Tested: The Dark Necessities—Dalton's Tale #3

by Felicity Brandon

  Tested

  The Dark Necessities—Dalton’s Tale

  Book Three

  Copyright © 2020 by Felicity Brandon

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: felicitybrandonauthor@gmail.com

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. The author does not condone, nor endorse any of the acts in this book.

  First edition April 2020

  Cover design by Eris Adderly.

  Edited by Personal Touch Editing.

  Download your FREE Felicity book here.

  https://felicitybrandonwrites.com/

  “Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested.”

  Queen Elizabeth I.

  Prologue

  Dalton Reilly

  Dalton watched her sashaying around the room in that dress, her long legs displayed, and her cute arse wiggling provocatively with each step. Delilah aroused him more than anyone he’d ever met. Her adorable red, long bob teased him with every flick, and her delicious smile goaded him each time their eyes met.

  “I want you.”

  He whispered those words, mouthing them to her as she pretended to be interested in what someone else was saying. She wasn’t. She was scarcely even listening, but she’d noticed Dalton alright. Delilah’s body language conveyed her intent—the way she sucked at her lower lip, and the heat blooming at her cheeks told him what he needed to know.

  She wanted him, too.

  “Delilah.”

  She turned, offering him another intense glance as a group of men wandered between them.

  “Delilah, I’m coming for you.”

  And he would. He would sail across the roughest ocean to reach her if only he could just take that first step. Yet, for some reason, Dalton couldn’t.

  It was like his body wasn’t heeding his brain’s command.

  His feet wouldn’t move, and although he consciously wanted to reach out in her direction, his hands wouldn’t shift either.

  He grunted in frustration, unsure what was happening.

  Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he get to her?

  A sea of people washed between them, and at some point, he lost sight of his firecracker. A surge of hurt swelled in his chest at the loss, then the low-lying dread returned, taking its place.

  Something was wrong. Dalton could sense it.

  Where was Delilah?

  Dalton called out her name, uncertain what was happening. She had been there, floating around in her dress like a flower, and just like all beautiful blooms, she’d attracted the attention of others—insects crowding her until she was out of reach.

  He fought for breath, frantically trying to ignore the panic knotting at his gut, and just as he began to make sense of it, everything changed.

  The room was different, the heady scents of wine and perfume replaced by something new. Dalton exhaled—he knew where this was. The smells of the dungeon filled his nostrils—his private room at Diablo and the intoxicating aroma of leather and lube.

  Time morphed in the way it does in dreams—when the changes go unnoticed, and the differences mean nothing—and all at once, there she was, naked save for the leather at her neck and the stunning stiletto heels on her feet.

  “Where do you want me, sir?” She flashed him a salacious smile, and even though Dalton still didn’t seem to be able to get up and join her, he returned it.

  In that one moment in time, in his mind—or wherever the hell they were—it didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was this. His beautiful firecracker was standing there in all her glory and the most astounding gift of all—her submission.

  “Sir?”

  “On your knees.”

  Dalton’s voice was gravelly, and her lips curled at the timbre, but she didn’t query it. She lowered to her knees with grace, raising her gaze to meet his eye once she was in position.

  “And now?”

  “And now, you wait.” Despite the fact he couldn’t reach for his cock, Dalton could feel his arousal burgeoning, and he was hard for her—harder than he’d been for a long time. “Wait for my command.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She bit her lip, as though suppressing the urge to smile, her gaze falling to the polished floor between them.

  “You look incredible.” He couldn’t help but compliment her. “You always look incredible.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And I can’t wait to have you again, little girl. To have you, bind you, and bury myself in you until you’re desperate—until you can’t take anymore.”

  Her lips twitched. “I want that, as well.”

  “But first, there’s something we must do.”

  She drew in a deep breath, her nipples beading into tight buds.

  “What, sir?”

  “You already know what.”

  Delilah’s gaze flitted toward the corner of the room, and even though he hadn’t seen the structure for himself, he knew she was right. That’s where it was.

  That’s where the cage was waiting.

  “The cage, sir.”

  His arousal amplified until its insistent throbbing was almost painful.

  “Yes, the cage. You still want it, don’t you?”

  Her face flamed with heat. “You know, I do.”

  “So, get going.” His smile widened. “Let’s see you crawl over there and climb inside for me. I want to be able to screw your pretty little mouth at one end, and your gorgeous pussy at the other.”

  The most sensational smile lit up her face, and though there was obvious trepidation, it was clear the overriding emotion for Delilah was excitement. Surrendering this way got her so hot and bothered, and ever since Dalton had suggested they try the cage, she had reveled in it, wanting to spend more and more time there, wanting to be confined for his pleasure—for their pleasure.

