by S. A. Parker
A Feather’s Worth
Spawn of Darkness
S. A. Parker
A Feather’s Worth (Spawn of Darkness Series)
Copyright © S. A. Parker, all rights reserved.
This series is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to characters and situations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Created with Vellum
Contents
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Spawn of Darkness Series
Review
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
First and foremost, Dell is a sex slave. Some of the situations that occur in A Feather’s Worth are brutal, but integral to her character development and the story arc. The circumstances she finds herself in are significantly darker than A Token’s Worth.
If you struggle with darker elements please put this book down now … you have been warned. Everyone else? Buckle up!
Blurb
Broken, defiled, thrown back into the shadows … Dell’s not afraid to put her body, or her life on the line to scrub the grime from her filthy conscience. Because she has secrets … they have been clawing at her since she was too young to comprehend their implications.
She’s not just battling the truths festering within her, she’s also fighting against her impending mortality. Her time is running out. All or nothing, this is it … this is where she pays her dues. But it’s a cost her Sun Gods aren’t willing to let her pay.
They will fight for her, break rules for her, do everything in their fading power to save her from the darkness she spawned from … risking everything for a woman they thought they knew.
Dell is lying to them.
Dell is lying to herself.
Her Sun Gods are about to unravel her ... they may not like what they find when they expose the woman within.
For Mum and Nana.
Thank you for showing me the true value of a woman’s worth.
Chapter One
I draw a deep breath. The movement tugs at my flayed skin and I exhale with a shuddering groan.
Fucking cat-o-nine.
The breath sends a swirl of dust mites into my nostrils and I have only a split second to brace myself before I sneeze nose jizz all over my rotten mattress. I heave in pain as a warm spill of blood drools down my back and pools on my already bloodied mattress.
“Shut your pie hole! Nobody said you could groan!”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Ballsack One is in full downer mode since his pal went for a nap. He doesn’t like hanging around on his own. He prefers the company of Ballsack Two as he whines and bitches about being stuck in my little cell, standing guard over my shredded body. It’s a bit excessive if you ask me—assigning me two guards when I can’t even lift my arm to flick this curl out of my mouth. It’s been stuck in there for hours, days … whatever. Coating my tongue. Tangling through my teeth. It’s really fucking annoying.
I heave another breath, repressing the urge to groan again as my skin tugs and pulls at odd and unnatural angles. I don’t have to look at it myself to know I’m in pieces.
Outside.
Inside.
It’s almost fitting that I’m here—back in my little room, the darkness.
My girls …
Fuck.
The door creaks open and Kroe strides in carrying a small jar and a bowl of something fragrant, a heavy frown fracturing his face. His features are embossed with shadows, his chest bare, black pants slung low on his hips revealing the tapered sculpt of his torso. He assesses me, brown eyes smouldering, canines glistening in the flickering lantern light. He lets out a low grumble that has Ballsack One standing like he has a rod up his arse.
“You haven’t touched her, have you?”
Ballsack One pales. “No, sir! Of course not!”
Kroe hisses at the fucker. “Her skin’s bleeding again. Explain that? And be quick about it, before I slice your knob clean off.”
Yikes. I know he’ll do it, so does Ballsack One by the way his hands drop to his crotch. I don’t blame him for shielding his party prodder.
“The slut has an allergy to the dust. Every time she sneezes, she bleeds everywhere. Sir.”
Kroe assesses him slowly, glacial gaze shifting back to me. “Not even a finger up her twat?”
Ballsack One shakes his head. “No, sir.”
Kroe nods, sniffing at the space around us, no doubt scenting the thick aroma of male sex juices staining the air right now, though it still doesn’t mask the scent of the seven years I spent in this cold, dark room. That shit’s potent. A stain on the space that will probably always be there.
Ballsack One and Two have been showering me with their cock cream ever since I was dumped in their care. The pasty, leering bastards stand over me, breathing heavily while I pretend to be asleep, trying not to gag every time I get bathed in another hot load of cum.
“Just don’t cum on her back while you’re fantasising over her arse.” Kroe prowls towards me, places the bowl and jar on the blood-stained ground and sits on the edge of my bed.
Ballsack One shakes his head enthusiastically, shoulders loosening. “No, sir. Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Fucking pussy. I can see him trembling from here, probably worried he’ll get castrated for spurting all over me. He has no idea Kroe gets off on that shit.
I know Kroe well. Sometimes, I feel like I know the bastard better than I know myself.
“Get the fuck out, and close the door behind you. Wait on the other side until I’m done.” The air of authority in Kroe’s voice is potent, and I let out a trembling breath. Because this … this is the man who took my virginity. This is the man who anchored me to the darkness, taught me to fuck. Taught me to love … in some messed up capacity.
