15. Willow
The door to the library closes with a sound of finality, sealing me inside the space with my new husband—a husband who’s currently glaring at me as if he can’t decide whether to throttle me or fuck me.
He steps closer, wrapping his fingers around the tender flesh of my neck as he forces my head back to bear the full brunt of his smoldering gaze.
“What do you think you’re playing at with Rébecca?” His voice is calm, but there’s an undercurrent of rage that slightly terrifies me.
I know that beneath the veil of his anger is fierce protectiveness of his sister, and right now, he sees me as a threat. I can only imagine how he’ll feel once he realizes I’ve given her a necklace for protection. He’ll probably believe I cursed the thing.
“I’m not playing at anything,” I bite back. “She enjoys spending time in my company, and I enjoy spending time in hers.”
His fingertips press deeper into my throat, and my heartbeat quickens as I consider how easily he could end me right now. “She isn’t part of your game,” Azrael growls. “I won’t fucking tolerate you toying with her.”
His words light a fire beneath my skin, and while it might not be wise, I can’t help the vitriol that spews from my own lips. “But you’ll tolerate her living in fear of Salomé?”
His eyes flash, his grip tightening even further. “You know nothing of our family.”
“I know what’s right in front of me,” I hiss. “How blind must you be not to have noticed that girl lives in abject terror of the woman?”
Azrael’s breathing accelerates, a storm raging in his eyes as he uses his grip on my throat to slam me back against the bookcases, rattling the contents behind me. “You know nothing,” he echoes, his voice betraying an edge of rawness.
I’ve hit a nerve, and now he’s manhandling me to prove his point. But I won’t back down, regardless of how much it pains him to hear the truth.
“You’ll stay away from her,” he orders.
At this, I can’t help the caustic laugh that bursts free. “What are you so afraid of, Azrael? That she might be influenced by the filthy witch? As if I could be any worse than your bloodthirsty lineage. How do you think she’d feel if she knew the truth about the violence that lives inside of you?”
He flinches unexpectedly at the insult, and his grip on me falls away, allowing me an unobstructed breath. When he notices the indentations on my skin from his fingers, it only seems to add salt to the wound.
I learn something about him at that moment: he doesn’t want to be a monster, but he was born one all the same, merely for being a Delacroix. As much as I want to believe in the power of our free will, I don’t know that the beast inside him can be slayed. I’ve only seen a glimpse of it, but that darkness haunts him. It may be dormant right now, but it won’t be long before it makes another reappearance.
“Shut your mouth.”
His voice is a warning… one I don’t heed.
“Or what?” I challenge. “You’ll do it for me?”
His nostrils flare, darkness pooling in his eyes as he grabs a fistful of my hair and wrenches my head back. I gasp at the sound of fabric tearing, and it’s only when I feel the cool air against my skin that I realize he’s torn the strap of my dress.
He robs me of the rest of it a moment later when he yanks it off, and I barely have time to process it before he’s spun me around, his large body caging me in against the bookcase.
“You know what I think, Little Witch?” He drags his nose along the curve of my neck, inhaling me as his words thrum against my skin. “I think you like me angry. I think you want to feel the full brunt of my cock as I split you in half.”
A choked sound of protest falls from my lips as he bites my neck, teeth sinking into the delicate flesh.
“If you wanted to be punished so badly, all you had to do was ask.”
His breath blows across my spine before I feel the crack of his palm reverberating off my ass cheek. Instinctively, my body bows forward at the impact, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m trapped between the hardness of his body and the bookcase.
“Azrael.” I squeak out his name as he kicks my legs apart, tearing the thong from my body and leaving me completely naked before him.
“Try again,” he growls. “Perhaps now you will recognize me for what I am: your Lord and your God.”
The hostility in that remark makes it evident he didn’t forget my snub at the marking ceremony. I refused to utter those words then, and now he’s determined to prove just how true they are.
A shiver rolls over me as he palms my breast with one rough hand while his other snakes between my thighs, cupping me there.
“Still sore for me?” he mocks.
I bite back a response as warring pleasure and annoyance surge inside of me. I shouldn’t like this, but God help me, I do. Maybe it’s easier to give in when I feel his hatred. Maybe it’s easier to hold onto my own that way.
