Damen stepped around her, blocking her view of the fire. He stood, jacket and tie gone, his white shirt half open. He watched her intently for long minutes without further words. Naked be-dammed, Charlotte refused to shift under his gaze.
“I see it—you’re still hoping against hope he didn’t believe you, aren’t you? You show it too easily, Charlotte. For all that you have managed to hide from me, this is plain on your face.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out the phone. “Since you seem to doubt, there is something you need to see.”
Betrayal whipped across her face, as her hands flew into fists. “You promised you would set him free. Do him no harm.”
“Easy, kitten,” Damen said calmly. “He is free. Apparently, in more ways than one.”
“What?” Charlotte asked, confusion clear. “What are you talking about? What did you do to Triaten?”
Damen tapped and slid his finger across the smooth glass of the phone. With a half-smile, he held up the screen to Charlotte. “I’m sorry I have to show this to you. But I can tell you still won’t be willing, truly willing, if you have hope of him coming back for you. Of him waiting for you.”
Dread building, Charlotte’s eyes flickered from Damen’s face onto the phone. On the small screen, Charlotte could see two bodies entwined in a passionate kiss. She looked back at Damen. “What—who?”
Damen said nothing, and her eyes went back to the screen when the tall male shifted his head on the screen. She could see, without a doubt, it was Triaten.
“I believe her name is Shiv.”
“Shiv?” The word came out a weak echo.
Charlotte snatched the phone from Damen’s hand, bringing it closer to her face, mind railing against what she saw. She kicked the empty carafe away from her feet as she turned from Damen, instantly regretting drinking the whole thing—damn her foggy mind. Was she really seeing what she was seeing? Her eyes locked onto the screen, trying to make sense of what was in front of her.
“No—this isn’t right now.” Her head shook vehemently. “This is from a long time ago.”
“Look at his clothes, Charlotte. Look at the wounds on his arms, on his neck. Look at his wrists. Those rings around his skin are from the shackles. It is right now.”
She dropped the phone. Damen caught it before it went past her waist.
“What? No, no, no.” Her mind still argued against what she saw. “This is a set-up. You did something—”
“No, Charlotte.” Damen grabbed her neck and pushed the phone in front of her face. She tried to jerk away, but he held her head solidly at the screen, harsh in making her face the reality in front of her. “Look at it. It only took him hours to move on from you. He’s holding her. Kissing her. Forgetting you. He was dropped off and he didn’t look back. Hasn’t reconsidered you. He believed you. All you told him. You did very well in that regard.”
Damen loosened the hold on her neck, and dropped the phone to his side. “So no, Charlotte, he’s not coming back for you. Your hope is misplaced. He is done with you.”
Charlotte’s mind went blank. She knew she was still standing, could still smell the fire, still see Damen in front of her, still hear his words. But it all meant nothing in her mind. She had lost all power to think. Breathing was the only thing she could accomplish right now. And she was even doing that poorly.
Damen’s hands went onto her bare upper arms. “Charlotte, I know seeing that must be a shock. It is never easy to be another’s refuse. But I cannot have you clinging to hope while we mate. It is not conducive. You need to be willing. Willing and participating in how my body can make yours feel.”
Charlotte could still not move, not think, but automatic words, wooden, fell from her lips. “I’m done. Do whatever you want.”
“You may not want to feel anything at the moment, Charlotte, but I will make sure you get there. You will feel this, I guarantee.” Damen smiled, and stepped in on her, his wide chest spreading across her naked breasts as he slid his right fingers up her arm to caress her neck. His left hand slipped down along her waist, reaching back over the curve of her behind.
He started at her neck, taking in the skin with his lips, softly and gently, teasing the nerves, hitting pressure points. He moved along her jawline, trailing lavishly to her mouth. Taking the pink of her lip in his teeth, he played with it, and then moved his tongue along, nudging her lips apart to sample the taste of her. He went on for fifteen minutes, manipulating her body, his lips on her skin, his fingers in all her nooks, plying her nerves expertly.
