Chapter 9 #2
And yet, I wasn’t afraid.
I welcomed the beast within him—welcomed the surrender of all reason. I let myself be carried away on the wings of his darkness.
He reached for me, his fingers electric against my skin, sending shivers through every nerve. He studied me—no smile, no seduction—just elemental truth.
“Tonight,” he said at last, “I will show you a glimpse of who I am.”
“Oh yes, Balthazar,” I whispered, aching. “Show me.”
My core pulsed with heat, flooding with desire. I burned for every part of him, especially this monstrous, untamed version that stripped away pretense and left only power.
With my wrists still trapped in his grasp, his free hand moved with maddening slowness, exploring and commanding, he cradled my face, thumb grazing my cheek like I was something breakable. Something claimed.
Even in this fearsome form, he was beautiful.
He leaned into me, grinding his hips, the pressure of his erection unbearable even through the layers of fabric between us.
“What do you have in store for me?” he questioned. “What schemes lie behind those wicked eyes, my sinful angel?”
“Nothing you don’t already crave, my lord,” I purred.
But at my words, his expression darkened. Pain flickered across his face.
“Don’t call me that,” he growled. “Only my subjects use that name.”
The way he said it—subjects—made my heart skip. The beast was still a king, but not to me.
The friction between us grew maddening, every grind of his hips against mine fanning the fire inside me.
“What shall I call you then?” I breathed, moving with him, matching the maddening rhythm of his hips.
His eyes flashed, wild and bright. His lips curled into a savage snarl.
“Yours.”
“Mine,” I whispered, and the word left my mouth like a spell cast in the dark.
“And you are exclusively mine,” he growled, before crushing his lips to mine in a feral, bruising kiss.
It stole the breath from my lungs—left me gasping, lightheaded, hungry. When he finally pulled back, our bodies tremored with the restraint we were struggling to hold onto. His scorching gaze pinned me, devouring me whole.
“I forbid you to take lovers when I am away.”
The possessiveness in his voice was absolute.
The thought thrilled me.
But it also gave me pause.
Balthazar disappeared for days. Sometimes weeks. Once, he was gone for nearly three months without a word. I felt adrift when he vanished into his cryptic sojourns—bored, restless, unseen. And it seemed only natural to let others entertain me in his absence.
Still, there was something more insidious now, something intriguing—
Was Balthazar developing feelings for me?
And if he was…
Could I use that?
Could I turn his love into a leash?
He stared deep into my soul, as if reading my every thought. “Why weren’t you afraid when I slaughtered that woman?” he asked, his voice low. “Why did you lick the blood from my face?”
I tilted my head, cool and composed. “You had no other choice. That whore must have done something unforgivable to deserve it.”
His eyes darkened. “She killed her children.”
I didn’t believe him.
Not for a second.
But I didn’t flinch.
“You were too merciful,” I replied. “A woman like that deserved pain—suffering.”
He paused.
His gaze narrowed, searching my face for the truth beneath my words. “Do you think that?”
“Yes, my…” I stopped, catching myself, and bit my lip. “Yes, Balthazar.”
A stillness settled over the room.
Even the flames from the candelabras seemed to dim.
And then, I asked the question—half jest, half poison:
“But am I going to suffer the same fate someday? Will you murder me too?”
I tried to laugh, to make it sound like a joke.
But he didn’t laugh.
His voice was ice. “Never.”
He leaned in, his face a mask of control, barely.
“You will always be safe with me. You will always be loved.”
I swallowed hard. My heart pounded against my ribs like a warning drum.
The air around us thickened, wrapping me in heat and shadow. Desire surged through my veins, a pulsing ache beneath my skin. But beneath that… something darker.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself.
Balthazar released my wrists with deliberate grace, his eyes still locked on mine—unchanging, unreadable, devouring.
Without a word, he reached for the buttons of his dark silk doublet, undoing each one purposefully, as though undressing himself was an act of seduction in itself.
The rich fabric slid from his shoulders and crumpled to the floor with a whisper.
He peeled off his hose, followed by the gleaming silver codpiece, the metal catching the flicker of candlelight before joining the rest of his garments in a careless heap.
Then he crawled toward me, predator-smooth.
His bare chest gleamed—broad, powerful, marbled with shadow and light—and though his monstrous form should have terrified me, it didn’t. It called to me. Commanded me. Cradled me in something primal and dark, yet somehow soothing.