“Do your worst,” I tell him.
A low rumble of irritation resounds from his chest as he pinches my nipple and makes me suck in a sharp breath. “You’ll regret those words.”
The sound of his zipper coming undone elicits goosebumps on my skin, but when I feel the heat of his rigid cock pressing against my spine, my knees nearly buckle. It was easy to be brave when I had a temporary lapse in memory. Now I can feel the pulsing, throbbing beast, though, and I know I wasn’t overexaggerating the size of him last night.
I consider waving the white flag then and there, but my pride won’t let me. I don’t know if I’m ready for his roughness, not really. But he’s about to give it to me regardless, which I realize when he fists my hair and presses my face into the solid frame of the bookcase. With his other hand, he yanks my hips back, putting me on display for him. A toy to use. A doll to toss around.
“You haven’t figured it out yet, Willow,” he murmurs, his cock sliding against my butt as he releases my hair, only to grab my throat again. “But you will come to understand that every breath you take is granted by me.”
I gasp as he impales me without warning, thrusting so deeply I swear my life flashes before my eyes. Before I can draw another breath, his fingers tighten around my neck like a vice, squeezing.
“When I’m finished with you, you will feel me everywhere,” he grits out.
Blackness creeps along the edges of my vision as he starts to fuck me, thrusting deeply as he holds me in an unyielding grip, controlling the very thing that gives me life.
My head spins, my heart races as instinct takes over, and I begin to fight. I buck against him, nails clawing at his forearm. It doesn’t faze him. His only reaction is to fuck me harder, fingers pressing into my skin, the length of his cock obliterating me as his body slaps against mine.
My vision dims, and I part my lips, desperate for air, still clinging to life as tension coils in my body, stringing me taut like a bow. Just when I’m about to accept my fate, that this might be the end, he releases me, and I choke on the air that enters my lungs. A rush of adrenaline surges in my veins, and before I even realize it’s happening, a violent orgasm tears through my body and nearly brings me to my knees. If it weren’t for Azrael’s strength holding me up, I would be on the floor.
A tear leaks down my cheek, followed by another as I come back to my senses, trying to process what just happened. My ears are ringing, pulse thrashing, eyes burning as Azrael’s growl of pleasure behind me rolls over my back. His rough hands are all over me now, pawing and groping as he fucks me like a man possessed. When I dare a glance at him over my shoulder, his eyes capture mine, and they don’t let me go.
It feels intimate to see him this way. So off balance, drunk on me in a way I never could have imagined. He feels it too, and he wants to punish me for it. He makes that clear when he moves for my throat again.
“Azrael,” I choke out his name like a safe word, and everything halts as he stares down at me with ragged breaths.
His eyes are conflicted, torn between punishing me or giving me what I’m silently begging for. Ultimately, whatever he sees in the depth of my gaze sways him, and he pulls out of me reluctantly, only to lift me into his arms and wrap my legs around him.
We’re face to face when he thrusts back into me, his strength unwavering as he holds me up as if it’s nothing. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he rolls his hips, taking up a different rhythm that’s less frenzied and more intense. I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I reach up to stroke his hair and press my lips against his. It seems to catch him off guard.
He freezes for a moment before he kisses me in return, a kiss that deepens with every thrust, every hitch of our breaths. His tongue sweeps over my lips before plunging into my mouth, tasting me like he can’t help himself.
He’s so hard for me, I can feel him creeping toward his oblivion as tension bleeds into his muscles. It won’t be long, and the realization that time is running out makes us both frantic. I paw at him, my fingers tugging at his hair while he shoves me back against the bookcase, the impact shaking the wall and forcing the breath from my lungs. He swallows that breath and every other that I give him.
The shelves behind me groan beneath the weight of our bodies, books toppling to the floor as a guttural sound crawls up his throat and spills between my lips.
He comes even more violently than I did, his cock pulsing, warmth filling me—yet still, he doesn’t stop. A shudder moves through him as I roll my hips, nibbling at his mouth, drinking him in like I’ve been put under a spell.
I can’t explain this strange energy thrumming between us. The only thing I know is that it’s not of this world. It doesn’t listen to reason or logic. It doesn’t care about our mutual hatred or the barriers I swore I wouldn’t allow to crumble in his presence.
