CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Seriously. Fucked. Up.
That’s the only way to describe what went on last night, but still I find myself seated at the dining table in Darkwood’s chambers.
There’s no grand feast of aphrodisiacs tonight.
“You’re mad at me,” Darkwood says, scrutinizing a bottle of wine that looks like it’s older than time itself. Satisfied, he starts pouring me a glass beside the table.
I remain silent.
“You think it was cruel, what I did to Cassandra?”
I swallow, playing with my hands in my lap. “I think it was…unnecessary.”
He places my glass down, the aroma from the wine pungent and earthy. He picks up his own glass and seats himself beside me. “But some part of you enjoyed her watching, no? Enjoyed her watching the way I filled you out.” He shifts in his chair, breathing in the wine. “I can still feel the tightness of your ass around my cock, you know. You can’t possibly imagine how much I enjoyed taking it.”
I hang my head. “I suppose that makes two of us.”
Hot guilt rises up my throat at words. The simple fact is Cassandra didn’t have to be there.
The Professor lifts his hand, two plates floating from the shadows to settle in front of us. “Tonight’s meal is simple,” he says, observing his plate. “Filet mignon served with a truffle demi-glace and side of toasted brioche with balsamic reduction.” He nods left, two smaller plates floating down to the table. “Seasonal vegetables from the castle garden. As I said, simple, but best not to overindulge given tonight’s activities.”
“Please,” he gestures at my plate, which looks far from simple, “eat. You’ll need your strength.”
Which sounds unduly ominous.
As expected, the food is exquisite. The steak is tender and juicy with a flavorful crust.
“Did you prepare this yourself?” I ask between bites.
The Professor stops halfway through his steak, emerald eyes turning to mine. “Yes, though aided by less mechanical means than your regular chef.”
“It’s strange to be in a place where magic is so prominent,” I tell him, “so intrinsically part of everyday life.”
He nods. “Inais has its charms, too, but yes, practice does ease the everyday—provided one knows what they’re doing.”
I wonder if there’s a warning there, but I resume eating.
The wine is also excellent, if a little heavy for my palette. Whatever it is, it’s fucking potent. This is not the tiny glass of port Gran used to pour us before bed. This is seriously strong stuff. My head’s already buzzing.
We finish, another wave of the Professor’s hand sending the plates floating off.
Damien leans back, admiring the garnet cocktail dress that mysteriously arrived on my bed earlier. “This color suits you.”
I look down, running my hand over the silky fabric. It’s not unlike the Dior. “I don’t usually wear red.”
“Unless you’re meeting strangers at a ball?” He smiles, that wicked grin of his forcing my thighs together.
I sip on my wine. “Were you following me?”
A dangerous question, but he seems relaxed enough to indulge me. Considering he was reaming out my ass last night, it’s the least he can do.
He nods slowly, finger trailing along the edge of the table. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, my pet.”
I stiffen. “What do you mean ‘watching’?”
“Since you were a child.”
I freeze. “What?” I blurt out, alarm starting to fill me.
A light shrug. “You might say I was tasked with as much, but that is a story for another time. For now, I want you to know I was there.”
“What do you mean?” I can barely get it out.
His gaze narrows, becomes pinpointed. “I was there when that girl pushed you down the stairs in elementary school.”
The panic grows. “She broke her leg the following week. Was that you?”
He gives a light shrug, ignoring the question. “I was there when barely past pubescence you discovered yourself, your fingers shifting under the quilt, face pressed into the pillow.”
The panic becomes all out shock. “You were watching me?”
“Always,” he smiles, twisted and dark. “I was there when you’d bring yet another waste of humanity home, their clumsy fingers an insult, but I never let you come. No, that was for me, little lamb. Me alone.”
I stand, hands on the table, the shock having filled me with a cold, haunting dread. “You were in my fucking head? You’re the reason I could never…”
Come? Climax? How fucking hard is it to say, Ana? I scold myself.
“You were what?” I continue, thinking back to what he said about watching me ‘discover myself,’ the most intimate act of all. “Stalking me this whole time?”
“Protecting you,” he says, voice firmer.
“From what?” I almost shout it.
I see him stiffen back in response. “Careful now.”
“You just told me you were in my head, that you’ve been watching me like stalker. Are you in there now?”
“A precaution.”
What. The. Fuck. “Have you been using something on me, a mind-control spell?”
His silent gaze is my answer.