And then he abruptly pulled back from her, a look of disgust on his face.
“Fuck it. You’re not going to move, are you?”
Numb, Charlotte watched him stalk out the door. All she could do was nothing. Stand there, naked, not moving.
Charlotte stood, still rooted to the spot, mind not working, when the old hag walked in the door. She scurried to Charlotte, peering up at her from under the bird’s nest of grey hair that hung down and off her brow. One craggily finger protruded from the tan sack she wore. She poked Charlotte in the chest.
Charlotte barely looked down at her. Without giving the hag another moment, flat words tumbled from Charlotte’s mouth. “You’re here to judge my fitness for this? Don’t even bother with the electrocution. Or do it. I don’t give a shit.” Her voice remained slow, emotionless, even through the vehemence of the words. “Here it is—my whole fucking mind. Take a peak. Take a good hard look. There is nothing to hide in here.”
Charlotte stared down at the hag, not afraid, not caring what happened next.
The hag’s weathered eyes narrowed down to slits focused at Charlotte’s forehead. Slowly, her lips drew into a pursed circle, and then she grunted, turned and shuffled out the door.
~~~
“You idiot. You broke her. You broke her too bad.”
The hag’s scold blared through the quiet in the library where Damen stood, looking out a wall-high window into the night sky. He didn’t turn around to her, instead he sipped from the lowball glass he held.
“This is why my way is better. It used to work just fine. Mate by whatever means necessary, and be done.”
“Your way is not better.” Damen spoke calmly at the window. “Your way is rarely successful.”
“Bleh,” she spit out disapproval, “your opinion. Regardless, idiot, there’s nothing in there on this one. She doesn’t want to live. Doesn’t care enough to kill herself. Nothing.”
Damen turned back from the darkened window and set his glass down on a desk. Palms on the wood, he leaned forward and focused on the hag. “Without your opinions of my methods, is it worth keeping her around?”
“Possible. Too soon to tell. Your method thrives on feeling. And you will not get any of that from this one.”
Damen nodded slowly, contemplating. “There may be one way I think I can still make her feel. She’s prime for seed, and I don’t want to miss this chance.”
~~~
After the hag left her room, Charlotte vaguely considered moving to the bed. But the haze in her mind would not allow her feet to move from the spot where they were when she saw the video. Triaten kissing another woman. Throwing her away. Everything—every pore, every brain cell, every nerve—was dead. Her heart continued to beat, but it was numb in its obligation.
She still faced the fire, which had started to die down. The cold in the room made no break into her senses. She did hear when the door opened again, but barefoot, Damen made no noise as he walked across the wood planks.
He stopped in front of her. Pants, but no shirt this time. His hand went under her chin, tilting her head so she would look up at him.
Charlotte met his eyes. There was no reason not to.
“Charlotte, I realize tonight has been harsh on you. Now, I would normally not allow it in mating, but given the circumstances, I will allow it. You may pretend. Pretend it is not me in front of you. Pretend it is Triaten.”
Charlotte blinked hard at him, trying to registe
r his words into her mind.
Damen leaned in, his voice soft in her ear, as he walked around her body, stopping behind her, his chest grazing her shoulder blades. “Triaten will never take you again. So what you create in your own mind is the only way you’ll ever feel his touch again.”
Damen’s knuckles slid down the front of her body, between her breasts, down her belly.
“Feel his breath, his mouth on your neck.”
His lips, hot, brushed along her neck, his breath moist under her hair.
“All you have to do is close your eyes, Charlotte.”
Damen’s hand went in front of her eyelids, closing them gently. Charlotte didn’t fight the blackness.
“Pretend.” His words were back in her ear. “Pretend I am him. What does he do to your body, Char? Is that what he calls you? Does he touch you here?”
Damen’s palm went to her left breast, rolling the flesh, teasing the nipple into hardness.
“And here?”