Something is happening here, something I can’t control, and I know I’m not the only one who feels it.
Azrael proves it when he jerks inside me one last time, a final powerful shudder. “What the fuck are you doing?” he growls against my lips.
It’s the same thing he asked me last night, and I don’t have an answer for him. As much as I’d like to take the blame, to pretend that I wield such power, I know this isn’t me.
As his eyes settle on mine, I wonder if this is part of the curse. If every other Wildblood that’s been sacrificed came to feel such conflict about their captors.
It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. It’s something only Elizabeth knew since there are no remaining survivors to ask.
Azrael looks just as uncertain as I feel when he finally relinquishes my body, setting me upon my feet. Briefly, his gaze drifts to the come leaking down my thighs, the evidence of his claim on me. Something flickers in his eyes, and I wonder if he’s thinking about the rules we are to abide by. There can be no child between us. It’s why his family dictated that the sacrificed Wildblood should already be on birth control, a rule I readily agreed to when I got the shot in preparation for the Tithing.
My first thought is that he’ll grab something to wipe it away. But instead, he tucks himself back into his pants and reaches for my torn dress.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he slips the material over my head, tying the two pieces at the back.
“It’s time for dinner,” he says.
“I need to go change,” I protest, glancing down at the very noticeable strap hanging loose from the bodice. “I need to clean up–”
“No.” His word echoes like a gunshot through the room, silencing me as I glance up at him in question. “You’ll go to dinner just as you are.”
I stare at him, questioning his sanity for the hundredth time since I met him. “You want me to go to dinner like this?”
“Yes.” His fingers skate over my jaw, a gentleness to his touch that’s a complete contrast to his commanding voice.
“With your come still leaking down my thighs?” I ask in disbelief.
His eyes flare, betraying just how much he likes the idea. “Yes,” he answers gruffly. “Exactly like that.”
Before I can protest further, there’s a knock at the door, effectively ending the conversation.
“Yes?” Azrael calls out.
I recognize the voice of the housekeeper as she replies. “Your grandmother asked that I remind you dinner is ready, sir.”
If I thoughtthere was a snowball’s chance in hell I could get out of this dinner, I would have taken it. But Azrael hauls me to the dining room, his palm guiding me along until it’s too late to run.
As we make our grand entrance, silence falls over the table, and all of his family’s shocked gazes fall upon me. If I didn’t already know how obvious it is, their expressions are confirmation enough that it’s no secret Azrael just had his way with me.
Heat flushes my cheeks as I try to smooth out my tangled hair, but it makes no difference. I can feel the dried mascara that bled from my eyes when he choked me. My lips are still swollen from his kiss.
When Salomé narrows her gaze on my ripped dress, I find myself wishing a crater in the earth would just swallow me whole.
Emmanuel shoots his brother a questioning glance as he helps me into my seat, and Rébecca stares at me ,wide-eyed and innocent.
“Are you okay, Willow?” Her voice severs the quiet tension in the room. “You look…” She doesn’t finish that thought, but she doesn’t need to.
I look wrecked. That’s what she meant to say. But something in her expression tells me she doesn’t have the slightest idea what happened. I think she’s been far too sheltered to understand the depravities of men.
But who am I kidding? Because clearly, I’m just as depraved.
“Azrael.” Salomé’s indignant tone pierces my ears. “I’d like a word. Now.”
“It will have to wait.” He takes a seat at the head of the table, nodding at the food. “Dinner is ready.”
She clenches her jaw, casting a withering glare my way, as if I’m responsible for his refusal.
I shoot her a sweet smile in response, only because I know it will piss her off.
Dinner is a stilted affair. While the food is lovely and elegant, Salomé’s company most certainly is not. She continues to mean-mug me through all four courses while Emmanuel and Bec carry most of the conversation. Emmanuel is well-spoken, charming, and intimidatingly large, just like his brother. He’s handsome like Azrael too, but there are subtle differences between them—most notably their distinct eyes.
While he asks me casual questions about my family, I feel the heat of Azrael’s gaze on my face. It seems to caress my skin like a physical touch, and I wonder if he notices me squirming in my chair as his come sticks to my thighs.
