38. Playing the Game
Playing the Game
O rion carried Mila all the way to relative safety of Culis Manor’s woodland property. There, she dismounted, and Culis left her as planned, returning to the manor to wait for her.
When Mila was about a mile from the front gates of the manor, she was finally able to stand completely upright, and as she approached the guardhouse, they quickly identified her and sent a messenger running to their master to notify him of her return. They grinned at her as she stumbled past them but did not challenge or stop her. She sensed a deep energy of satisfaction emanating from them, and also a little bit of awe.
It seemed Frank Culis might have been right. How infuriating.
As she entered the house, the grand staircase was filled was gawkers, who whispered loudly as she painstakingly ascended, every step agony, despite the fact she was able to stand upright again. She knew they pressed their ears against the door to Culis’s study after she closed it behind her .
He raised his head from a thick book as she entered. Beside him on the desk sat the sister stone.
“Welcome back. I trust you’ve learned your lesson?” he said loudly, ensuring he’d be overheard by those outside.
“I have,” she croaked. “I’m…sorry. Sorry to you, sorry to Baird. It won’t…won’t happen again.”
“Good. Then you are dismissed.” Culis called for Nemecca to enter the room. She arrived startlingly quickly. Eavesdropper.
“Take Mila to the infirmary immediately.”
Mila leaned heavily on Nemecca’s arm, needing the support more than she wanted to admit. To her surprise, as they walked into the hallway, she was accosted by a cloud of energy from the household staff that was the equivalent of a silent round of applause.
She knew she’d never forgive Frank Culis for what he’d put her through, but she could not deny that the energies of the manor staff were all positive towards herself and Culis. They were impressed that she’d made it back in one piece, they approved of her current dishevelled state, and they were glad she’d apologised to their master, who they respected and liked. They, Nemecca included, felt affirmed that she’d been rightfully punished.
And now they could all get on with their lives.
She felt a grin rise unbidden to her face as she headed to the infirmary, where she had her wounds bound and tended to. From there, Nemecca took her to the kitchen. The cook, Petrie – who introduced himself by name for the first time – had a hot meal ready and waiting. She sat in the sun and found herself surrounded by curious onlookers, who insisted she regale them with her story. She tried her best, but she was too exhausted, and eventually, Nemecca stepped in and escorted her to bed, where she fell into a deep sleep that lasted the rest of the day.
* * *
When she finally awoke, it was late the following afternoon. Mila couldn’t believe she’d slept so long, but as she leapt from her bed, the violent ache of her body was evidence that she’d needed it. She had no time to waste now, and despite the pain, she headed immediately to Natalee’s cell with the small vial of rubane oil from under her bed. She inspected it again as she walked, sighing in frustration at its size.
When she arrived at Natalee’s cell, she was relieved to find that, despite the fact that the guard was hesitant and suspicious of her, he had not been given orders to prevent her from visiting.
Natalee leapt to her feet at the sound of Mila’s voice and came over to the bars. “You’re alive? I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”
“We have no time to waste. This guard is not going to let us talk for long,” Mila interrupted. “I’m going to try and get the key tonight. If I fail, place this oil over your forehead and face before the sacrifice.” Mila pressed the tiny vial into Natalee’s hand. “Do not let anyone see you do it.”
“What is it?” Natalee asked, palming the bottle.
“Maybe nothing,” Mila admitted. “But anything at this point is worth a shot.”
“That’s enough,” the guard called out, suspicious and alert enough to know there was more than a simple goodbye occurring.
Mila drew away reluctantly. “I’ll see you soon,” she said.
She refused to say goodbye. There was still a chance for Natalee, and she would see it attempted.
As night fell, Mila lay awake on her bed, waiting until the dark cape of night fully cloaked the manor, persuading even the most wakeful and conscientious servants to accept the call of their beds.
Finally, when she was certain only the guards at the far front gate were still awake, she rose and moved towards the stairs, as silently as a dead man’s breath, climbing them slowly until she reached the floor where Culis slept.
When she entered the large room, her eye was immediately drawn to his sprawled-out figure lying across his four-poster bed, atop the blankets, as though he had collapsed there with exhaustion and been unable to drag himself beneath them. The green curtains that hung from the wooden beams were only partially drawn, and as she approached, she noted the hilt of a dagger peeking out from beneath his pillow. The sight of it almost caused her to turn back. Despite his lack of guard, or perhaps because of it, she knew Culis would be a man who would strike first and ask questions later if startled from his sleep.
But, after a moment or two of contemplation, she continued to inch forward. She could do this.
