by West, Sinden
“I didn’t mean to chase you out.”
I glared at him, before taking a breath and forcing a smug smile. “How does it feel knowing that your uncle’s going to fuck me tonight?” It was a risk; it could have backfired, and he could have mocked me, laughed, and shrugged.
But he didn’t. There was the slightest twitch on his face, a tightening of his lips, perhaps. And then he grabbed my wrist, holding it so firmly that it nearly hurt. I didn’t pull away, just waited for him to speak. But then the door to the library opened, and our eyes both went to Felix, who stood there looking first at Lake and then at me.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve brought your dinner to your room. You shouldn’t wander around. This is a big place. It’s easy to get lost in.”
Lake’s hand opened, freeing me, but I took my time pulling my hand away. I rubbed it, even though there was no pain, but I felt like his touch had seared my skin in some way.
“Relax,” I told Felix. “I just wanted a drink.” I let my lips curve up into a nasty smile. “Something to get me in the mood for tonight…or at least numb me for the way you revolting people make my skin crawl. Each touch is like a cold, wet cockroach crawling on me.” I hunched my shoulders and shivered for effect. Felix’s face remained still, causing my anger to flare. I wanted a reaction; I wanted to hurt. “Tell me, why do I have to endure the same revolting family each time? Others get passed around to different ones at different rituals. Why do I have to get the most egotistical and arrogant bloodline around?”
Felix smiled politely and ignored my question. “Your dinner’s getting cold, Ms. Scryer. I would hate for it to be ruined for you.” He made a slight gesture toward the doorway.
“Why would you care? No one cares about the way that you’ve ruined me.” But I walked past him anyway, not bothering to cast another look at Lake. I knew Felix was behind me as I walked down the corridor to the bedroom, and once inside I swiftly closed it behind me, making it clear that I didn’t wish for him to intrude.
My dinner sat on a tray, kept warm by a silver cover like we were in a fine hotel. I lifted it off to reveal a meal that looked like it had been prepared by a gourmet chef, but the only effect it had on me was to make my stomach turn. I didn’t touch it and placed the cover back over it. Instead, I turned my attention to the armoire that covered nearly an entire wall. Fat cherubs and skinny devils had been carved into the dark wood in intricate detail. Pitchforks stabbed into angel wings, and the cherubs’ hands wrapped around the devils’ necks, choking them.
These were sick people.
I opened the doors, not surprised to find a single item hanging there all alone. The red skirt was so long that in my bare feet it would trail behind me ridiculously, and I would need to hold it up slightly at the front to prevent tripping and falling on the stairs. The heavy fabric would hang from my hips in a way that would leave bruises by morning. Although, was it the skirt or was it Michael’s hands that left them? I could never be sure. Bruises easily stained my skin anyway, and I took extra care when I walked not to bang my limbs against anything otherwise dark colors would blossom by the next day.
I removed my robe before I reached for the skirt. The wooden hanger that held it was heavy and expensive, and it swung from side to side as I pulled the skirt free. The skirt was velvet and soft. For just an instant I ran my hand over it, enjoying its touch. I didn’t know the significance of the skirt, only that it was tradition that we all wore them. Except for Danilo; I didn’t know what they had designed for him. It was rare that a male would have our gift; normally it just passed down the female line. Somehow, that made him even more alone than the rest of us.
I bunched up the skirt and stepped into it before fastening the hooks to hold it around my waist, immediately feeling the drag of the weight of the heavy fabric. Was this how women felt on their wedding days, or used to before women’s lib? Clad in their expensive fabrics that confined them as if a metaphor for the life of servitude to come? I was sure that I would never know.
The door opened, taking me by surprise. I brought my arms up across my chest to cover my naked breasts.
