Cruel Crown: A Dark Romance (Sekten Book 2)

by C. Lymari

  “I’m going to fuck you hard tonight, baby,” I said through gritted teeth. I loosened my hold, and she stepped out to the side, our arms now entwined. Before she could move, I kneed her behind her knee and she went down, and I went down with her. I caught myself before I landed on her. Our noses were touching, both our chests breathing heavily.

  I could taste the frustration coming out of her lips, and damn if it wasn’t sweet. She was close enough for me to kiss her that it was physically painful to hold myself back. I looked at her lips, wishing I could taste her jealousy and anger, then show her why she was mine, but I refrained. My eyes made it to her eyes, and that willpower I had so proudly found almost vanished. Her eyes were dark as a storm, ready to wreak havoc on anything that stood in its path. She was as turned on as I was.

  Making sure my lips remained unmoving, I spoke to her, knowing I had seconds before she made her next move. “No one but I get to pull your hair. No one but I get to fuck you ever again.”

  I rose, making sure she was trapped between my legs, but the little bitch bucked, and when I brought my hand with no knife down to steady myself, she grabbed it and bent the wrist.

  That’s when I forced my wrist to twist back, fully aware it was going to get fucking swollen. Then I pulled her by her sports bra and brought one of my legs up a bit and put it on top of her legs instead.

  When she was elevated enough, I removed my weight off her and flipped her over. Before she got her composure, I grabbed her braid below her nape and pulled it hard, causing her head to bend back. Then I brought my hand with the knife and cut the tail of the braid right off. Right after that, I dropped the knife right in front of Daphne’s face so she would see I had won.

  “Only. Me,” I told her, thrusting my hips so she could feel my arousal. I quickly got up and threw the braid at Damian’s feet, and I hoped my plan had fucking worked.

  Damian wanted to see Daphne humiliated. She was a warrior and a damn good fucking fighter. For years her braided hair had been part of her signature style, and I had just taken that from her. Scars heal quickly, and bones bend, but her hair would take years to grow back to how it was. And every day looking at the mirror, she would be reminded of who did that to her. As for Daphne, I knew she would be reminded of me, but I knew her, and I could bet my life she didn’t give a fuck about a mundane thing like long hair. She would be pissed but not because I took her precious hair.

  She turned around, and her chest was rising and falling, retribution written all over her face, but all I could focus on was the lust.

  When I looked up, Damian was holding the braid in his hand and had a satisfied grin on his face.

  I looked myself in the mirror as I fluffed my hair out. The hair was uneven, and I was going to have to trim it a bit more, but Gideon had done what he’d intended. There was barely any length for me to pull myself.

  Once that was done, I rinsed my mouth and washed my face. I didn’t know what came over me, but in that fight, at that moment, I wanted to hurt Francesca for taking something that belonged to me.

  Jealousy was one hell of a bitch.

  When I looked a bit better, I came out of the bathroom.

  “Ah, my krasivaya printsessa,” my dedushka said. I smiled at him and was glad today was one of the days he was lucid. I didn’t know which days I preferred anymore. Walking over to his closet, I grabbed a sweater and put it on.

  My babushka was born into this life, but my grandfather was not. He’d come into this world because he fell in love with my grandmother, and she fell in love with the idea of him, but the burden of our kingdom buried her too far from his reach.

  Deep down, I believed it was his unconditional love that healed her enough to love me. That or the fact that she knew my mom was a dipshit, and I was the only one left to fix the errors of our forefathers. Either way, I got handed an invisible crown that buried me a few feet into the ground.

  “How are you feeling today?” I told him as I went to the bag I had brought with me. I didn’t know if I preferred him with his memories intact or the days he didn’t know what the fuck was going on. It was a tossup between the two. But sometimes having him ask for my grandmother or mistaking her for me, it tore at me at how much he missed her.

  “Oh, you know these bones aren’t what they used to be. The arthritis is getting worse.”

  I nodded understandingly. The hazard of these jobs included an early grave or pain in our bodies for abusing it.

  “I’ll have you feeling like you’re twenty-three again,” I said to him as I ran my hand over his bald head. He laughed it up and pushed the button on his bed and reclined it.

  He had one of the best rooms—most of the older members did because the heat was more constant here, and it gave them the most sunlight. A lot of them lived here year-round; it was the least we could do for them since there were few who made it to this age.

  “Ah, to be twenty-three again,” he said wistfully. “That was the year the first hydrogen bomb was detonated here, and the queen of England was crowned.” He trailed off and then looked at me. “I don’t want to be twenty-three anymore.”

  “I’ll have you feeling young, and who knows, you might show these new kids a thing or two.”

  “Kids nowadays have no honor.” He scowled, referring mainly to Damian. “Did he do that to you?” He pointed to my hair.

  “One of the new kids,” I said as I reached for a needle and filled it with cortisone. I flicked the needle a few times to make sure there were no air bubbles.

  “Tell me about this boy,” my dedushka asked as the needle pierced the skin between his middle and pointer finger.

  “He’s British with lots of tattoos and some territorial issues,” I told him.