I try to focus on the food, devouring almost everything the chef sets on the table. I plow through the butternut squash ravioli and baby kale salad, embarrassingly famished after Azrael’s ravishing.
The only thing I don’t touch is the lamb. The smell nearly makes me gag when it’s presented. I’m hoping nobody noticed, but I don’t get so lucky.
“Is there something wrong with the food?” Salomé asks right in front of the chef. “Is it not to your tastes?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the food.” I offer the chef an apologetic glance. “It’s just… I’m a vegetarian. That’s all. But everything else is so delicious, and I don’t think I can possibly eat another bite anyway–”
“Vegetarian,” Salomé scoffs. “How puritanical of you.”
I wonder if she recognizes the irony of her words, considering the Puritans were the same lot who used to hang witches for not complying with their ideals.
I snort, barely able to hide my amusement when Emmanuel takes it upon himself to interject. “More for us, right Azrael?”
Azrael scowls at his brother, and I wonder what’s set his mood ablaze.
Emmanuel takes it in stride, smirking as if it”s a private joke between them before he returns his attention to me. “Tell us more about you, Willow,” he says.
“As if we haven’t heard enough this evening?” Salomé scoffs.
Emmanuel shrugs. “I find her fascinating. It’s not every day you get to have dinner with a Wildblood.”
“It’s Delacroix now,” Azrael corrects him.
“No, actually, it’s not.” I shoot him a glare. “I haven’t legally updated my name, and I have no intentions of doing so.”
Azrael tosses me a reproving glance that feels like a spanking. “A conversation for another time.”
“Let her keep her name,” Salomé muses. “All the better not to taint ours.”
“A conversation for later,” Azrael repeats, his patience wearing thin.
“Back to your family,” Emmanuel suggests, redirecting the topic.
I reach for my wine glass, drinking the last of it in one unladylike gulp as I try to manifest an end to this dinner.
“I think you’ve monopolized enough of my wife’s attention this evening.” Azrael narrows his eyes at his brother. “Don’t you?”
Emmanuel smiles, eats a few bites, and silence settles over the table. But it’s not even a minute later that he’s observing me again. “So what about your sisters?”
My brows pinch together in concern. “What do you mean, my sisters?”
“Tell us about them.”
“For God’s sake, Emmanuel,” Salomé snaps. “I can’t take one more minute of this. We don’t care to hear it.”
Emmanuel chuckles to himself before adjusting his features to appear properly chastised, but the damage is done.
Salomé tosses her napkin onto her plate and rises from her seat. “Rébecca, let’s go upstairs.”
I glance at Bec, noting the way her shoulders slump in defeat. Despite the fact that she ate very little tonight, she seemed to be enjoying herself.
When I look at Azrael, he can see the challenge in my eyes. The question.
Are you going to do something about this?
There’s a moment’s hesitation on his part, and I’m convinced he won’t. This seems to be the status quo of their fucked up family dynamics, and I have a hunch they’ve been coasting on autopilot this way for many, many years.
“Bec can stay,” he says, his eyes falling on his sister. “If she wishes.”
Salomé’s face mottles with red, and it looks like she’s about to blow a gasket. The petty part of me hopes she might. I barely know the woman, but everything about her feels malevolent.
“Azrael—” His grandmother starts to argue, but he cuts her off.
“It’s her choice.”
Bec glances between them, terror streaking through her eyes. It pains me to see, and I wish Azrael could understand the position he’s just unknowingly put her in. Perhaps he thinks he’s helping, but by putting the choice back onto Rébecca, he’s also making it her who’s willfully defying Salomé’s wishes.
I don’t know what consequences her defiance would garner, but whatever they may be, they are clearly motivation enough for Bec.
She shakes her head reluctantly, dipping her gaze to avoid eye contact as she rises from her seat. “It’s okay. I’ll just go.”
I want to protest, but I know it will only add fuel to the fire. Salomé won’t back down if it comes from me. It needs to come from Azrael, and right now, in front of everyone, isn’t the time to address it. I’ll have to do it later.
“Goodnight, Bec,” I tell her softly.
She offers me a shy smile. “Goodnight, Willow.”