“Just me. No need to be shy.” Dorothea Corin swept into the room, closing the door behind her and setting down a hatbox on the bed before turning her gaze to me. That superior smug smile that was painted a sultry and seductive red sat on her face; I didn’t know what she looked like without it. The brightness of her lipstick served to make her skin even paler and her teeth shiny and white. That skin was exquisite, nearly flawless, but up close I could see that tiny lines were beginning to sneak in around her eyes, making me guess that her age was closer to forty. She always seemed eternally young, and I gained some kind of satisfaction in the realization that she was just as vulnerable as the rest of us to the ravages of time. It made her seem breakable and able to be defeated. One day she would decay to nothing more than brittle bone and skin lined with time.
“You seem happy today,” she commented in that sly way of hers.
I hadn’t realized that I’d been smiling at the thought of her demise as an aging hag and I immediately straightened my mouth and made sure my face was like stone.
“You’re early.”
She shrugged. “I saw that you didn’t wish to eat your meal and thought we may as well get started.” Of course she watched. Were there cameras in the room, or did she choose the more traditional way of spying through holes in the room, carved through the eyes of portraits perhaps? “You know my husband is just salivating to spread his seed all over you,” she said casually as if speaking of the weather. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t give her the satisfaction.
I watched as she lifted off the lid of the hatbox to expose the garland. The scent of fresh flowers of the moiraine herb hit me before she even lifted it out. The smell always made me slightly queasy. Where the leaves of the herb blocked the visions, its flowers were said to enhance them. Perhaps though, that was just an old wives’ tale. Still, the Circle took every precaution.
Dorothea lifted the garland out carefully; treating it like it was as precious as a diamond tiara. Slowly and with great care, she walked over to me, and I turned my back to her so I wouldn’t have to face her up close and breathe in her scent. But that put me in full view of the mirror, and I watched as she placed it on my hair. The red and white flowers were linked together in a circle by the woody type stems with their large, spiky thorns.
“There. Perfect,” she said, more to herself than me. I watched her in the mirror. Her white skin, her black hair, red lips and cold beauty. She was like a fairytale character—a wicked queen, perhaps, carefully keeping balance on her throne in a world ruled by men and their whims for beauty and youth.
Then she caught my eyes in the mirror and that smile of hers irritated me so much that I could kill. It sent venom to my tongue.
“Doesn’t it sicken you that your husband would prefer to sleep with me than you?” I asked sharply. “That he would prefer me over your aging body any day? How old are you now? How long until he tires completely of you and casts you aside? All your delusions of grandeur would be gone. All you have is the Corin name and status—what will you do when he puts you on top of the scrap heap?”
In the mirror, I saw that smile falter just slightly, but like all queens, she recovered with dignity. I waited while she reached around me from behind and slid her hands slowly over the skin of my arms. Her cold touch made me want to shiver.
“So pretty,” she murmured. Gently, she grasped my wrists and pulled down my arms, exposing my naked breasts to the mirror. I didn’t fight, just letting my arms hang there limply while she moved her gentle fingertips over my flat stomach and up, to lightly sweep over the underside of my breasts.
“My ancestors used to bathe in the blood of pretty young women,” she said in a low voice. “They used to slit their throats so they bled out into golden tubs in which my family waited. That’s the life blood, and maidens would watch with dying eyes as their blood gushed onto my ancestors, who b
elieved that soaking in the blood of the beautiful would keep them young. Of course, nowadays, there’s no need with Botox and acid peels, but still, time catches up…” She boldly reached up to cup my breasts now, squeezing them gently as if measuring their firmness and worth like fruit. “I wonder if any of them ever stole the blood of a scryer? I wonder if the little bitch saw that coming?”
Suddenly, she released me and stepped back while I watched her warily in the mirror, my jaw shifted slightly to stop me from saying anything more to her that would enrage her. She was a snake and absolutely unpredictable.
“Now,” she said crisply, wiping her hands on her designer gown as if removing me from her skin. “My husband’s ready and waiting for you. I’ve decided not to join you tonight; I think that young Danilo is more worthy of my attention and, frankly, I find you rather boring now.” Her voice was bright and cheery; it matched her painted lips. She waited, as if hoping that I’d reply, but I kept my mouth in a grim line, and she just rolled her eyes and turned to leave the room.