  “He wouldn’t be the same British lad from Chicago?” I cut my grandfather with a look that could melt a glacier. He simply shrugged. “The American boy is a bit chatty.”

  “I shouldn’t have introduced you two,” I mumbled.

  “You didn’t; he followed you and introduced himself on his own.”

  “His tendency to fall out of line is going to get him hurt.”

  My grandfather nodded, then gave me his other hand. “Is the British boy one of yours?”

  “No, he’s Damian’s,” I replied nonchalantly.

  “Does he know to which devil he sold his soul to?”

  “I think so.” I shrugged it off like Damian introducing Gideon to the Sekt wasn’t a big deal. Then I patted my grandfather’s chest. “All done. Don’t you feel better already?”

  “Like I might not die today, and in my book, that’s a win.”

  All I could do was roll my eyes.

  “I must go before you-know-who gets paranoid.” I said it lightly, but we knew the weight of the words. Damian would think I was conspiring against him.

  As much as I wanted to stay here and be with my grandfather and enjoy his lucid time, it wasn’t safe for him. I could take care of myself, but he couldn’t anymore. So I stared at the gray eyes that were identical to mine for a second longer, then kissed his forehead and left his room.

  Tomorrow was a rest day from any physical activity, which meant it was time to start sharing our information with each other and learn a thing or two.

  When I made my way down the corridor, I debated just going down to my room and locking myself up to take an ice-cold bath before getting some rest. I stopped as I made it to the hallway where I knew Gideon’s room was located.

  With me I brought a needle with steroids which would help with the pain and inflammation I had made to Gideon’s hand. The internal battle in my head lasted a few seconds.

  The door to his room was locked, and instead of knocking, I pulled two picks from the pocket of my pants and started to work on picking the old lock. They were a bitch, but I had mastered breaking out of these rooms since a young age.

  My heart sped up when I heard the click of the lock. Slowly, I pushed the lever of the door until the door opened.

  Walking in
to the room, it almost took me back to a time when I was helpless. As far as I knew, no one had chosen Gideon’s room, but it was one hell of a coincidence he was staying the room I had once called my own. He’d chosen the room of a scared little girl.

  Gideon sat on the bed, facing the fire. He was shirtless and wearing only boxer briefs. He held his messed-up hand with his other and massaged it as he turned his torso to look at me.

  I took a step in, looking around and noticing how not much had changed. All my personal belongings I’d either taken with me to the dungeons or I’d burned the shit out of them.

  “Funny how you made my old prison your home,” I told him as I made my way toward him.

  Gideon didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, which made it somehow uncomfortable and made me want to keep talking to fill the void of silence.

  “After my sixteenth birthday, I left this room and never looked back,” I added.

  His whiskey eyes widened a bit with interest, but he remained silent. I pulled the syringe from my back pocket, and he spread his legs a little wider, giving me room to work.

  Taking a deep breath, I knew what I was going to do, and I didn’t care. Not now. Maybe it was because it was him, or perhaps I was just feeling particularly vulnerable today. I took a step closer between his spread legs, and slowly I got to my knees in front of him. My heart pounded so hard I felt the beat of my heart stuck in my throat. I didn’t dare look at him as I reached for his hand.

  The hand with the skeletal shading was already looking swollen. With both hands, I massaged it while I saw his intake of breath.

  “The steroids will help with the pain and pull you through for the next few days. If you get hurt, you can always go to the infirmary and they will fix you up.”

  “This was your room?” Gideon said, referring to my earlier statement.

  I didn’t answer him right away. Instead, I flicked the needle because the last thing I needed was an air bubble to kill him.

  “Don’t move…I don’t want to hurt you,” I said softly.

  Gideon went still; his body stopped moving, and the energy in the room changed. It somehow electrified, and if I thought I had all of him before, this was him about to be restrained. I wanted to push him, but I refrained.

  When I finished with the injection, I made a move to get up, but stopped when he touched my chin.

  I looked up at him and almost drowned with the intensity of those whiskey eyes.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his eyes leisurely trailing down my body. His hand moved to my cheek, and he turned it to the side where a small bruise had started to form from where Francesca had hit me. With his thumb, he rubbed the spot gently. “Did I do that?”

  “No, I’ll be fine; nothing an ice bath won’t fix.”

  There was a pregnant pause, and I started to move away so I could sit up, but he brought one of his hands to the back of my nape, stopping me.

  “Were you jealous?” There was no smirk on his face nor any gloating.

  “You heard what Paco said, didn’t you?” I raised a brow.

  “Are you mad?” he asked as his fingers ran through my hair. I fought the urge to succumb to his touch.

  “No, it’s just hair.”

  “Why keep it so long?” he stayed still looking intently at my face for the answer to his question.

  “Because men prefer it that way.” My face stayed stoic as ever as I watched his jaw become rigid and his eyes hard.

  “I meant what I said, Petal. The only person allowed to pull it is me,” he said through clenched teeth. To prove his point, he gripped the now short hair from the nape and pulled my face toward his until we were nose to nose.

  “Were you jealous?”

  I smiled sadly at him, and I brought my hands to his cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what I felt. I have no say about what or who you do. And you don’t get a say to what I do.”

