63. Petra
PETRA
His hardness is between my ass cheeks as he gathers the hair around my nape into a tight fist, pulling me backward so he can bite my neck again.
It’s vicious, painful—yet perhaps I am just as deranged as he is because without any other stimulation, I come the moment his teeth pierce the barrier of my skin.
I cry out, sobs making my body tremble as every logical thought flees my head.
He pulls harder on my hair, my scalp tingling from the pain. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to stop, that it hurts, but the only things that come out are more pleas.
“Please . . . put me out of my misery,” I beg.
I should want him to stop, but all I can do is beg for more. He slowly licks the blood trickling down my back before kissing his way down my spine.
Just as I think he’s finally going to thrust into me again, he surprises me with a change of direction. Still clutching my hair with one hand, he reaches between my buttocks with the other, his finger probing at a different hole.
The sensation is so foreign, so unexpected, that I stiffen.
“Sin, what are you doing?” I stammer.
“You’re mine, aren’t you, Petra?” he murmurs in a lust-clouded voice.
“Yes, but—”
“Then you’re wholly mine. Every single thing about you is mine, including this.”
His finger pushes against the barrier of my hole, and I react instinctively, trying to get away from him, from this intrusion.
This is odd; I’ve never heard of anything like this.
What is he doing? This isn’t how our consummation should be, right?
But the more I pull away, the more he yanks my hair, keeping me in place while he works his digit inside my bottom.
At first, it’s only one, then it’s two. It hurts, but there’s also something else—
“Sin, what are you doing?” I demand, shocked by my own reaction.
He whispers, “You begged me to take you, remember? So I am. I am taking you.”
“I don’t understand—” My words are cut off as, before I know it, his fingers are out of my hole.
I think the torture has ended, that he’s finally going to claim me again, so my body relaxes in his hold. I no longer try to pull away.
He chuckles at me. “You’re such a naughty girl, Petra. Such a naughty girl taking my fingers up her ass.”
His cock slides between my ass cheeks. He coats it in my wetness and caresses my sex with it, yet he doesn’t enter me.
The anticipation builds inside me. I thought we were done, that this was all there was to this consummation. When animals mate, once the male releases inside the female, it’s done.
Not for Sin. He’s still hard, ready for more.
Am I ready for more, too? My sex is still sore and swollen from his previous assault, and I’m not sure if I can do it again—at least not now. Yet in spite of the brief moments of pain from before, there was also an entire world of pleasure that I am looking forward to exploring more.
And perhaps, to my great surprise, I am also looking forward to the pain.
It’s such a contradiction. Pain and pleasure, two things so diametrically opposite, but together? Why do they sound so appealing?
Am I deranged for thinking that? For craving it?
Sin purrs behind me, a deep, seductive sound that makes me tremble with desire. I did not think I would want him even more after we slept together, but the more he touches me, the more I want him. Every way I can get him.
My arousal, too, grows by the moment, more wetness accumulating at my entrance.
Without being able to see what he’s doing, I can only rely on the sensation of him sliding over me, touching me.
I have no way of knowing when he’s finally going to put me out of my misery and take me again.
And then it happens. He notches the head of his cock to my opening and pushes in.
But he’s not thrusting inside my sex. It’s my . . . other hole.
I let out a startled gasp.
It hurts.
Only the tip gets past my ring of muscles before I instinctively try to get away. The pain is even worse than before.
His fist is in my hair as he keeps me in place, pulling me backward just as he pushes inside me. “Shh. Let me in, Petra. Let me in, darling.”
“I can’t. I—”
“Yes, you can.”
He pulls back, his cock still at my entrance.
Glancing back, I watch as he brings his wrist to his mouth and bites his flesh off. Blood pours down in rivulets. Between my ass cheeks. On his cock.
He smirks at me, dark and arrogant.
Lathering his cock in his blood, he pushes it again in that tight hole.
My eyes widen. This time, though my muscles still clamp on him in an attempt to stop his advance, the lubrication from the blood makes it easier for him to go deeper.
Inch by inch, my body becomes accustomed to this type of claiming as he works his cock inside me until he’s fully in.
“Oh, fuck,” he curses on a ragged moan. “Fucking hell, Petra. So damn tight. You’re strangling my damn cock.”
I whimper in response, my throat sore from all the screaming.
It’s . . . odd. I feel so full, yet it’s not an unpleasant sensation.