“Goodnight, little witch,” she called over her shoulder. I didn’t respond; instead I just kept staring at my reflection until she closed the door behind her. My hand turned into a fist, digging my nails into my palm as I hoped for an external pain that would distract me from all the agony inside of me.
But the nails weren’t sharp enough and distraction never came. If I had the guts I would have slammed my fist into the mirror as if it were Dorothea’s fucking face. Of course, like a coward, I didn’t.
It wasn’t much later that Felix came to fetch me. His manner was solemn, almost as if he felt sorry for me. But I doubted that was true, because those of the Circle were incapable of feeling anything for anyone but themselves in all of their greedy selves.
I followed him obediently, almost like a dog. Up the curving staircase we went, our feet silent on the carpet, step by numerous step. I tried counting them, but the number escaped me as I tried to remember to breathe at the same time. Finally, we ended up at the narrow, arched doorway on the floor at the very top. The figures of two men were carved in its door. They held swords crossed together as if guarding the occupants within. But those occupants didn’t need guards because those inside were lethal enough to destroy any one who they chose to inflict their lack of mercy upon.
Felix opened the door, and then stood aside so I could enter. I couldn’t read the look on his face; perhaps it was pity. Whatever it was, there was no need for me to see it, and I quickly lowered my head and stepped through the door.
The leather armchairs formed a circle around a Persian rug. Against a wall sat a cabinet filled with liquor, and, further into the room, on a platform up several steps lay an enormous bed with an elaborately carved headboard. Michael sat, framed by the leather chair as he held a glass of amber liquid against his knee. My breathing quickened as I saw Lake sitting in another chair and drinking the same liquor as his uncle. Quickly, I walked to the cabinet and poured myself a drink from the first bottle that came to hand. It shook and splashed into the glass, and then onto the wooden cabinetry, as I failed to hold my hand steady.
“Oh, shit,” I said.
Lake came up and took it from my shaking hand, twisting the top of the bottle back on and passing me the glass. I made sure not to look him in the eye. Instead, I went and sat in one of the chairs, gulping the drink as I tried to get my breathing back under control.
“You look beautiful, Ivy,” Michael observed, his voice as smooth and unflappable as ever.
My gaze remained on my drink that was nearly finished by my gulps. “I’m not beautiful. I’m a fucking wreck.” It took great effort to raise my eyes to meet his. Tears formed in my eyes as I fought to take in oxygen, hating the way my naked breasts moved with each desperate breath. It was like I was just made for them; a living, fuckable doll.
It would make no difference. The tears would often form, and if there was anything within his hard heart and soul that could feel for me, it never made one goddamn difference.
“Oh, Ivy. You know I have to.” He raised himself up out of his chair and crossed the carpet to crouch in front of me. His light hand took my wrist. “I’ll make it good for you, I promise. I’m not the monster that you think I am.”
I drained my glass, and the liquor burning my throat mingled with the salty tears that began to run down my cheeks freely. Michael reached out and wiped one away before turning to his nephew who stood watching silently.
“She’s distressed. Perhaps you should sit this one out,” Michael said to him coldly.
Lake shook his head. “No. You’ve shut me out of my right for too long.” His voice plainly said not to fuck with him and my heart yearned for the lying Lake who acted so sweet and kind toward me.
Michael’s lips flicked up in a cruel smile as he observed Lake; he was none too pleased by the response. “If you wish to make things unpleasant, that’s fine, but if she doesn’t bring forth the information required because she’s too upset—”
“She’s not a toy,” Lake cut in.
Michael’s face relaxed, and he let out a laugh that was so cold that it had me shrinking back into the chair for protection. “You’re right. She’s not a toy. She’s a fucking machine that needs to work for my benefit. Do I need to remind you what happens if anyone gets in the way of that?”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Lake shifted slightly on his feet. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t be screwed over by you, Uncle.”