His fingers slipped down the outer edge of her thigh. Reaching her knee, he moved them inward, trailing up her inner thigh.
“Lean back on me, Char.”
The hand between her breasts pulled her into him, the heat of his chest warming the cold skin of her back. His fingers on her thigh moved up, searching into her folds, gently circling.
“Let it go. Let him into your mind. Into your body.”
His lips continued to caress her neck, while his hands moved along her body, turning to life the pores that were stuck in numbness.
Eyes closed, mind closed to everything except for the pleasures running along her body, Charlotte leaned into his heat. “Oh, god, Tri.” The whisper was guttural, begging. She arched against him, holding her body open for taking.
Damen smiled. He had her.
Turning her body to face his, he kept his lips moving along her collarbone. His hand at the small of her back supported her arch as he moved them to the bed.
Head touching the sheets, lost in the fury of bodily pleasure, Charlotte blacked out.
{ Chapter 16 }
In the misty plane between sleep and awake, Charlotte’s hand slipped under her pillow, like it did every morning of her life. The absence of a cold dagger shot her mind into consciousness. And she woke, clear-headed, with one thought on her mind.
But first she had to check. Body still, she rolled her head slightly on the pillow. The bed was empty. Excellent.
Now, how to get a sword. A dagger. Any Malefic blade that she could plunge into her own heart.
It was the only way. She couldn’t let Damen’s seed take. She couldn’t allow it. Not a Panthenite-Malefic baby. All her harsh judgment of the elders was gone. She was a Panthenite to the core, and she couldn’t be responsible for bringing another half-breed into the world. It was so clear after what had happened to Skye. Charlotte still couldn’t believe the savage that her dear friend had become. Still couldn’t place the Skye that she knew and loved, with the monster that had attacked her.
So she had to kill herself before she knew she was with child. If she waited, she would never be able to take her own life, not if it meant an unborn child, half-breed or not, went with her.
If she birthed a baby like that, Charlotte knew she would do nothing but protect it till her last breath—but at what cost to others? If Skye was any indication, it would need to hurt, need to kill to survive.
Charlotte couldn’t let that happen.
So it was time to do what she should have done the first day she was in this place. Remove herself from the equation. She had only resisted because of Triaten. Because she couldn’t do that to him. But now that he was gone, hope was gone, and this would be for the best.
There was a soft knock on the door, and Charlotte mumbled out a, “Come in.”
Clarice silently shuffled into the room, head down. She balanced a tray with muffins and orange juice, and set it down on the bench at the end of the bed.
Charlotte raised her head from the pillow. “Is Damen going to be requiring my presence any time soon?”
The girl didn’t look up at her, just shook her head.
“No?”
Clarice shook her head again, and brought over the folded note that was on the tray. Per usual, there was a note outlining the day. Most of the days, the notes just said, “6 p.m. Dinner. Crimson gown.” Occasionally, there was a request for an emerald or sapphire gown. The writing was in thick, bold strokes. Written harshly—demands not to be questioned. Charlotte never wore what Damen requested—as long as she had choice in the wardrobe hanging in her room, she wouldn’t fulfill his demands.
Charlotte sat up and took the folded paper. Today, the note just said, “Rest.” That was it.
Shit. Charlotte’s hand dropped into her lap. The note fell from her shaking fingers, landing open, the one word glaring up at her. She knew exactly what that meant. Rest because I just put a baby in you.
Past Damen coming into her room, past her turning to him and kissing him, she didn’t remember anything. But it was clear Damen thought there was success in mating last night.
Charlotte heaved a calming breath, then looked at Clarice. “Thank you. Can you please leave me?”
With a short nod, Clarice left the room. Charlotte jumped out of the bed and went to the window. She looked down at the labyrinth, and then just past it. She could see guards dotting the line of the estate, even though right after the labyrinth, the sharp mountainside jutted up, with no escape that direction.