  Slowly, her palms pressed forward, and she edged toward the open cage. It was clearer to him now, the metal visible, although he was sure he hadn’t moved. Another quirk of the dream, he decided as she confronted the entrance. Glancing back over her shoulder, Delilah was the picture of his every hedonistic wet dream. Her fit, nubile body, ready to do his bidding, her knees splayed as her back arched, presenting him with her glorious sex. All she needed was a tail in her delectable backside to complete the picture.

  She was perfect.

  “In you go.”

  It took every ounce of his will power not to lose it as she crept inside, her nose nearly grazing the metal at the far end as her arse wiggled provocatively at the other. Dalton wanted to go to her, touch her, claim her, and yet still, he couldn’t.

  His body wasn’t cooperating, despite the intense craving which radiated from his groin and the desire that fogged his brain.

  “Delilah.”

  Once more, she twisted back to meet his gaze, her eyes twinkling with need.

  “Sir,” she purred. “Take me, please.”

  “I will.”

  Still, there was no moving. Dalton couldn’t even close the distance between them and shut the cage door.

  He couldn’t reach for her and caress her creamy skin.

  He could do nothing but sit and stare, aware of his desperate need, his growing arousal, and his complete impotency t
o act.

  “Dalton?”

  She sounded perturbed, her response caught between irritation, disbelief, and impatience. He heard the emotion laced there, entwined with the questions—why wasn’t he going to her? Why wasn’t Dalton there?

  “I’m coming, Delilah.” His answer was emphatic, yet still, his body proved unwilling to cede to his desire. “I’m coming for you.”

  “Please.” She reached for the bars at her face, her expression evident in his mind, despite the fact it was her fine arse on display. Dalton could sense her yearning and the frustration simmering within. And then, as though a cloud loomed over them, he sensed something else within her, another emotion, one he hadn’t felt in Delilah since Morley—fear.

  “Dalton.”

  Her breath hitched, and all of a sudden, the door to the cage slammed shut, the mechanism locking before his eyes, although he hadn’t expedited it.

  Dalton hadn’t moved a muscle.

  A dark shadow passed over the right side of the room, the darkness captured in his peripheral vision, though he was too scared to look at it.

  “Delilah, it’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t, and his racing heartbeat was a testament to that fact. Whatever this shadow was—whatever it represented—it was ominous, to say the least. A new menace for them to deal with, or maybe nothing new at all. The same old threat. The one which had hung over their relationship like a cancer from the very beginning. Somewhere, deep in his psyche, Dalton identified its origins. He knew the hazard and recognized the evil, but the name wouldn’t come to him any more than his feet would step forward and save the woman he loved.

  “Dalton, please!” She was crying now, anxious, frantic, sad. “Where are you?”

  “I’m right here!” he shouted, wanting Delilah to know he could see her, that he cared—even if she couldn’t meet his gaze, even if she couldn’t share his body heat—he was still there for her.

  She wasn’t forgotten.

  The shadow grew, its breadth increasing with every passing moment.

  “Oh, Dalton.” Delilah pulled in a painful breath. “Oh God, Dalton. I hope you’re all right. I hope you’re alive.”

  His brow furrowed with puzzlement. Of course, he was alive. This was just a dream—a product of his subconscious mind.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  It wasn’t real.

  “I miss you, sir.”

  Delilah.

  He intended to say her name out loud, but apparently, the paralysis had spread to his face, and it was impossible. There was no way for Dalton to smile, no way for him to speak. It was as though there was something at his mouth, no, in his throat, preventing the movement.

  Shit.

  His brain whirred with fresh panic at the realization. Perhaps this wasn’t a dream, after all. What if it was real? What if he really couldn’t move or speak? That meant no playing with Delilah, no touching at all. He couldn’t even answer her pleas.

  Still, those soft whimpers floated past his ears, taunting him with their heart-breaking power.

  “Dalton.” She was so quiet and yet so melancholy. “Dalton, where are you? I love you.”

  Chapter One

  Dalton

  The first real thing was the light—even before the voices was the light—but the light vanished as fast as it came. The voices remained in the background—the resonance of tones Dalton knew, a male voice. There was comfort in it, even though Dalton couldn’t say why.

  As the light began to grow, so did the clarity of the sound. Now, he heard the voices, insistent murmurs of those around him, and they called to him, goading him, just like Delilah’s, but as time passed, Dalton realized something important. They weren’t actually calling to him, or maybe some of them were, but not the ones who mattered—not the ones who meant something.

  Those were happening only in his head, just like they’d always done. Those were thoughts communicated by another person, even though they hadn’t been spoken aloud.

  Of course. Dalton pulled in a breath, although the deed was painful. Of course, he could hear other people’s thoughts. He had always been able to.

  How had he forgotten that?

  He tuned into the resonance of those thoughts, the hurt and angst falling over him like a wave, and that’s when it came to him—their genesis—Dalton did know what they were and who they came from. How had he not recognized the dulcet tones of his only brother, Connor?

