path, once embarked upon, held no turning back.
“It’s an order, Morwenna,” he added, his voice a low rumble that sent a tremor through me. Just as our lips were about to meet, a heavenly intervention arrived in the form of Lady Jen.
Thank the stars.
“My Lord,” she said, her voice clipped. Her eyes, however, flicked to me, a flicker of disapproval crossing her face. Perhaps it was the sight of me, the favored one, in such close proximity to Draven. Or maybe it was the oath she’d sworn, the one that denied my claim to royalty, a title that felt increasingly distant.
“Am I interrupting?” she inquired, a hint of disdain lacing her question.
Of course, you are.
But I silently thanked the heavens for this timely distraction, even if it was just this once.
“What is it, Genevieve?” Draven’s voice held a hint of impatience as his dark eyes remained fixed on me.
“Visitors, my Lord,” Lady Jen announced, her voice laced with urgency. “Important ones.”
Draven leaned in, his lips brushing mine. “Are they as important as what I have here?” he murmured, his gaze flickering between me and Lady Jen.
Lady Jen stammered, “I... I cannot say for certain, my Lord.”
“A simple yes or no will suffice,” Draven said, his tone turning colder.
“Perhaps,” she ventured, unsure.
It wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for. A frown etched itself onto his face. “Then it seems they can wait.” He turned back to me, his voice softening a touch. “Leave us now, Genevieve.”
His possessive grip loosened slightly, offering a window of escape and relieved he hadn’t tightened his hold.
I took it, slipping free with practiced ease.
I maintained a careful distance, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm.
“Perhaps you should go,” I suggested.
“Where are you going, Morwenna?” Draven’s voice held a hint of displeasure. I knew with his vampire speed, outrunning him was a fool’s errand. But a desperate part of me craved escape nonetheless.
I took another hesitant step back.
“Out of here,” I whispered fiercely, the defiance echoing in my mind. A flicker of amusement danced in Draven’s eyes – he could hear my thoughts as easily as I could breathe.
With that, I retreated further, and Lady Jen, perhaps filled with disdain, made no attempt to stop me. And so, I left, but to where? Where could I possibly flee from here?
My steps faltered, the uncertainty of my destination gnawing at me.
I pressed on, propelled by a primal urge, until a suffocating haze engulfed me.
The smoke, thick and acrid, clawed at my senses, obscuring everything. Was this another of Draven’s illusions?
A gasp escaped my lips as a figure materialized from the swirling smoke – a woman, her form woven from the very tendrils that choked the air. The face was all too familiar.
“Morwenna!” the woman whispered, her voice a wisp carried on the smoke. My feet felt rooted to the spot. Was this still Draven’s doing?
“I... I know you,” I stammered, my hand instinctively flying to my chest. The woman drifted closer, a tendril of smoke reaching out like a phantom finger.
“And I know you too, Morwenna,” she replied, her voice echoing in the haze.
Elara. If only she were here. Her keen senses wouldn’t miss this... this anomaly.
With a surge of defiance, I channeled my inner witch, mimicking Elara’s unwavering spirit in the face of the unknown.
“What do you want?” I demanded, skipping the formalities of ‘who are you?’ because I already knew. She was the woman from my dreams, and in that moment, I couldn’t discern if I was in a dream or reality.
“I want...” Her voice drew closer. It stretched the word, a chorus of distortion echoing in its depths. Chills prickled my skin. More demon than woman, it reverberated with a power that defied definition.
As she approached a swirling smoke coalesced beside the figure, a dark mirror image.
I was trapped, a strangled cry died in my throat.
What could I do? Scream for help? No, that wouldn’t work here. Who on earth would hear me in this desolate place?
As they drew nearer, I shut my eyes, preparing for the worst.
Perhaps it would be the moment when Victoria’s soul merged with mine, or worse, killed me.
Then, the unsettling voices suddenly ceased, as if silenced by some unknown force.
Who silenced them? Was it Draven, or someone else? My thoughts raced, but I couldn’t find a clear answer.
Then, a gasp escaped my lips.
Air, blessed air, filled my lungs once more. Finally.
Forcing my eyes open, I found myself in the familiar confines of the room. But who had saved me?
Relief washed over me, even as a sliver of unease remained.
This escape, it felt hollow. The nightmare, far from over.