In all her nosing about the castle, Charlotte had found no weapon of any kind. But there, hanging at the waist of each of the guards, swords. If she could just get her hands on one of the guards, she would have what she needed.
Charlotte went to the armoire and rummaged as quickly as she could through the clothes. She chose the thinnest dress, the one that would afford her the most maneuverability, and threw it on, clasping the red cloak around her neck. She tore a ribbon off one of the other dresses and whipped her hair into a braid, tying it off at the end. Tall leather boots on, she made it down through the castle and out the door that led to the maze.
Along the way, she watched the row of guards at the edge of the property. She noted they were positioned about fifty feet apart. She could only assume they lined the property on the outer hedge of the maze as well. The guards didn’t move, as far as she’d seen, so they would discover pretty quickly if one of them disappeared.
Charlotte crunched through the snow along the front hedge of the maze, then disappeared into the entrance. She walked along the first row, kicking at the snow with her toes, until she hit hard stone. Bending over, she brushed the snow aside to find bricks lining the path. Perfect.
She kicked the edges of the brick, loosening it from the frozen ground. Three bricks in hand, she quickly made her way through the maze, back to the part that was closest to the cliff-side of the mountain.
She stopped when she reached the middle of the length of the maze, with only one tall hedge of evergreens separating her from the line of guards and mountainside. She set the bricks down and separated the thick greenery to peek out. A guard stood about ten feet to her left, his back to Charlotte.
Charlotte bent over, forcing her fingers to work nimbly in the cold, untying and removing the leather lace on her right boot. She unclasped her red cloak, dropping it into the snow. Shoe lace in hand, she grabbed the three bricks, balancing two in one arm and holding the third in her hand.
She stepped back from the evergreen, and with a shuffle, threw the brick as hard as possible out to the right edge of the mountain. It hit high on the rocky face of the mountainside and clattered down in obnoxious fashion. She quickly threw the second brick even harder out at the left edge of the mountain. It performed a similar clatter.
Guards yelled, and she could hear them quickly move off in both directions to the sounds. Charlotte dropped the third back-up brick and slipped, scratched by the sharp limbs, through the hedge.
Stealthy and silent, she caught u
p to the guard closest to her. He had stayed in position, while guards to his left and right had gone after the noise.
Charlotte whipped the leather lace around his neck, choking him instantly as she dragged him backward into the hedge, fighting the evergreen limbs again. He struggled against the cord until breath was no more, and Charlotte let his body drop heavy into the snow.
She bent over and slipped the sword from the guard’s waist, running her finger along the blade. Her palm went on the tip. It was sharp. It would do.
Leaving the body, she ran to the nearest turn in the maze. By the time the guard was found, she would be deep enough into the maze, and dead before anyone could stop her.
She tore through the labyrinth, and could hear the shouting of the guards still coming from just past the outer wall. Day after day spent walking the twists and turns had given her a solid map in her mind to follow, and she was to the center of the maze in no time.
A single grey stone bench stood in the center of the small round clearing. Lions chiseled into stone roared from the two fat legs. She had long since packed down all the snow in this area, pacing, day after day.
Charlotte looked around, frantic. How was she going to do this? She had to leverage the blade against something. The lions looked at her, expectantly. They could do it.
Three hard kicks at the lone stone bench, cracking her foot, and the bench toppled. She put the hilt of the sword on the ground in the corner, wedging it into where the stone seat intersected the leg.
Dammit. The stone bench was perfect, and would hold her weight on the sword, but she needed something under the hilt to angle the blade up at her heart.
Frantic, she knew she was running out of time. She searched the small clearing. Nothing visible. She went to the hedge wall and bent down, digging in the snow. She needed another brick. Damn that she hadn’t kept that third one.
Frozen fingers slowing her, she clawed her way through ice and got down to the brick edging. Charlotte stood, furiously kicking at the brick to loosen it, breaking toes through her thin boot. Finally, there was movement and she ripped the brick from the frozen dirt.
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