The ceremony began and finished within a blink of an eye. Standard issue vows with all talk of love being removed. He had said he would never ask her for her heart, was this his way of solidifying that promise? Not making her vow it in front of God and her parents?
“You may kiss your bride,” the priest said, far too much satisfaction on his wrinkly old face.
Megara tilted her head back to look up at her husband—that word twisted her stomach. He captured her chin between two fingers and brought his lips down on hers. She expected a quick brush of his mouth, a simple show for those in the room, but he took complete possession.
His hand loosened its grip and slid along her jaw until he cupped her cheek, deepening the kiss even more by prodding her lip with his tongue until she gave him entry. With a single sweep of his tongue, her insides softened…melted, really. The touch was so gentle, so powerful, she could do little else but accept him.
When he broke the kiss, pulling back but keeping his dark gaze on her, she blinked, unsure of the swirling emotions kicking up inside her.
Where was the revulsion? The anger she felt the night before at his touch? How could the same man who’d taken her with such force, such barbaric action, bring about such warmth now?
“Congratulations, son.” Jackson Olympus’s booming voice pulled Megara from the haze of confusion. “Megara.” He opened his arms to her with a wide grin planted on his lips.
She stepped into his embrace.
“Welcome to the family,” he said, hugging her tightly. “I’m sure you’ll be a good wife for my son.”
“Yes. I’m sure she’ll be a dutiful wife,” Hera added, stepping out from behind her husband, a plastic smile on her lips.
“Thank you, Father…Hera,” Henrik stated, wrapping his arm around Megara’s waist and hauling her up to his side.
“Christian! The deed’s done.” Jackson turned away from them and clapped Megara’s father on the back with his joyful boast. “We’ll have a grandson by the end of the year, I’m sure of it.”
Megara’s gaze flew to Henrik, who tightened his hold on her. Did he think she’d go running back down the aisle?
“That soon?” Maria tried to laugh off the prediction, but Hera stepped closer to her with a fierce glare.
“Of course. Producing an heir is her first priority.” She glanced quickly at Henrik, then shifted her stony eyes to Megara. “If she would like her husband to be a legitimate heir to Jackson.”
Henrik’s grip grew harder.
“Henrik, too tight,” she tried to whisper, but he didn’t relent. She attempted to nonchalantly pry his fingers away from her waist, but he squeezed her.
“No.”
“You’re hurting me,” she tried again to remain quiet while their parents exchanged more predictions for the short future.
His brows pulled together when he looked down at her. Realization crossed his features, and he relaxed his hand. She breathed a bit easier. No doubt she’d have a bruise in the morning.
“I have a meeting in half an hour.” Henrik pulled away from her and glanced at his watch. “Oliver will escort you back to the house.”
“You’re leaving?” Megara didn’t mean to sound so scared. Surely, she should be more frightened of him staying.
His full lips pulled into a wide grin. “Don’t worry, wife,” he annunciated the label too harshly for her liking. “I’ll see you later this evening.”
Her cheeks heated at the implication.
He leaned down, brushing his lips across her cheek. “It doesn’t have to be how it was last night. Be a good girl for me so I can show you how good a fucking can really be.”
The crass statement should have sent her into a rage, but nothing worked right where Henrik was concerned. Her toes curled inside her shoes, and her cheeks went all out blazing.
He chuckled at her obvious discomfort.
“Be good.” He tweaked her nose as though she where a small child being left with a caretaker.
Henrik turned to Oliver. “Straight to the house. If she wants to explore the house, make sure someone’s with her. I don’t need her getting lost before I can give her a proper tour.”
“How long are you going to be in town? We should host a dinner in your honor, and to celebrate the marriage,” her father interrupted before Megara could explain to Henrik she was more than capable of roaming a house without getting lost.
“Oh, just until tomorrow I’m afraid. We were going to extend the visit, but now that he’s good and married, I think it’s best to let the newlyweds get to know each other.”
“Mother…” Megara tried to get her mother’s attention, but she turned away, linking her arm with her father’s. Couple followed by couple, all four of them walked down the aisle of the church, leaving her at the altar staring after them.
Her cousins!
She searched the church, but they were already gone. They couldn’t stay to at least speak to her?
“Come on, Megara. The car’s outside.” Oliver gestured for her to follow. Henrik’s gaze settled on her, watching for her reaction. Would she give him trouble, or would she be obedient and do what she was instructed to do?
Megara rolled her shoulders, stiffened her back, and stepped away from Henrik, not giving him the satisfaction of looking back at him. She followed Oliver to the car and climbed inside.
The rain had stopped.
But the sun still hid behind the clouds.
She couldn’t blame it. She’d hide too, if it were an option open to her.
11
“Leaving already?” Henrik slid his hands into his pockets as the suitcases were carried out to the car for his father.
“I’ll be back in a few weeks,” Jackson said, checking behind him before continuing. “Your mother has her sights on a grandchild as soon as possible, Henrik.”
A grandchild. He’d barely met his wife and now he was supposed to breed her for the purposes of making Hera happy. The list of her tasks never seemed to cease.