  Fuck, Dalton, don’t you die on me. Connor’s instruction was resolute, even though Dalton could feel the tremor that accompanied it, Connor’s trepidation radiating around his head like a pinball. Don’t you fucking die on me. I need you. I’m sorry I never showed it before, but I need you!

  What was this? Connor Reilly admitting to needing someone?

  Dalton’s head moved in his direction. Connor was in pain, but Dalton couldn’t understand why. And why was Connor worried about Dalton dying, for God’s sake? Dalton wasn’t going to die! Dalton was absolutely fine. In fact, life had never been better. Dalton had his brother back, he was healthy, and now he had Delilah.

  Delilah.

  The image of his woman filled his mind, and for a second, he wanted to smile, but there was still something in his mouth, preventing the gesture. Dalton’s brow knitted with puzzlement.

  Why couldn’t he smile?

  “He moved.” That was definitely Connor’s voice, and not just in Dalton’s head this time, but his real voice. “Did you see that, kitten—he moved?”

  “I saw it, Master. What do you think that means?”

  Another voice, a woman, but not Delilah’s. Dalton would recognize his lover’s voice anywhere, and the woman speaking had not been her. He wracked his brain, trying to decide who it had been, but for some reason, no answer was forthcoming.

  Dalton. Connor’s voice burst into his head, pushing the question aside. Dalton. Can you hear me?

  Well, of course, he could hear Connor. There was no need to be so bloody insistent. Dalton tried to open his mouth and chastise his brother, but the words never came. His head was heavy, the act of speaking seemingly impossible. The first shoots of anxiety crept from the seed in his mind. The seed that had been planted by the many questions Dalton couldn’t answer. Now, with Connor’s tone still echoing around his head, Dalton began to wonder what was going on.

  What was wrong with him?

  Dalton! Connor practically shouted the name into Dalton’s head. Dalton, if you can hear me, then know this—you do not have my fucking permission to die!

  What the hell?

  This was classic Connor.

  So caught up in the bubble of his own self-absorption that he thought he could order everyone around, including his older brother. And what was all this crap about death, anyway? For the last time, Dalton Reilly was not going to die!

  “Screw you, Connor!” Dalton concentrated hard on sending those words from his lips, but instead of discernible language, all that came from his mouth was a low, throaty groan.

  It was a desperate rattle of despair—and it had come from him. The shots of concern began to bloom, rising from the pit of his stomach to his chest, alongside the growing pain that seemed to register every time he pulled in a deep breath.

  From somewhere beyond his field of control, something warm touched his left hand. Dalton’s attention was immediately on the gesture, his focus straining to clarify the latest development.

  Dalton. I’m here. The heat enveloped Dalton’s flesh, squeezing his hand in an almost tender way. I’m right here, brother. Until you walk out of this hospital, I’m not going anywhere.

  Wait. Was that Connor? Touching him? Squeezing his hand, whispering soft words to him?

  It certainly didn’t sound like the Connor Reilly he’d come to know.

  “Connor.”

  Dalton pushed the word out, ignoring the panic that gripped at his chest when the sound that reached his ears was nothing like his brother’s name.

  Oh, Christ. Dalton couldn�
�t talk properly! There was definitely an obstruction—something stopping him from getting the words out, and that thought terrified him.

  “I’ll get the doctors.” The female voice was distant now, but the final word reverberated around Dalton’s head.

  Doctors.

  She was going to get the doctors.

  Crap. Something truly awful must have happened if he couldn’t open his eyes and couldn’t speak properly, something that required not one but multiple doctors.

  Dalton exhaled, once again trying to suppress the rising panic. Losing control wouldn’t help him. Losing control had never helped anything.

  What Dalton needed was something to cling onto, someone to rouse him—someone to get up and fight for. His lips twitched when the answer to his riddle presented herself again.

  Delilah.

  It had always been Delilah, and it would always be about her.

  Where was Delilah?

  If Delilah was here, things would be different.

  If Delilah was here, everything would be okay.

  Dalton’s mind flitted back to his final memories of her, and the recollections stirred him. They had been walking. Walking in the park and it got dark while they talked. Dalton had intended to buy Delilah supper and take her back to The Syndicate, but he remembered now, for some reason, they had never made it.

  Why hadn’t they made it back home?

  Dalton. Connor’s voice almost extinguished the memory entirely, but Dalton fought to hang onto it. This recollection was important somehow. Dalton could sense its significance.

  Dalton, hang on. I know you’re trying to speak. I know you want to say something. The doctors are on their way.

  Dalton tried to turn his head from the sound of Connor’s thoughts. He wanted to concentrate. He wanted every ounce of his attention on Delilah. Where was Delilah, and what had happened to her in the park? Something had intervened to ensure they never made it back to The Syndicate.

  Not something. It was another voice that proffered the explanation, the small taunting one Dalton hadn’t heard from for years. Not something, Dalton.