Ballsack One scurries out of the room like a cockroach hell bent on dodging the boot. Kroe smirks and straightens his shoulders, probably reaffirming himself of the metaphorical size of his cock. It doesn’t take much with him. It’s like a drug, something he’s hooked on.
Something he thrives on.
Cool hands skim my flayed skin and I hiss through my teeth, chewing through the pain. He pulls the rogue curl from my mouth. If my vagina were still functioning, I’d have orgasmed on the spot.
“You’re not healing as quickly as you usually do, Cupcake. Have they been touching you without my permission? You can tell me …”
The sixteen-year-old me would probably be swooning over that question, trying to convince herself he cares for her on a deeper level. The twenty-three-year-old me knows better. I know he cares about me on a deeper level. But he cares in all the wrong ways. For all the wrong reasons.
Are the coffers suffering since I’ve been away, Kroe? I bet they fucking are.
Still, the comment has a lingering effect on my fucked up, frolicking heart, because here we are, back in my room that smells like all the shit he’s done to me over the years ...
There was a time when I knew little more than these four walls, the darkness, and the man seated beside me. Though I didn’t know it at the time, I realise it now, recognise it in the beast coiled within me … more than one monster was forged in this room.
I shake my head, no. They haven’t been touc
hing me. Doesn’t mean they don’t want to. Doesn’t mean I haven’t smelt their desire, thick and musky with the lingering scent of their urge to dominate me.
“Good … that’s good.” He prods me in a particularly tender spot and I tense, sucking air through my nose, causing me to sneeze so hard another warm spill of blood trickles down the sides of my back.
Kroe puffs out a huff as I breathe through the pain, trying to cling to my flailing composure. “You’re a mess.”
No shit.
He shifts his body, washing his scent over me as he sinks his hand into his pocket and tugs out a white handkerchief. I close my eyes, scrunching them shut, and very nearly fucking wail as he dabs my wounds before tossing the bloodied, sodden material onto the floor. Taking the lid off the jar, he dips his finger into the translucent substance.
“I’m going to smear some ointment on your back. I don’t want to risk you getting an infection after I went to so much trouble to get you back.”
That stings. Not the ointment, he hasn’t gotten there yet. I’m talking about the thought of my girls, up on that dais, backs being splayed open … dying.
My fault.
My fucking fault.
My beast coils within herself—poor, frightened little thing. I reach inside myself and stroke her. She doesn’t purr, even though I have fucking fantastic petting skills thank you very much, but I sense her loosening up a little.
Good. I have a feeling I’m going to need her before I leave this world to their shit.
Kroe dabs the cool substance across my back. It bites, but I revel in the pain. Because I deserve this.
I fucking deserve this.
Kroe whistles a tune, one I haven’t heard before, as those familiar fingers paint my skin with something that will only prolong the inevitable … because us girls? We’re destined for a life of pain. Suffering. Torment.
Then we die.
It’s predictable. Inevitable. Unchangeable.
“Now, Cupcake …” He dips his finger into the jar again, before continuing his painful administrations. I’m biting my tongue so hard it’s bleeding. “After I finish this, I’m going to feed you some broth. You’re going to slurp it back as eagerly as you gulp my cum, or else I’ll give one of the other girls a taste of that cat-o-nine.”
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I just don’t have the heart. Or the voice. Or the breath. And I am hungry … thirsty …
Kroe replaces the lid to the jar—his fingers smeared in bloody, translucent goo. He proceeds to wipe his fingers on his pants and assesses me, brow creasing. I know what’s coming. I want to plead for mercy, to beg for him to let me wither into a moisture-less husk.
He stands and tugs at my legs one at a time, persuading them off the edge of the bed. They land with heavy thumps, leaving me at an odd angle for a few heavy moments, my body seizing up from fear with the thought of moving another inch. Kroe wraps his fingers around my shoulders, his large hands almost swallowing them whole, and pulls.
A shrill yell escapes my parched lips as my composure finally corrodes. He sits me on the edge of the bed, wiping the sweat from my brow despite the cool chill to the room.
“That hurt, didn’t it?”
Wincing, I nod my response. Yes, it fucking hurt, you bastard.
“Calm down, Cupcake. Deep breaths …”
Inwardly cursing the fucker, I do as he says, because I know it’s the right thing to do. Unless I want to pass out and fall face first into his crotch.
“That’s it … deep breaths. You’re doing well.”
Breathe in my nose, out through my mouth. Repeat. Try not to focus on the warmth pooling around my arse. It’s not pee … well, I hope it’s not. I’m pretty sure it’s blood. I’m not sure how much more of it I can afford to lose. And to be honest, dying in this place would actually be the worst way to go. Much worse than being eaten by a giant, Fae-eating penis serpent. For me, anyway.
My gaze drops to Kroe’s shoes, highly polished and decorated with iron studs. They reek of whore money.