Holy shit…all this time I thought I was acting of my own free will, but this violation…I can’t reconcile with it. Mind-control spells are strictly forbidden in all levels of magical arcana. Punishable by death.
I reach up to my head, pressing at my skull suddenly furious. “I could go to the Headmistress.”
Without thinking I raise my hand, energy growing.
His placid mood is lost, the calm is his eyes vaporizing as he stands and yanks back his hand. There’s a sudden force on my chest and I’m thrown backwards, smashing against the wall, the chair crushed behind my back, splinters of wood falling with me to the floor.
I open my mouth to speak, to cry out, but it’s locked in position, unable to move. I try to stand, to shift, but nothing’s working. He’s taken away my speech. My tongue cannot form words. My neck muscles will not respond. It’s as if my vocal cords have been severed, like every part of my body has become stone.
The horror that follows is so cold and absolute I pray for unconsciousness, but I sense him in my head, fighting against it.
Picking up a knife from the table, the Professor kicks back his chair and sets off towards me, eyes blazing with anger.
He takes his time approaching me, crouching beside where I remain sagged against the wall. Light reflects off the blade as he lifts it. It disappears from view until I feel the pressure of it against my neck so great a thin line of blood runs down between my breasts.
The calm, calculating Professor is gone, replaced by a madman. “You dare,” he snarls, “after everything I’ve done for you.” His nostrils flare, the blade pressing harder against my skin. “You gave me everything—your body, your soul. If I want to be in your head, I will. If I want to be in your ass, your mouth, your fucking beating heart, I will. You are mine.”
He must see the terror in my eyes, because the blade eases, the tension in his body dropping ever so slightly. “Never take your powers for granted. Ever,” he growls, his free hand pointing up at me. “You’re no match for me, my pet, not yet. It would be so easy to destroy you, to crush you completely, but I need you to see your part in this, in us. I need your full submission if this is to work.”
I summon every muscle in my neck. I do the same with my arm muscles, try biting my lower lip, but nothing works. My mouth just hangs open uselessly, drool cutting a line down from my lower lip and dripping from my chin like I’ve got fucking brain damage, and maybe I do.
He pulls away and I tip over onto the floor staring across the stone.
Feeling returns, moving up my body. I collect myself slowly from the floor, swallowing back saliva and my heart beating so hard it doesn’t even feel connected to my body anymore.
He stands over me, all-powerful, the knife dropping from his hand to clatter on the ground beside his feet.
He knows I won’t reach for it. Whatever challenge I felt before, it’s lost.
I reach for my neck, my fingers coming away hot and wet.
I’m lightheaded.
“Your powers have grown, and will grow further still this very night, but you must know your place, Ana.”
He walks towards me. “Place your head on the ground.”
I’m not sure what he’s asking, but I bring my head down to the stone, once more looking sideways across the floor.
He lifts his leg, the heel of his boot pressing down on top of my skull.
My breath catches.
“Say you are mine.”
I can’t get it out.
“Say it!” he screams.
“I-I’m yours.”
“Yours, what?”
“Sir. I’m yours, sir.”
His heel lifts. “Good.”
He crouches down beside me again, lifting my head up with two hands, the aggression gone.
He holds my face, gazing into me with tender eyes. “This gives me no pleasure, my pet. You must understand that, but I cannot have you questioning my authority. It’s for your own protection, your own good.”
I nod, close to tears. “I understand.”
“I will lift the mind-control spell if you ask me to, but I would caution against it. There’s still far greater danger here than you realize. And should you decide to leave, to go back to New York…I won’t stop you.”
Go back to what?
There’s nothing there for me. Sabrina, maybe, but that’s it.
But I wouldn’t go back.
Because he isn’t there.
Because there’s no Damien Darkwood in New York City to torment and drive me insane, to send me to that darkest point of pleasure I never thought possible. He’s turned me into an addict, forever chasing the dragon that is him and him alone. He’s the devil incarnate, true, but he is my devil.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, staring deep into his eyes.
“Because you don’t have a choice?”
“Because I cannot be without you.”
There’s understanding in his expression. “Come,” he says, seating himself beside me and pulling me close.
“There, there,” he coos, stroking my hair. “We have much to prepare.”
I haven’t forgiven him, he knows that, but I cannot ignore this bond we have no matter how fucked up and twisted it really is—the darkest of revelations.
Because the thing is, I want it.
I’ve always wanted it.