Chapter 15 | Sephania
Sephania
“Close the door behind you,” Skartovius growls as Vallan is on his way out.
The massive vampire ducks under the frame and looks over his shoulder. “Careful what you do to our girl, brother.”
Lord Ashfen’s nose wrinkles with disgust. “Is that a threat, Vallan?”
“A warning, I suppose. Break her too badly and she may never recover.”
Skar’s eyes move from the door to me, eating up my soul. “I know just the right amount of pressure to apply. Our little temptress is much more pliable than you give her credit for.”
Vallan grunts, and then he’s gone, with the door to the study closing gently behind him.
Goosebumps run along my arms once I’m alone with Skar and Garro, feeling like I’ve lost an essential protector with Vallan leaving.
He must know Skar wouldn’t truly do anything horrible to me, to leave me alone with him . . . right?
My throat is dry when Skar straightens from the broken table. The hole where his fist punched through is a jagged reminder of his capability. The refined nobleblood vampire, losing his composure. I’m in a world of shit, aren’t I?
The master of the manor rounds the table to stand in front of me. I don’t back down, though I feel small in his gaze, his overbearing stature a head above me.
From my side, Garro’s gaze snaps from me to him. “Master—”
Skar’s hand springs out impossibly fast, clamping on his thrall’s neck and squeezing. Garroway lets out a befuddled gasp, eyes bulging as Skar lifts him from the ground with one hand.
When Garro kicks the air, his boots inches from the ground, I yell, “Skar!” and reach out to grab his straightened arm, which doesn’t budge. “Stop it! Your quarrel is with me.”
He lets go of Garroway’s neck, but not before voicing in a menacing tone, “I’m far from finished with you, cub.” Then he pushes Garro’s chest, forcing the dhampir to stumble back a few steps as he hacks and coughs.
To his credit, Garroway immediately rushes forward to defend me—
I put a hand up to stay his advance. My eyes never leave the sinfully handsome visage of Skartovius Ashfen.
Danger radiates off him, and in this moment he looks every bit Lord Ashfen, the ruthless commander of his castle.
Skartovius, the man who tutors me on the politics and goings-on of Olhav like a prudent teacher, is nowhere to be seen.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” he demands. His voice is raspy and clipped, barely holding back his rage.
The words tumble out of me, explaining how I went to bathe after my tumble with Garroway on the roof.
There’s no sense hiding anything from Skar with the way he’s intently watching every twitch and breath.
“Lukain says he’s been shadowing me for years, even since reinventing himself as Overseer Verant,” I explain.
“He came out in daylight to speak with you?”
“Almost. The sun was minutes from showing. He wore his cloak and hood.” I chew the inside of my cheek, desperate to spill the truth but worrying how much it might anger Skartovius.
I decide he deserves to know, if only so my punishment might be lessened. A thrill of mingled anxiety and anticipation rises in my breast, thumping. Do I want a lesser punishment? I wonder.
“He says he’s obsessed with me still, sir,” I eke out. “That he’s tasted me, and we can never escape each other because of it.”
Garroway, just behind Skar’s shoulder, nods along. Like he believes the same thing.
“We all feel it,” Skar grunts. “The pull to take you, have you, keep you. The half-blood swine is not incorrect.”
“Please don’t call him that.” My brows arch helplessly. “He is still a man I care for—even after everything. Even after I’ve tried to forget him and erase him from my memory.”
Skar’s chin twitches but he keeps his composure past his firmed lips.
“The man groomed you, taught you many things at a young, ripe age.” He reaches out, clasping my chin gently, rubbing with the pad of his thumb.
I’m tempted to close my eyes and fall into his embrace, his heated, hateful body . . . but I resist. For now.
“It seems all I can do,” he whispers in the shell of my ear, “is try to break the man out of you.”
My breath comes sharp, nearly making me choke as Skar’s hand gently closes around the column of my neck. I flex instinctively, until Lord Ashfen hums in my ear, which has the effect of calming my nerves.
His body presses incredibly close, too close, the hard planes of him pushing against my curves, forcing me back from the table until my spine knocks against a bookshelf and I wince.
His free hand trails down my shoulder, my side, to my wide hip.
My body shamefully reacts just as expected, igniting at his effortless touch.
Though he looks as dashing and controlled as ever in his gaudy cloak, with his long auburn hair perfectly swept across his shoulders, I can sense the indignation and rage swelling behind his facade.
Trapped in a corner, body pinned against his, all I can do is summon the brat princess he simultaneously loves and is infuriated by.
