Chapter 16 #3
One hand traced down her stomach, lower, until his fingers found her. She wasn't ready—would never be ready for him—but he was patient, clinical, working her body like an instrument he was learning to play. When she remained dry, unresponsive, he made a thoughtful sound.
"Perhaps you need more direct stimulation."
His mouth replaced his fingers, and she nearly screamed, not from pleasure but from the violation of such an intimate act from someone she despised.
But her body, treacherous thing, began to respond to the mechanical stimulation.
She could feel herself growing wet despite the horror, despite the hatred.
"There we go," he murmured against her."See how easily the flesh betrays? All that resistance, and yet here you are…."
She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to disappear into herself, but he stopped immediately.
"Look at me," he commanded. "Be present, or I stop being gentle."
She forced her eyes open, forced herself to watch his face as he returned his mouth to her. The warmth in her chest thrashed weakly, confused by her body's physical response conflicting with her emotional revulsion.
When he finally rose up, positioning himself over her, she could see her wetness on his mouth. He was making sure she could see it, could see the evidence of her body's betrayal.
"Now," he said, pushing just the tip inside, making her feel the intrusion. "Let's see if your blood is finally sweet enough."
He entered her slowly, watching her face the entire time. She couldn't help the sound that escaped—not pleasure but something raw, broken. Her body stretched to accommodate him, and she hated that it knew how, that Eliam had taught it to receive, and now Malus was using that knowledge against her.
He moved with deliberate rhythm, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her hip. Not violent, not rough, but almost tender. That made it worse somehow, that he was taking time, taking care to build her body's response.
"You're getting wetter," he observed. "Your body is beginning to want this. I can feel you clenching around me."
She turned her face away, but he caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Every. Moment. Present."
He shifted angle, and suddenly he was hitting something inside that made her gasp, made her hips lift involuntarily. He smiled, cold and satisfied, and targeted that spot relentlessly until she was making sounds she couldn't control, her body climbing toward something she desperately didn't want.
"Perfect," he breathed. "Now your blood should sing."
He bit her then, at the curve where neck met shoulder, and drank deeply. She could feel him inside her in two ways—his body taking hers, his mouth taking her blood. The dual invasion made her feel split apart.
The warmth tried to taint her blood, tried to make it bitter, but he'd worked her body too well. She could feel herself climbing toward climax even as she fought it, even as tears ran down her face.
"Yes," he said against the wound. "There it is. Arousal makes it so much sweeter. Like honey and copper and—" He thrust harder, making her cry out. "—submission."
She came with his teeth in her throat, her body convulsing around him in the ultimate betrayal. He groaned against her neck, drinking deeper as her orgasm flooded her blood with exactly what he'd wanted to taste.
He finished moments later, still feeding, and she felt him shudder with more than physical release. When he finally pulled away, from her throat and from her body, his eyes were dilated, almost drunk.
"Exquisite," he said, crimson staining his lips. "Your blood when you come... it’s intoxicating. Eliam is a fool for denying himself. Perhaps tomorrow I'll see how fear mixed with arousal tastes. Or pain with pleasure."
He stood, dressing efficiently while she lay shaking on the bed, blood seeping from the bite, her body still pulsing with aftershocks she didn't want.
"Clean yourself up," he said from the doorway. "There will be no court tonight. Ensure you rest well because tomorrow I want to see what else we can discover about your unique blood."
The door closed, and she curled into herself, the sheet sticking to the blood and other fluids on her skin.
The warmth in her chest was so quiet she thought it might have died from shame.
She could still feel everywhere he'd touched, could still taste him in her mouth, could still feel the echo of him inside her.
But worse than all of that was the knowledge that her body had responded, wanted, and had found pleasure in her own violation.
Minutes ticked by before she finally forced herself to move.
She grabbed the sheet, wrapping it around herself, and tried to stand.
Her legs shook violently, barely supporting her weight after all her body had been forced to endure.
She had to grip the bedpost to keep from falling before she could stumble back to her own chambers.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she collapsed, the weight of what she'd done crushing her. But beneath the violation, beneath the disgust and self-hatred, something else burned.