Within a few quiet paces, she was standing beside him. She noted the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slept and paused for a moment, admiring the peaceful expression on his face. He was definitely a handsome man. One who turned heads, even without the magnetic aura he brought into every room with him.
She could see the glint of the chain and the key to Natalee’s cell poking through the cut of his collar and reached a hand towards him, intending to simply part his shirt and identify the key more fully.
Without warning, his hand shot out and seized her wrist, yanking her over his body in a flurry of limbs.
Within a second, she found herself pinned beneath him, his hand at her throat.
“I knew it,” he said grimly. “And you must think me a fool if you thought I didn’t suspect an attempt like this tonight.”
He’d been awake all night.
It had all been an act. He’d never even been asleep, just lying in wait for her .
“I had to try,” she gasped and tried to wriggle free from under him.
For a moment, her struggle caused him to shift his weight in an effort to pin her. The movement brought her attention directly to the positioning of their bodies, the way he lay between her open legs, pushing up slightly against her hips, his face hovering inches above her own.
The heat of her body suddenly found his bare skin and seeped eagerly into it, like the flame of a candle slowly heating its waxen case. It took her breath away to have him so close.
Desire, heat, determination to possess…
It was intoxicating.
She made a small, involuntary noise, and the flame in her stomach roared to life as she saw in his eyes a similar disarming occur. Her body was a furnace. It was consuming and urgent, this sudden, undeniable need for him, for Culis. His masculine energy and scent pounded into her, and suddenly, she wanted his touch, his undivided attention, and his desire for her more than anything in the world.
She allowed herself to relax and her body to soften under his, shifting again, this time drawing her knees up a little to pull his hips in closer to hers.
His eyes widened as he felt her shift. His hand left her throat, moving to cup her face. He held her body steady as he ground against her, his thigh pressed firmly high between her legs, drawing from her an unexpected “oh!”.
“Did you come here to rob me, or seduce me, little demon?” he whispered against her ear as he rolled his thigh against her hot core again. “Even after everything I shared with you today. You’d still try make me look the fool at the ball tomorrow?”
She could barely catch her breath, let alone respond .
He reached up with his free hand and took a fistful of her hair, drawing her head back and exposing her throat. He kissed the soft skin there, ensuring the rest of her remained pinned beneath him. His lips burned like a brand.
“Perhaps I was too hasty in giving you free roam of the house on your return,” he whispered, his voice suddenly husky. “Perhaps a little restriction tonight would be good for you.”
He ground his thigh up against her again, and she tried to gasp, but no sound came out. She could feel his amusement, and his hot arousal.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, “or do you want me to continue? Tell me, Mila,” he demanded, knowing full well she could not reply, not with his hand bunched like this in her hair, holding her throat bared at this angle. It was restricting, but not painful, not unless she struggled. And she could still breathe, but making sound was impossible.
“I’ll keep going until you tell me to stop,” he whispered, and he did. Repeating the movement again and again against the place between her legs that already felt aflame.
She soundlessly cried out and writhed desperately under him, until frustration nearly brought tears to her eyes.
Finally, he released her hair.
She lowered her chin, finally able to speak, beg. “ Please ,” she gasped.
“Mmm.” He surveyed her briefly, then smiled and took her hands, holding them above her head, tying them together with the curtain that draped from the frame. “I’d have considered it, if I believed that's why you were here. But I don’t need your power to know that you actually came here tonight to rob me, and frankly, little demon, I’m a bit hurt.”
He didn’t look hurt. In fact, the glint in his eye spoke of nothing but mischief as he sat up, tugged the curtain he’d knotted around her wrists to ensure they were held tight, and then moved away, back to his side of the bed, radiating smugness as he waited for her to realise what was happening.
Or rather, what wasn’t.
“Hey!” she protested, indignantly. “Untie me!”
His smile widened. “Maybe in the morning. In the meantime, get some sleep.”
With that he rolled over, turning his back to her.
When Mila realised he wasn’t going to do anything more with her tonight, she let out an exasperated, and somewhat embarrassed, huff.
“You deserve it,” he responded to her wordless complaint.
It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that she was woken by the warmth of him leaning over her to untie her from the curtain.
Once freed, she didn’t linger. She fled back to her own room – equal parts mortified and frustrated.
In her own bed, she was unable to fall back asleep, tossing and turning with her mind full of Culis and her body full of desire, until the morning sun was high and it was time to get up.
Today was the day of the Dusk Ball.
Today was the day of Natalee’s sacrifice.