His warm, calloused hand traced along my cheek, sending a jolt of pleasure rippling through me. Sparks danced across my skin as his fingers tangled in my hair, pulling gently and pressing against my neck.
I shivered.
His lips hovered just above mine—close enough to feel the heat of his breath, the promise of what was coming. My eyes fluttered shut a moment before his mouth claimed mine.
The kiss was hot. A mix of hunger and possession.
His lips were full, demanding, velvet-soft, and edged with danger. My body arched into him, melting beneath his touch. I slid my hands to his chest, fingers splaying over the hard muscle, feeling him groan low in his throat as I pressed against him.
He deepened the kiss, his hand fisting in my hair, tilting my head to taste me more thoroughly—tongue sweeping into my mouth with decadent purpose. I gasped, then moaned, letting him claim every inch of me with just a kiss.
And then he pulled back.
A wicked smile curved his lips, his eyes dark and glittering as they roamed over my body, making me burn where they lingered.
“Let’s remove these garments,” he murmured, voice husky, edged in command.
He helped me sit up, his fingers already working the fastenings of my bodice. He peeled the fabric from my form piece by torturous piece—my skirt, my corset, my chemise, my stockings—until I was stripped bare but for my jewelry.
His gaze feasted on me, lips parted slightly, reverent and ravenous.
“Now,” he said, his voice a delicious growl, “we begin to play.”
My legs trembled with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of sex and smoke. Balthazar’s hands slid along my hips and stomach, his touch searing fire into my skin. I gasped as his fingers brushed lower, igniting sparks that lit up every nerve in my body.
He eased me back onto the bed, hovering above me. His body radiated heat, his eyes locked on mine, and with every movement, he worshipped me like I was both altar and offering.
Then he descended.
His mouth trailed kisses down my torso—featherlight touches that made me ache for more.
He nuzzled the inside of my thigh, lips brushing my sensitive skin, his stubble grazing just enough to make me moan.
I writhed beneath him, my breath shallow, hands clutching the sheets as his tongue traced blazing lines along the curve of my thighs.
Every inch of me pulsed.
And then he found the center of me.
He pulled me closer with a growl, his lips closing over my clit in a hot, sucking kiss that made me cry out. His tongue moved with sinful precision—lapping, flicking, circling in rhythms that felt ancient and sacred and made for me. Each stroke stoked the fire until I thought I’d unravel entirely.
I gasped, breath caught between a moan and a scream, as his tongue plunged deeper, exploring my slick folds with maddening patience. He moved in time with the rise and fall of my hips, matching my rhythm until our bodies danced in perfect sync.
But even at the peak of pleasure, a dark thrill twisted in my mind—the vivid image of Balthazar plunging that dagger into the woman’s throat. Blood. Control. Power. Guilt curled around my pleasure like smoke, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
And neither did he.
He picked up speed, his fingers joining the wicked rhythm of his mouth, stroking and teasing as he pushed me higher. I moaned, my body trembling with every lash of his tongue, every firm, skilled caress. The pleasure was unrelenting and kept building, climbing, devouring.
Then he paused—just long enough to look up at me.
His gaze was molten. Intense. Possessive.
And then he smiled—a wicked, knowing smile that made my toes curl.
Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his head again and brought me back into the fire. His tongue danced against me, faster, firmer—each motion more devastating than the last. My moans turned to cries, my hands tangling in his hair, my body arching into his mouth as pleasure crashed through me.
My climax hit like lightning—savage and brilliant. It ripped through me, setting every cell ablaze. I came with a broken cry, back arched, body convulsing, as if consumed by a dragon’s fire, burned down to the raw edges of my soul.
Balthazar drank in every tremor, every gasp, his hands gripping my thighs as I shattered beneath him.
When it ended, he surged up and pulled me into his arms—his embrace fierce. He crushed me to him like he feared I might vanish. His mouth claimed mine in a wild, punishing kiss, his tongue still tasting of me, of sin, of surrender.
When he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes burned with hunger—and something darker. Something far more dangerous than lust.
Possession.
“You are pure temptation, my sinful angel,” Balthazar growled, his voice thick with lust and reverence as he wrapped his powerful body around mine again.