“How can you blame me for something I had no control over, my lord?” I know calling him by his title is sure to get the desired effect.
There’s nothing stopping this capsizing ship from crashing into the rocky shore. It’s inevitable.
“I’m sure I can find a way,” he whispers. Deep, brooding, angry. His gold-flecked eyes darken to crimson, a deeper hue than his wicked blood.
“I didn’t go looking for him,” I continue, and Skar’s hand on my neck tightens slightly. “H-He found me. You should be happy I’m safe!”
“Oh? Should I be happy, little temptress?”
Why does this damn man’s voice have to be so delicious and dark? Why does it smooth over my skin like the most calming oils, pulling me apart at the seams with hardly a touch?
“Master, please,” Garroway says from behind him. “Punish me instead. It’s my fault she left my sight—”
“Oh, I plan on disciplining you both, graybird. Get over here and get on your knees.”
Garro gulps audibly and does as commanded. There’s no need for a mental bloodbond to control him—Skar’s voice is enough to get him moving.
The nobleblood ignores his kneeling thrall and slips a hand beneath my tunic to touch my heated flesh.
His fingers inch up to the swell of my breasts, palming handfuls of my flesh and drawing out a delectable whimper from my lips.
Ever-so-gently, he flicks my hard nipples, his hand hidden the entire time beneath my shirt.
“Fuck, my lord,” I groan. My head slants back on a boneless neck, and I’m his to control.
His to punish, discipline, degrade—whatever he has in store for me.
My body spreads on its own, legs parting, ass flush against the bookshelf behind me, eyes staring up at a heavy chandelier hanging from the dusty rafters.
“Don’t you understand, love?” he asks in a seething tone. “I can’t lose you.”
My eyes level from the ceiling to his smoldering gaze. “Because of what I possess in my veins?” I question, frustration coloring my words.
“You know it’s more than that, temptress. Much more.”
He leans in, slanting his head to place a warm kiss on my lips. His full lips part, bringing mine with him, and his tongue slips into my mouth and dances with mine. I close my eyes, wishing for nothing more in the moment than for Skartovius Ashfen to punish me for a crime I never committed.
The bastard nobleblood has that impact on me. I’ve never been able to defend against it. I’ve been separated from him for so long I don’t even try—I willingly sink into his grip, his body, wishing to become one with him.
My hands fall on his hips, while his stay on my neck to control the movements of my face, with the other digits forcing out whimpers from his heated touch on my breasts. “I’ve been training, love,” he murmurs, leaning into my ear and nibbling on the lobe, making my eyes roll.
“W-With what?”
“Experimental punishment, we can call it.”
My brow furrows when he pulls back and fixes me with a rictus grin. While his eyes stay on my face, his knuckles brushing lightly against my cheek, I feel something below. Gasping, my head snaps low between us, expecting the prodding of his hard cock against me.
That’s not what I see. I see my pants . . . lowering past my hips, down to my knees, before tumbling to the floor at my feet. Baring me to him.
Confused, I look up. His hands are still there, on my face, on my tits, controlling me. “W-What in all that’s True?” I croak.
A soft ticklish sensation trickles up my leg, coiling around my ankle and lifting to my knee . . . then the inside of my warm, pale thighs. My body tightens and I look down—
To see a tendril of physical shadow inching its way to my wet pussy. My mouth falls open when I realize it’s my shadow Skar is controlling with his mind, even while his hands do his dirty work on my skin.
“Fuck.”
The shadow tentacle is black and semitransparent. I can see my own skin behind its hue, and the end of it looks bulbous and shaped just how—
The shadow unceremoniously plunges into my entrance, shocking me and making me stand upright and close my legs. There’s no protecting my modesty from an entity that isn’t truly corporeal.
“Fuck!” I gasp, louder this time. “That’s fucking a-amazing, my lord.”
Skar smiles cruelly. The nobleblood’s shadow appendage pulses inside my cunt, widening me, preparing me for the real thing.
It drives into me and then withdraws—repeating the process until I’m dripping all over the floor, trembling from the sudden exertion.
It coils with angles no natural appendage could hit, rubbing against my walls and diving deep inside me before suddenly receding and leaving me a panting mess.
Two more shadows close in around me—my face this time—and wrap around my wrists. Sweat beads Skar’s brow. With a flick of his eyes the shadow strands pry my arms up and pin them above my head.
Skartovius frees his hand from my tunic, ripping it open from the inside.