  “Why are you here, then?” he whispered against my temple. It was an excellent question. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t obliged to answer. When he saw I wasn’t going to speak, his demeanor changed. He wrapped one hand around my waist and lifted me so I was straddling him.

  “Feel that, Petal?” he asked as he thrust his hips so I would feel his arousal. “I’ve been fucking hard the moment you and Francesca started going at it.”

  How easy would it be to give in? One of us had to have some self-preservation, and it was clear it had to be me. He was about to speak, but I put my finger to his mouth to silence him. “What happened today was only the beginning. We will continue to be pitted against each other.”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “I meant what I say, Petal. You either do things my way or I will—”

  “Snitch?” I raised a brow defiantly at him.

  Gideon gave me a cruel smile. “No, baby, I’m going to do whatever I have to do to make sure I win, and you don’t have to like it.”

  “And what are you going to win? Death?” I started to wiggle in his lap, trying to leave because he just didn’t get it. He didn’t reply; instead, he pulled my short hair and brought my head down, and he slammed his lips against mine.

  Poison—this kiss was poison. It was raw and jagged, filled with emotions neither of us should be feeling, not when they could be used against each other. The thing about poison was that more often than not, it was always sweet.

  My mouth parted for him, and my arms wrapped around his shoulders. Gideon moaned his approval as one of his hands moved down and cupped my ass.

  “I’m going to make you beg for me,” he whispered against my mouth. Then he started to kiss my neck. “Make you scream my name.” He flipped me on the bed and hovered on top of me. “I’m going to own all of you.”

  And just like that, I no longer was in the room with him. I was so strong all the time, my walls built so high, that nothing fazed him, but he made me weak and made me forget what it was I was supposed to be doing. I looked up at the ceiling and stared at the mirror and met my reflection. I was no longer twenty-five but sixteen again. The man with me was not one I trusted but the newest one who had bought me.

  The silken sheets beneath my body might be of the finest silk, but at the moment, they burned against my skin, the touch so soft compared to the hell that would come.

  My heart was pounding, my hands were damp, and between my legs, I could already feel the ache that was about to be inflicted. The men always said I made them feel good, but every time, I felt dirty, used, like I wanted to claw out of my skin and just die.

  There was always a conflict between my heart and my mind. The way my heart would speed up and slow down like a sad melody, telling me that it was okay to just close my eyes and let go into a dark abyss and never look back. But my mind, my over-sharp mind kept reminding me that taking my life was the coward’s way out. I wasn’t made to break, and I wasn’t made to kneel. I was made to rule, so while I was in pain, I let my mind wander to another place where revenge would be sweet, one where I could change the world and I could prevent this from happening to other boys and girls.

  The man took off the jacket he wore. The fact that he was younger, fit, and a bit more appealing than all the other men made me feel more terrified of him than anything else. He took a step toward where I sat on the edge of the bed. His hand came to my cheek and caressed it gently.

  He crouched in front of me so we were at eye level. I was a girl, and he was most certainly a man.

  “You are quite valuable—daughter of the dragon,” he said in awe as if being Ivan’s daughter made me magical. He had it all wrong, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  “You crave freedom, and I want power, and I believe together we can achieve that and more.”

  I gulped, too scared to say the wrong thing that might make him mad and want to hurt me more than what he was already going to do.

  “You’re going to want me, beg for me because I own all of you,” Yorovich Morozov said before he pushed me on the bed.

  This room had alw
ays been my sanctuary, and now it was ruined. He didn’t fuck me hard like all the others, and when he was done, I somehow felt dirtier than ever before. My father had traded my soul for a piece of gold.

  Patience was a virtue, and I was running thin on it. The moment Daphne opened the door, I stopped myself from gloating. She was fucking beautiful. Long hair, short hair, probably no hair, and I would feel the same way.

  When she got on her knees for me and took my hand, I knew that moment was monumental, all on its own. I didn’t make her, there was no power play, and she walked in here looking to take care of me.

  No one had ever done such thing, and I realized at that moment that it was not the first time she’d taken care of me in her own fucked-up way.

  My chest expanded and shrunk, but I gave nothing away because she was like a wild animal sometimes. The wrong move and she got spooked. So I talked to her about other things. The fact that I was in her old room wasn’t at all surprising. Since meeting her, there had been an attraction. Two broken souls that molded against one another. She didn’t run from me, and I wasn’t intimidated by her.

  “And what are you going to win? Death?” she taunted me. I cut her off with a kiss before I told her I was going to win her. I loved a good challenge, and winning her over so far had been the ultimate one in my life.

  “I’m going to make you beg for me,” I whispered against her lips, imagining how she looked with them bloody because she was jealous someone else had warmed my bed. “Make you scream my name.” I kissed her neck. My dick ached, and it felt like it had been so long since I had been inside of her. “I’m going to own all of you.” I lost my control and flipped her over my body, thrusting against her hips when she suddenly went still beneath me.

  The faraway look in her eyes was one I knew damn well. It was the same look my mother got after pleading with me not to watch. It was the look she got when she just gave up and let her mind wander.