Rage.
Pure, clean rage that he'd used Eliam against her. That he'd made her complicit through threats rather than force. The warmth in her chest responded to that anger, stirring from its hiding place, feeding on the fury.
She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling it pulse with newfound strength. Not comfort—it was too angry for comfort. But solidarity. It hated him too. Hated what he'd done, what he'd made her do.
"Tomorrow," she whispered to the warmth, to herself. "Tomorrow we find a way to stop this."
The warmth pulsed agreement, and for the first time since entering Malus's chambers, she felt like she might survive this. Not intact, not unharmed, but unbroken.
She was damaged but not destroyed. And that made all the difference.
"My lady?" Síocháin's voice was soft, those pearl-like fingers already reaching for the washing basin. "I came to prepare you for evening court, but—" She stopped, seeing the bruises blooming on Briar's throat, the blood on the sheets.
"There is no evening court," Briar said, her voice hollow. "He cancelled it."
Síocháin moved closer, her strange fingers gentle as she helped Briar sit up. The sheet slipped, revealing more bruises, bite marks, the evidence of what had been done. Síocháin's expression didn't change, but her movements became even more careful.
"Let me help you," she said simply, guiding Briar toward the bathing chamber. "The water will ease the aches."
Briar let herself be led, too exhausted to resist kindness. Síocháin drew the bath, adding something that made the water shimmer faintly and smelled of mint and something that cut through the lingering scent of autumn.
"I remember the old days," Síocháin said quietly as she helped Briar into the water.
"I was young when the Night Court fell. Young enough to survive the transition, old enough to remember what it was like.
" Her fingers worked through Briar's tangled hair with inhuman gentleness.
"The blood-lettings. The hunts that ended in death, not sport.
Humans kept like cattle, bled slowly over months until they were husks. "
"Why are you telling me this?" Briar asked, sinking deeper into the water.
"Because Lord Malus speaks of returning to tradition as if it were golden.
" Síocháin's voice carried old pain. "But I remember the screaming.
I remember humans begging for death as mercy.
" She paused, her hands stilling. "Lord Eliam was harsh, yes, but he didn’t believe in the old ways. His cruelty had limits."
Síocháin helped her from the bath, wrapping her in soft towels. The fae woman's impossible fingers worked through Briar's tangled hair, each pull making her scalp ache where Malus had grabbed her the night before.
"Where is Karse being kept?" Briar asked suddenly. The thought of the Drak, unpredictable but fierce, sparked the first hint of hope she'd felt. "The one who came with me from the Star Court."
"The east wing." Síocháin's hands didn't pause, but Briar felt her tense slightly. “Why?"
"I need to speak with him." Briar turned, water dripping from her hair onto the stone floor, pooling around her feet. "I need to find a way out of here."
Síocháin set down the ivory comb, those pearl-like fingers folding carefully in her lap. "My lady, there's something you should know. Lord Malus has instructed me to prepare you tomorrow evening. For a private dinner. Just the two of you."
Briar's stomach turned, bile rising in her throat. She knew what private dinners meant. What would come after.
"Can you get me to Karse?" Her voice cracked, her desperation was palpable. "Tonight?"
"The wing is watched by Withered." Síocháin reached for the comb again, her movements deliberate, careful. "Even I don't go there unless I must. Their touch, it ages anything living."
"Then a message—"
"My lady, even if I could..." Síocháin said, resuming her work on Briar’s hair. "The castle is sealed. Withered at every door. The forest itself obeys Lord Malus now. There's no clear path out. What plan could you make that Malus would not intercept?"
Briar stood abruptly, the towel slipping. She didn't care. She paced to the window, her bare feet leaving wet prints on the cold floor. Outside, autumn had spread further, leaves the color of dried blood stretching as far as the eye could see. The forest looked diseased.
"There has to be something." Her fingers pressed against the glass until her knuckles went white. The cold seeped through, numbing her fingertips. "Poison. Something I could slip into his wine when he isn’t looking."
"We wouldn’t know which wine until he selects it, should we poison them all?"
Of course. Everything planned, controlled. She turned from the window, pressing her palms against her temples.