“An heir to a great empire needs an heir of his own,” Jackson said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Sounds like something Hera would say,” Henrik stated, keeping his voice flat.
“She probably did.” Jackson shrugged. “It’s no less true.”
“I’ll do my best.” Henrik grinned. Spending the next few weeks fucking Megara until his son slept in her womb wasn’t exactly the worst task his stepmother had given him.
“I’m sure you will.” Jackson’s smile grew. “She’s a pretty thing, your wife.”
Henrik recognized the tone, knew exactly what thoughts were rolling around the old man’s head. No doubt Hera foresaw them as well, which led to the shortened trip.
“I spoke to the Fontenellis this afternoon. They haven’t seen any movement from Haden on the southern border, but they’ll keep me informed,” Henrik changed the subject away from his wife.
“Good. And you trust them?”
“I do.” Henrik tilted his head slightly. “Why the sudden concern with Haden? He’s been quietly running his own crews down there for decades. Why would he mess things up by going against you directly?”
Jackson’s eyes darkened as they usually did when he talked about his brother. “Haden has always wanted what is mine. Since we were boys. When our father gave me the majority ownership and northern territories, he saw it as a slight.”
“Well, the southern territories are half the size of what you control up here.” Henrik folded his arms over his chest. The two territories had been run by his grandfather with an iron fist. Government would rule the people, but the Olympus family ruled the black markets. Anything worth having was sold beneath the radar of the governing factions, and the Olympus’s would profit.
“My father was smart to give Haden something, otherwise he would have tried to go against me right from the start, but he knew better than to give him more than he could control.” Jackson wiped his hand over his beard. “He’s always been greedy, wanting what isn�
�t his. He’ll make a play for the markets up here, mark my words. And when he does, I expect you to gather all the families and lead them in my defense.”
War.
He was talking all-out war against his own brother.
“And what about Castor?” Henrik asked.
“Your brother has chosen Haden over us for years. I doubt this will be different,” Jackson said, a layer of disgust draped over his words.
“I’ll speak to him,” Henrik offered.
“Why bother? Your brother is as far removed from our family as he could get. If I were you, Henrik, I would focus on what you can do to legitimize yourself.” Hera appeared from out of the shadows. “Keep this territory loyal to your father and give me a grandchild.” She slid her hand into her glove, working each bony finger into the silk garment.
“And if the territory falls? Will my son remain your grandchild?” he pressed her.
Her dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Of course. Just like you will always be Jackson’s son, legitimate or not.” She feigned a warm smile and turned her gaze to her husband. “I’ll be in the car.”
Jackson inclined his head as she left.
“Speak to your brother. Maybe you can get some sense into that rock head of his.” Jackson sighed. Castor had given up his chase of legitimacy years ago, opting to take his own road. Nothing bothered Jackson more than to see his son working side by side with his brother.
“I’ll get him up here,” Henrik promised.
“Hera wants a vacation.” Jackson buttoned his coat. “We’ll be traveling for the next few weeks. But I want updates if anything happens.”
Jackson had plenty of spies and lookouts all throughout the north. He knew every move made in his territory well before Henrik. Why act as though Henrik had knowledge before him?
“Of course.” Henrik nodded, unsure of what his father was playing at.
Jackson clapped Henrik on the shoulder. “Have fun with your wife.” He winked. “And try not to snap this one’s neck, okay?”
Henrik kept his remark to himself and walked his father to the door. The back door of the town car was open, and Hera waited impatiently inside.
“Have a good trip,” Henrik finally said as Jackson made his way down the front steps toward the car. With a final wave, he disappeared into the car and shut the door.
The sun had set hours ago, and the moon glowed brightly against the black backdrop of the sky. Henrik took on the steps until the last traces of the car’s lights faded from view. Only then did he turn on his heel and head up to his room.
Megara had spent the entire day cooped up inside her suite. She had made no attempt to wander the estate or even come down for food, and the tray of dinner had been waved away.
She’d been given a reprieve all day, to accept her fate as his wife, and she’d spent it sulking instead.
Well, the pouting ended now.
He had a job to do. He had married her, and now he would breed her.
12
Megara stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bathroom staring at the white nightgown she wore. Her mother had brought several suitcases of her clothing that morning when she’d come to get her ready for the wedding. This nightgown hadn’t been hers. It was new. Her mother had bought it for her when the engagement took place.
Engagement. Such an overstatement of what actually happened. Traded worked better. Megara had been traded for peace. Her marriage to Henrik ensured her father would continue to keep the power he had, plus give him the advantage of being linked to the Olympus family. All because her damn cousin had to get herself killed.
The nightgown was pretty enough. Made of silk and lace, it fit nicely, hugging her hips and her chest, showcasing all the attributes her mother thought would arouse Henrik.
Megara closed her eyes and took several breaths. She couldn’t wear this. It had her mother’s tainted intentions all over it. No doubt Henrik would come to her bedroom—it was their wedding night, after all—but she would not advertise herself in this way. Their marriage was a business arrangement. Nothing more.