He reaches down for the bowl, back muscles rippling with the movement, then crouches next to the bed and drags the spoon through the creamy broth, before bringing it up to my mouth.
It smells good … I’ll admit. But honestly, at this point, I’d probably eat a fucking rock. I’m that bloody hungry.
“Open, Cupcake. You’ve caused enough damage as it is, don’t you think?” Kroe likes to twist the knife when he knows you’re vulnerable.
My mouth trembles, cracked lips crumbling as I slowly open my mouth, push my heavy tongue through my teeth, and wait. Always the patient little whore.
Kroe smirks, eyes glimmering as he skims the spoon along my tongue and pours the tepid liquid down my throat. I choke it back like the pro I am, then open my mouth for more, tongue hanging out like a pauper begging for a penis token.
He chuckles. I don’t have to be a genius to understand why he’s amused. I know exactly what he’s picturing as he drags off another load of the creamy broth and pours it down my throat.
I needed this. I don’t even care that it looks like cum. That it’s dribbling down my chin, splattering onto my breasts and making a filthy mess.
That I look like an animal right now. That I’m being treated like one.
Kroe drops the spoon in the bowl and readjusts the waistband of his pants. “That’s it …” His cock twitches, pressing against the firm material of his pants as he lifts the spoon and pours another load down my throat.
The bastard’s getting off on this, though I’m not surprised. It doesn’t stop me from poking out my tongue again. The more I drink, the more I realise how depleted my body is.
Smirking, he trickles another spoonful over my face. A small sound escapes me as I chase the residue with my tongue.
Kroe growls, from deep within his chest. “That’s what I like to see, Cupcake. You know how I like it.”
No, I’m just fucking parched.
He doesn’t plunge me with his penis, though he’s clearly fantasising about it as he spoons the rest of the broth down my throat, tight pants nursing his throbbing erection.
I’m appreciative—because it would probably kill me right now. Not to mention the fact that my vagina is in a super comatose state. To be honest, I’m scared to even try and wake the bitch. I know she’s mad at me. She doesn’t think logically when she’s mad, spitting her juices over things that the sensical part of my brain doesn’t find remotely fascinating.
Still though, I hope she isn’t dead down there. The thought of wading through a toiling river of inevitable fuckery with a dead vagina is worrying to say the least. I need the bitch if I’m going to survive this long enough to make amends. If. My chances are looking slim. Especially considering Kroe has me under twenty-four-hour surveillance.
I yearn to see my Sun Gods, even for a short time. I wish I could apologise to them for prolonging their access to a power-boost. Not that I deserve their godly attention right now. What a shitty rebel I turned out to be—there’s probably over twenty girls upstairs either missing limbs or nursing their own flayed skin because of me.
My fault.
Kroe sets the bowl on the ground, before easing me back onto the bed, face down, arse exposed.
He turns to leave, padding a few footsteps towards my door before turning back to face me. “I’m glad to have you back. Though next time you decide to run, perhaps you’ll think of the other girls’ wellbeing before you go. Not that I intend on letting you out of my sight, but if you find a way to leave again, I won’t be so lenient with my punishments.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as a wave of regret washes through me, twisting my naked heart.
My fault.
Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t leave here again—not without my girls.
I couldn’t.
He spins and exits. Ballsack One and Two stride back into my room, closing the door behind them and pressing themselves against the damp wall, covering several depi
ctions of my mother while they shamelessly ogle my arse, the scent of arousal thickening in the air about us.
Guess I can’t blame them, they’re in direct view of my arse and have nothing better to look at. I just wish I could cover up my star sandwich, otherwise I’m going to get tossed between two leering Ballsacks who think they can control their impulses. Who think they can resist.
They can’t. I can see it in their eyes, the potential to break. And it’s not going to be pretty for any of us, because Kroe doesn’t like to be … defied.
Oh … shit.
Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, I almost groan as I’m struck with an idea. The beginnings of a plan.
It’s not much yet, and it’s risky, but I know Kroe about as well as he knows my delicate inner workings. That’s his weakness, his one fucking weakness …
Me.
No matter how low I’ve stooped in the past, I’ve always survived. Because of Kroe.
He wouldn’t kill me—I’m certain of it. But if he thinks I’m a flight hazard again? Perhaps he’ll keep me close. Closer than normal.
I know what that means—more fuckery at the hands of Kroe. The thought makes me want to vomit up my milky spoof broth. But it’s not about me anymore, it’s about everyone I’ve let down, and there are too many of them to count.
It’s time to face my demons. My shadows. The darkness inside me.
It’s time to tame my beast.
Kroe needs to die … and I need to be the one to do it.
Chapter Two
It’s come. The inevitable.
I knew it would. That it would sneak up and seek to destroy me. I dreaded it. Feared it even.