"I just need him unconscious. Or distracted. Something. Anything." She looked up at Síocháin, saw something flicker across her face. "What? What are you thinking?"
"Nothing. I shouldn't—" Síocháin stood, moving toward the wardrobe. "Let me find you something to wear."
"No, wait.” Briar crossed the room. “Whatever it is, tell me."
Síocháin's hands stilled on the wardrobe's carved handle. For a moment, Briar was afraid she had pushed too hard. When Síocháin spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"There is something. Bloodshade. A sleeping draught. Very potent." She paused, still not turning. "But it doesn’t matter, even if you could get him to drink it, it won’t work from a cup."
"But there's another way." It wasn't a question. Briar could see it in the rigid line of Síocháin's shoulders.
"It works only when consumed through blood." The words came out reluctantly, like pulling splinters. "If someone were to take it, and then be... fed upon..."
The implication hung between them like a blade. Briar sank onto the bed, her damp skin made her shiver despite the room's warmth, goosebumps rising along her arms.
"I'd have to let him..." Her voice sounded distant to her own ears, hollow. "I'd have to make him want to feed. Quickly."
"More than that." Síocháin finally turned, her ageless face troubled. "The bloodshade loses potency quickly once taken. You'd have minutes to get it into his system. You'd have to make him bite you before it becomes too diluted to work."
"I have to seduce him,” Briar whispered. "Let him touch me after what he—"
She couldn't finish. Her hand went to her throat, fingers finding the bruises hidden beneath her wet hair.
They stood in silence, the weight of what that meant settling over them. The fire crackled, sending shadows dancing across the walls.
"I don't think I can fake wanting him convincingly enough," Briar said finally. "Not with that kind of pressure. He'll figure it out, he’ll know something's wrong."
Síocháin moved to sit beside her, careful not to touch. "There are wines. Old vintages from before the courts split. They... affect the body. Make it respond to touch, to proximity. Heighten sensation."
Briar looked at her sharply. "You're suggesting I drug myself?"
"You could take a small amount. Just enough to make your body's responses genuine, even if your mind resists.
" Síocháin's voice was steady but her hands trembled slightly.
"The wine would make your seduction believable, give you the time you need to get him to feed before the bloodshade loses its effect.
I could make sure it is served at dinner. "
The plan was horrifying in its simplicity. Drug herself to endure him. Let him feed. Watch him fall.
"How quickly does bloodshade work?"
"Within minutes. Fast enough that he'd be unconscious before he realized anything was wrong." Síocháin stood, pulling a simple brown dress from the wardrobe, soft wool that wouldn't irritate bruised skin. "But you'd have to time it perfectly."
Briar took a deep breath. "Can you get it?"
Síocháin was quiet for a moment, then, finally nodded as she helped Briar into the dress. "I'll bring it tomorrow, when I prepare you for dinner."
She began working the laces, careful around the bruises on Briar's back.
"About Karse," Briar said quietly. "I need him to know the plan. To wait in the rose gardens at midnight tomorrow. Tell him... tell him the hunt ends then."
Síocháin's fingers paused on the laces. "I told you, I don't go to the east wing."
"Please. There has to be a way."
Síocháin was quiet for a moment. "I prepare the meal trays for that wing, even if I don't deliver them. I could hide a message in his food. The servants who carry the trays wouldn't know to look."
"Would he find it?"
"Draks are paranoid creatures when it comes to fae. He'll examine everything before eating." She resumed lacing. "You understand what you're risking? If Lord Malus suspects anything—"
"He'll do worse than kill me." Briar met her eyes in the mirror. "I know."
Síocháin finished with the dress and moved to leave, pausing at the door. "My lady... the wine. It will make things easier, but you'll still be aware. Still remember."
Briar thought of Eliam in the dungeons below, of Thaine probably being tortured for sport, of endless nights as Malus's experiment.
"I'll remember anyway. At least this time, it serves a purpose."
The door closed softly, leaving Briar alone with the weight of what she'd have to do. The warmth in her chest pulsed once, weak but present, pulling toward the dungeons. Tomorrow, she told it silently. Tomorrow we get him back.