He keeps his bleeding arm over the place we are joined in, letting more blood pour over his cock as he slowly pulls back only to slam inside me again.
His hand moves from my hair to my hips, holding me in place as he begins a wicked and erotic assault.
There is still an echo of pain, but it slowly morphs into something else. It’s different than before. Bolts of pleasure spike through me in quick succession.
I slump onto the ground, clutching at the carpet as my eyes roll in the back of my head. Ragged moans fill the room—mine and his.
“That’s it. You’re doing so good, darling,” he murmurs appreciatively.
He leans over me, his knees planted on each side of my hips as he starts pistoning in and out of me at lightning speed. With each thrust, the pleasure becomes more nuanced, more potent.
I can feel it. It’s coming. It’s the same, but different, and it’s coming.
Tears flow down my cheeks as the climax is wrenched from me. It’s hard, fast, and all-consuming.
I shout his name as I clench around him, and he follows me swiftly in ecstasy, falling on top of me. His release is hot, filling me to the brim, and for moments on end, his cock continues to pulse inside of me.
He gathers me in his arms, holding me tight.
“Thank you,” he whispers in my ear. “Thank you for giving me this gift. I will treasure it. Always.”
“I love you,” I reply. “Always.”
He nuzzles his face against my nape.
“The bond . . . do you feel it?”
I nod. “The mark burns hot against my skin. It’s as if it has a life of its own.”
“It does. Our bond is a living thing, Petra. It will follow us everywhere in this universe. Everywhere.”
“I’m glad,” I say, “that way we can never be parted.”
“It is my vow to you that no matter what happens, I will always find you. Not even the devil himself could keep me from you, my sweet Petra.”
I sigh happily and burrow deeper in his embrace. I am relaxed, content, and happier than I’ve ever been.
Unfortunately, nothing this good can last too long, as moments later, I remember the engagement party, the fact that someone will notice my absence. And I don’t want to think what will happen once my father gets wind of it.
I scramble to my feet, looking around for my clothes.
“I need to go back,” I mutter frantically.
“Now?”
I turn to him. He’s standing in the middle of the room, stark naked, his body splattered with blood.
“Yes. You know as well as I do that my father cannot notice my absence.”
“Then don’t go at all. Stay here, with me. Forever.”
I gulp down, the prospect of spending an eternity with him, here, far too appealing.
“I would want nothing else. But we would be confined to an isolated experience. Do you want us to spend an eternity underground?”
“I would not mind it.” He shrugs.
“Perhaps I would not mind it either, but there are other considerations.”
He raises a brow at me.
“What about children?” I ask tentatively.
Surprise flickers across his face, and I realize he never considered this perspective.
“Me getting with child is a very real possibility, Sin. I would not want a child to only know darkness . . . isolation.”
He lets out a loud sigh.
“You are right. I should have thought better of it.” He pauses. “What do you want to do then?”
“I think there is only one way to do this,” I say carefully as I put on my dress. “We have to discredit the ones who would be against us.”
The corner of his mouth lifts up in amusement.
“Do go on, my smart darling,” he drawls.
“My father is already losing credibility because it seems he’s sold his morals for money. But that’s not enough as long as he has Mr. Snowden’s backing.”
“You want to reveal to the world that Snowden was involved in the rituals, too.”
I nod. “With everyone thinking him a hypocrite, the narrative will shift. There will no longer be a right or wrong, one side who is good and the other evil.”
“True,” he agrees. “It would have been far easier if you’d just accepted to be sequestered with me here,” he adds wistfully.
“Perhaps, but nothing easy is truly worth it, is it?”
He chuckles.
“So smart and wise.” He lets out a whistle. “All right, Petra. We will do it your way. I will ask my mentor to help us, too. He knows everything about Snowden.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. “There is just one other thing. That . . . creature. If Snowden knows we’re after him, he might try to send the creature after us.”
“Leave that to me, Petra. Nothing will touch you, I promise.” He comes closer to me just as I button the last bit of my dress. He shocks me when he drops to his knees and presses his lips against my stomach. “Not you, nor our future children. You have my vow for it.”
Sin uses his shadows to transport me back to Snowden’s house. The party is still alive, the music louder than ever. It seems there are even more people wandering the halls of the manor. One quick look at the clock on the mantel, and I realize I haven’t been gone that long.
I tentatively step inside the grand ballroom, hoping no one has noticed my absence—not with all the chaos surrounding Mr. Snowden’s departure.