His heat surrounded me, flesh against flesh, the weight of him anchoring me to the mattress. His lips grazed the curve of my throat, and when he entered me once more, it was slower—deeper—as though he were branding me with every motion, claiming me all over again.
My heart swelled at the words he whispered in the dark.
But my mind was elsewhere—always watching, always scheming.
Balthazar was falling for me. I could feel how he touched me now, not just with hunger, but something tender. I would use it. I would take everything he had to give—and then some.
The candles sputtered and died, one by one, until we were cloaked in darkness. We lay in silence, tangled limbs and sweat-slicked skin, the air still heavy with the scent of sex—musk, wax, and my sweetness clinging to his mouth.
“I’ve got to go,” I whispered against his chest.
No answer.
His breathing was slow and deep. Asleep, or pretending to be.
“Balthazar,” I repeated, dragging my fingers lightly across his chest, “I have to go.”
Still nothing.
“My father’s going to kill me if I’m not back by morning.”
He groaned, rolling onto his back, throwing a lazy arm across his eyes.
I slid from the bed like silk, reluctant but resolute. My limbs still ached with the afterglow of his love. I dressed, savoring the feeling of his lingering touch on my skin as I cinched the last strap into place. I looked at his sleeping form—wild and beautiful in the shadows—then turned away.
Outside, the night air bit at my skin, still warm from his embrace.
I took one of his sleek and dark horses and rode hard into the black, my body still pulsing with the rhythm he’d left inside me. The ride was wild, my thighs trembling with each gallop, not from fear, but from memory.
When I reached home, I dismounted and slapped the horse’s flank, watching it disappear into the darkness. I crept into the house, my steps feather-soft against the stone floor.
Almost there. Almost safe.
I reached the staircase, only a few steps from freedom, when a sudden flame flared to life.
I gasped, spinning around.
My father stood in the shadows, a candle in hand—its light catching the sharp angle of his jaw and the fury burning in his eyes. His face was carved in equal parts rage and disappointment.
“Papa!” I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. “What a fright you gave me.”
His eyes narrowed, his expression carved from stone. “You’ve been seeing Balthazar, haven’t you?”
There was no point in denying it. His voice already held the truth he didn’t need confirmed.
“Yes, Papa,” I said, lifting my chin. My voice rang out clear, defiant. “I have. And I shall continue to do so.”
The sound came fast—a crack of flesh on flesh.
His hand struck my cheek.
I froze.
He had never hit me before. Not once, not through all my disobedience and rebellion. The sting was sharp, but the deeper wound was shock. Betrayal.
My palm flew to my face, heat blooming beneath my fingers. I stared at him, lip curled with scorn. “What have you done to me?”
“You need to get married and settle down,” he said, his voice like iron. “You need to become the woman you were raised to be.”
My fists clenched at my sides, trembling with the effort to hold back tears. Not from pain, but fury. His words weren’t new, but they never failed to ignite that old fire—the one that raged every time he treated me like a possession—a tool. A daughter was forged only to be given away.
“You don’t know me,” I spat.
He stepped closer. “Then go to Giovanni Zampa’s house and learn the truth of who you are.”
“Why should I?” I shot back.
But deep inside, the question took root.
What truth?
He met my gaze steadily. “Because it’s time you discovered what’s been hidden from you. You have the right to know.”
“I won’t do it!” I screamed, the heat of humiliation and rage surging through me. “I hate you! You’re not my father!”
Without waiting for his reply, I turned on my heel and stormed up the stairs, anger and confusion chasing me like shadows.
Alone in my room, I stared at my reflection in the darkened glass. My cheek still throbbed. The mark of his slap wasn’t just on my skin—it was inside me now, branding this night into memory.
I thought of Balthazar.
Of the things we’d done.
Of the monster I craved and the power I feared.
I didn’t know who he truly was.
Worse—I didn’t know who I was.
Something inside me had awakened, and it wasn’t just lust or rebellion.
It was darkness.
Something lurking in the pit of my soul, hungry, whispering.
I didn’t want to believe my father could hold answers. But if Signor Zampa knew the truth… if he could explain the shadows inside me, the pull I felt toward death, desire, and domination—then I had no choice.
At first light, I would go.
I would discover what they’d kept from me.
I would find out who I was.
And then—only then—would I decide what to do with the monster that loved me… and the one that lived inside me.