Michael shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then he turned his eyes back to me and patted me on my leg through the skirt. “Be a good girl, Ivy, and get on the bed. I’ll be back in a moment.” He got to his feet and gave Lake a sleazy smile as he headed into the adjoining bathroom. Keeping my head down, I walked up the three steps to the level that contained the bed, crawling onto it so obediently and docile that I absolutely hated myself for it. I sat amongst the cushions, and finally allowed myself to lift my eyes to see Lake, who stood unmoving with his eyes trained on me.
“Why do you have to humiliate me more that you’ve already done?” I managed to ask him without sobbing, although my voice still sounded desperate and raw.
He waited a beat before answering. “That’s not my intention, Ivy,” he said quietly.
“Whatever. It’s what you’re doing.” My voice cracked as more tears slid down my face and fell onto my bare breasts. Every time, I made a vow to be cold and unfeeling, to not let any kind of emotion or break in my façade show, but like every time, I failed.
I looked down at my hands that gripped at the bed coverings. The skin was stretched over my knuckles tightly and my hands looked like they belonged to some kind of creature, an eagle perhaps, but that was wrong because I wasn’t the predator, I was the prey.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Michael had reappeared and I wiped at my eyes as I looked up at him and then forgot my misery as my eyes widened in horror.
“What’s that?”
He held a syringe; the liquid inside was red. “It’s just something that should help everything to go more smoothly, Ivy.” He reached out for my arm but I tried to scamper away over the other side of the bed. The voluminous skirt hindered me, tangling in my legs and effectively trapping me before I could get too far.
“No! You’re not putting that in me.”
Michael cocked his head to one side and gave me a pitying smile. “Oh, Ivy. You need to do as you’re told. Don’t make this more upsetting than it already is.”
“No! This isn’t fair. None of this is fair. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want you to touch me,” I sobbed, the words running out of my mouth without even thinking about them. I didn’t bother to look to Lake for help. I knew that I had no ally in him.
My words didn’t move Michael in the slightest, he merely reached over and grabbed my arm in an iron-like grip and stabbed the syringe into me. It took just second for him to empty the contents into my vein. I stopped fighting and sat there helplessly. When he withdrew th
e needle, spots of blood appeared on my skin.
The effects were nearly instant. My head became light and my limbs heavy. If I had anything left in me to say or to plead, it was too much effort to speak. Michael smiled down at me before joining me on the bed, gently pushing me down onto my back so my head was nestled amongst the pillows. His hand ran over my breasts.
“So beautiful,” he said, sounding far away. “Exquisite. Just like a work of marble.” My nipples hardened under his touch. “Ivy,” he murmured. “You do like that don’t you?” His head dipped down to take one of the stiff peaks in his mouth, sucking on it and rolling it around with his tongue. My back arched up to push it further into his hot, wet mouth. My body now had a mind of its own. Whatever he had given me made me ache for touch, made me need it.
A gasp escaped me as he began to pay attention to my other nipple, and then a moan. He laughed softly against me. There were two people in my head, one telling me that I should be hating this and fighting every moment of it, and the other telling me to just go with it and enjoy it.
I felt the skirt loosen and then it was pulled away from me, freeing my legs. Michael was instantly there, head buried between my thighs and I gasped again at how wonderful it felt. I felt myself building up to the inevitable orgasm, quivering and sensations began. I twisted my head side to side as if I were saying, no, no, no, and making some kind of stand against how I was being treated, but it wasn’t true, and anyone in the room would know it by the moans escaping me.
I caught sight of Lake just as I climaxed; his eyes were firmly on my face as it contorted with sensation after sensation as Michael’s skillful mouth lifted me up to heights higher than ever before. It must have been the drugs that made me so loose. I wanted him. I wanted him to come over to me and kiss me and caress my breasts as I came, I wanted him to tell me his lies like he had before—to tell me how I was beautiful and that he wanted me always, all to himself, but he didn’t move. He just watched.