As I enter, I spot my mother at the other end of the room. I make my way toward her, doing my best to seem inconspicuous. But as I reach her side, I realize I needn’t have worried. She’s leaning against a column, swaying slightly.
As I get closer, I catch the sharp scent of spirits on her breath. Her eyes are unfocused, and she looks about ready to topple over with the slightest push.
“Petra,” she slurs.
“Yes, Mother?”
“I was looking for you,” she continues.
“Really? Why?”
“Your father . . . he was looking for you.”
She’s not making much sense, but I suppose I can use this to my advantage.
“What do you mean? I’ve been here the entire time. Next to you.”
She frowns. “You have?”
“Yes.”
“I think you’re right,” she mutters. “Be a dear and get me another one of those glasses, will you?”
Perhaps I should have said no, that she’s had enough. But this is probably the first time she’s had spirits—or at least this much. I grab a glass from one of the servers and hand it to her.
At that moment, the crowd parts to reveal my father and brother.
“There,” my father says, glaring at me. He has a murderous expression on his face. “Where have you been?” he demands, voice low and menacing.
“What do you mean? I’ve been right here. Right, Mother?”
“Yes, yes,” she says, struggling to keep the slur out of her words. “She’s been with me.”
He frowns. “I was looking for you and did not see you,” he says, his words slow and measured.
“I must have been in the restroom. Did something happen?”
“Your behavior before . . . it is unacceptable. You will find Mr. Snowden, and you will apologize.”
Why would I apologize to Mr. Snowden when he wasn’t even there to hear my words? I think to myself—but I don’t voice it aloud. I won’t give my father more reason to be angry, not when we have a plan to put in motion.
“Of course, Father. As you say,” I reply dutifully.
He frowns, clearly surprised by how easily I agree, but lets the matter drop. With a loud huff, he turns on his heel and walks away.
I glance around and note that Mr. Snowden has returned to the party. He looks worse for wear, and there are new bruises on his neck, which he’s trying very hard to hide with the collar of his shirt. I press my lips into a thin line and shake my head.
Hypocrite. And my father wants me to marry that man? In his dreams. Oh, they’ll get a taste of their own medicine soon enough.
Through the crowd of faceless people, I spot someone else—Leah. She’s dashing out of the ballroom into the hallway, looking rather upset and slightly green in the face.
“I’m going to the lady’s room, Mother.”
“Yes, yes,” she murmurs, completely out of it.
I follow Leah and see her slip into the ladies’ room. I go in after her. The first sound I hear is retching. Then sobbing.
“Leah, are you all right?”
She doesn’t answer at first.
“It’s just me, Petra. There’s no one else in here.”
A few moments later, she comes out of the stall, wiping her mouth and heading to the sink to rinse her hands and face. She glances at me, worried.
“Are you all right? Is my brother mistreating you in any way?” I ask, truly concerned for her.
If we manage to unmask Snowden for the devil he is, Leah will face repercussions, too. But maybe, just maybe, we can turn this around. Maybe instead of suffering, she can be freed. She won’t be forced to marry my brother.
“Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You can’t do anything.”
“You’re wrong. I can help you.”
She shakes her head again. A lone tear slides down her cheek.
“You can’t,” she whispers. “It’s far too late.”
I frown. “What do you mean? You know . . . you don’t have to marry my brother.”
“That’s the thing. I have to—now more than ever,” she says, barely holding in a sob.
“Now more than ever?” I repeat, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she lets out a dry laugh, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m pregnant.”
I stare at her.
“You’re pregnant? Did my brother . . . did he do anything to you? Did he force himself?”
For all my brother’s faults, I can’t imagine him doing something so vile.
“No, no,” she says quickly. “It’s not that. No.”
“Or . . .” I trail off, realization dawning. “It’s not his child, is it?”
She swallows hard and gives me a slow nod.
“Who is it? Did someone hurt you?”
“No. On the contrary,” she whispers, placing her hand over her stomach. “The father of my child . . . I love him. I love him dearly, but we could never be together.”
“Why? Surely, there has to be a way. You could run away and—”
“No. He is my father’s sworn enemy.”
I pause. “Sworn enemy?” I repeat. “Who is the father of your baby, Leah?”
She bites her lip. “You won’t tell, right? You promise you won’t tell anyone?”
“I vow it,” I say.
She hesitates, still unsure. But at last, she utters two words—two words that shock me to my core.
“Sinclair Arnoult.”