Chapter 6 #2
Morgana knelt before her, and she lowered her head toward her neck, inhaling deeply.
The woman trembled, her eyes wide as she watched Morgana savor her fear like it was some sort of fine perfume.
“Shhh,” Morgana whispered, pulling back and reaching out to stroke her cheek.
She ran her fingers back down her throat and with a swift flick of her nail, she drew a thin line across her frail neck.
It was unnecessary, but again, Morgana always did superfluous things.
Blood welled and trickled down the woman's neck, her sweet scent filling the air.
Morgana stood laughing cruelly as she spun with a mocking flourish.
“She’s all yours,” she purred.
Without hesitation, I lunged, not daring to look at the woman’s trembling lips, her pleading eyes as I focused on the blood trickling down her throat.
I had enough faces haunting my sleep…I couldn’t afford to have hers as well.
The prisoner screamed, the sound piercing the air, tearing through my mind, and I tried to shut it out. My fangs sank into the softness of her neck, and warm blood spilled over my tongue. Magic hummed through my veins, and the woman thrashed, her nails clawing at my arms.
I grabbed onto her skull and twisted sharply.
Her screams cut off abruptly, and her body sagged in my arms.
I heard Morgana scoff irritably behind me, but I knew if I didn’t kill her, Morgana would have, and at least this way she wouldn’t suffer.
*
I pushed open the grand wooden doors of the dining hall, and the aroma of spiced meats and fresh bread drifted toward me. I sighed at the smell, my stomach growling at finally being able to eat a proper meal. My eyes scanned the room and I swore under my breath.
Duke Wellington and his wife, Patricia, were already seated at the long table.
Platters of various meats, fruits, and freshly baked bread were laid out before them.
Patricia was, as usual, sporting a ridiculous puffy-sleeved dress, this time in a ghastly, muted yellow that reminded me of overripe fruit.
The Duke, Geoffrey, had sat up straighter as I entered. His enormous frame practically spilling out of his chair, the buttons on his black uniform straining against his bulging belly. A thick, hairy mustache, that always made me think of a hairy slug, drooped over his meaty face.
Scowling, I continued my way toward the table, wishing I had just gone to the kitchen to eat instead.
Patricia watched me, her long pointed nose rising high in the air, scrunching as if she was catching an unpleasant scent. She eyed her husband but the duke at least had the sense to lower his gaze as I approached, staring back down at his overflowing plate. Coward.
Smiling to myself, I grabbed onto the carved wooden chair directly across from them and slid into the seat. I started to fill my plate as they continued to pretend I wasn’t making them uncomfortable.
“You’re awake.”
The duke's black eyes lifted, and his flippant remark left his lips along with bits of food he had been eating.
Disgusting.
I let my fangs snap out threateningly, and Patricia narrowed her beady eyes on me, the duke shifting uncomfortably again as he looked back down at his food.
“Yes, and I'm quite hungry.”
I pulled my mouth into a cruel smile and let my gaze drop to his neck. The vein there pulsed, and I could hear his heart beating faster as he watched me stare at his neck, his throat bobbing nervously.
If I hadn’t just fed, I might have lunged across the table just for the hell of it.
Still might.
“We were just leaving,” Patricia's shrill voice cut through the air. I turned my eyes to her, baring my teeth. Fates, I hated her. Hated them all.
My lips parted, and I was about to offer a sarcastic comeback when I heard the door creak open. The two across from me froze, and I leaned back, watching their faces drain of color. The scent of metal filled the air, and I smiled faintly as heavy boots echoed.
Atticus stopped just behind my chair, and a golden, calloused hand emerged, stroking my cheek in a slow caress. But his touch didn't send the usual thrill through me as it used to.
“You’re awake.”
My eyes couldn’t have rolled any harder. Was that all anyone could say to me?
As I turned, my eyes met a swirling silver, and I shivered at the possessive, feral gleam within them. I recognized that look all too well.
His midnight-black hair fell just below his chin, framing his sharp features. Stuble lined his jaw and it made him look more rugged than usual.
Unlike Wellington's, his tailored uniform fit perfectly, accentuating the corded muscles beneath.
Atticus pulled out the chair beside me and sat, reaching for mine and dragging it closer until I was angled toward him.
His fingers traced my cheek again, slow and deliberate, and he swept my hair back over my shoulder.
I held his gaze as he moved his hand down my neck and across my collarbone.
His lips curved upward, and he started to lean toward me when a loud cough sounded across the table, causing us both to snarl.
Patricia was staring, her expression a careful mask of disgust, and I became murderous when I saw the hidden lust in the duke's spearing gaze. I started to move, but Atticus grabbed onto my hand, stopping me.
“Leave,” Atticus commanded sharply, his molten eyes hardening with irritation.
“Now, Atticus, I am just as privileged to be here as—”
Geoffrey's last word caught in his throat as his eyes bulged, widening in panic. Pain lanced through his expression as I sensed Atticus using his magic, a sharp metallic scent rending the air.
I might have stepped in for anyone else. But not for him. Wellington may have looked meek and fat, but he was a cruel, disgusting man whom I'd take great pleasure in killing one day.
“I said leave,” Atticus barked, relinquishing his power.
The duke gasped, his meaty face red as he clutched his chest.
Patricia was shrieking, pulling frantically at her husband's arm. She managed to pull him free, and they both scrambled backwards, blood now leaking from the duke’s nose. I watched in delight as they ran for the doors and disappeared into the hall.
I grinned at Atticus, who was already staring at me, hunger flashing dangerously in his gaze again.
Atticus and I weren’t together—although he and everyone else had deluded themselves into thinking as much. Was he my lover? Yes. But only because a girl has needs, and well, he was the only male who didn’t cower when I came near him.
His looks didn’t hurt either, not that I would admit that to him.