She would have to endure his touch now that they were married, but she would not go out of her way to seek it. The asshole could come begging every night if he wished, but she would not search him out.
Grabbing a hair tie from her toiletry bag, she pulled her hair up into a messy bun and reached behind her neck to unbutton the lace choker. Her hands were still working the small pearl button when she walked back into her room to find something else to put on.
“Megara.” His deep voice came from a dark corner of the room.
She stilled. A chill ran down her back. She’d only left the lamp on beside the bed. The light poured out from the bathroom, but still she could not make him out entirely.
Dropping her hands from the choker, she turned toward his voice. He sat in the far corner, closer to the bed than made her comfortable. One leg casually tossed over the opposite knee,
his hands rested on the arms of the chair. His black button-down shirt and dark pants contrasted the deep red fabric of the chair, but with the low lighting and his dark hair and beard, he hid in the shadow well.
“I didn’t hear you,” she said, wiggling her fingers at her side. Would he pounce as he had the night before? Would she be able to endure it again?
“I like this nightgown.” He gestured toward her with a sweep of his hand. “You were taking it off, though?”
She flattened her hands on her stomach. “I…my mother gave it to me. I was only trying it on.”
He tilted his head to the side, sizing her up with a long stare. “Megara, never lie to me. I think I already told you that, but I’ll repeat myself just this once. Neither of us had any say in this, but we do have every say in how we go on from here.”
She’d expected a hostile tone, but he spoke casually, softly. Maybe she looked as frightened on the outside as she felt on the inside. Though, she doubted her fear would stop him. If anything, he had seemed to feed off it the previous night.
“And how do you see us moving forward?” She dropped her hands to her sides and rolled her shoulders back. It wasn’t fair, her being at the disadvantage of standing before him with such intimate clothing clinging to her body while he sat comfortably in his shirt and slacks, but she’d grown used to the disproportionate power deals.
“Why were you taking off the nightgown? Were you getting into bed to wait for me?” His chin dropped, the light from the table lamp shining in his dark eyes.
“I was going to change into something else,” she answered honestly.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Hmmm…I think it suits you, silk and lace. It’s gentle, like you.” He stood from the chair.
Stalking her like the prey she’d been treated as, he rounded her, taking his sweet appraisal of her body. A heated flush covered her skin, but she refused to shy away from him. He may have tried to break her the night before, but it wouldn’t be so easy. She may have to accept her lot in life as his wife, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t stand up for herself at every turn.
“I’m not as gentle as you may think.”
His fingers worked the pearl button of the choker from behind her.
“You did fight hard last night, I’ll give you that,” he whispered into her ear. “Did you try to fight off your other suitors?” His fingers trailed along her bare shoulders and down her arms. “Or did you lay still and let them fuck you like a dutiful woman?”
She raised her chin. “There were no other men,” she stated the fact. Though she wished there had been. If she could have known one night of true passion, of mutual respect and love with a man, perhaps she could endure this life sentence more easily.
His hands stilled, cupping her arms.
“You were untouched?” he asked, not hiding his surprise is his deep tone.
She rolled her eyes. “You mean, was I a virgin?” She turned in his grasp and leveled her gaze with his. “Yes, I was a virgin before you…” she let the
words trail off. Provoking him could very well result in the same ending for the night.
“Before I what?” He wouldn’t let her off that easy.
“Had your way.” She took a small step back, making his hand fall away from her arm.
The right side of his mouth twisted up into a grin. “Had my way?” He chuckled. “Megara, I’ll always have my way, but what I did last night was take what was mine. And I’ll do that whenever I want as well.” He closed in on her again, catching her elbow as she turned from him.
Yanking her toward him, she collided into his chest. He wove his hand into the bun she’d twisted and pulled out the hair tie. She winced at the sharp pain to her scalp when several strands of hair remained twisted.
“It doesn’t have to be bad between us.” He combed his fingers through her hair, spreading out the long tresses down her shoulders. “It can be good.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Very good.”
A shiver ran through her when his teeth bit into her earlobe. He gripped the high neck of the nightgown, the choker already unhooked, and ripped it down. Fabric tore, and with a second pull, he had the entire garment free of her body.
“Your mother’s touch was on that,” he said with disdain, tossing the torn material across the room with a small flick of his wrist.
Megara pulled her arms up, crossing them over her naked chest.
He shook his head and grabbed her wrists, bringing them down to her sides. “No. Don’t do that.”
She swallowed, glancing at the door.
“Do you want to run away?” he asked playfully. “We can play a game. You run, and I’ll catch you. But…” he held up a finger, “when I catch you, you’ll have to endure a punishment before we can continue the game.”
She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “You’ve mentioned punishing me before. Is that how you want this to go on? Our marriage full of fear of punishments if I don’t follow your rule?”
He traced her jaw with the tips of his fingers. “I’d rather you not fear me. There’s no reason to. You’re my wife now. You’ll have every protection against harm. I will never do anything to hurt you.”
Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection Page 7