The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(40)

Luc gave no reply.

“Sure. Go ahead with the bullshit strong, silent act. Won’t do you no good with her.”

Luc’s thrallstone flared so hotly, he couldn’t suppress a gasp. Hunter laughed. “She’s in the bedroom.” Grabbing Luc’s upper arm, he shoved him roughly toward a second black door. “I’m sure you remember the way.”

Luc’s hand shook as he turned the knob. He stepped into a larger room, one which could have easily held twenty people or more. Right now, it was empty. It was all the more threatening because of it.

A collage of oversized photos covered the walls from floor to ceiling. The subject was pornographic, with a general theme of bondage, punishment, and humiliation. Mab’s personal toys hung on hooks or sat on shelves among the naked figures. Floggers, whips, rope, blindfolds, ball gags, anal plugs, collars, clamps. Leather cuffs, attached to gleaming chains, dangled from the ceiling and were attached to rings in the floor.

There was a room very much like this one in Club Tartarus. Luc had spent a good deal of the time since his Ordeal in that room, acting as Mab’s submissive as well as taking a dominant role in the fantasies of some of the club’s favored clients. The toys were only part of it. Illusion, terrifying illusion, was another part. And then there were the times Mab had turned her illusions into reality...

If not for his thrallstone, Luc would’ve turned tail and fled. Since that wasn’t an option, he set his jaw and crossed the room. A second door was tucked in a corner. It led to a short hallway. Two more doors, to his right and left, were closed. The one at the end of the hall, facing him, was open.

He walked through it.

Mab sat cross-legged in the center of her massive bed, on top of a sable fur coverlet. A soft white spotlight shone down on her. Even knowing what she was, and what she was capable of, Luc couldn’t help his body’s reaction to his alpha’s harsh, erotic beauty. There wasn’t a straight man alive—except, maybe, Arthur—who wouldn’t want to fuck her.

Her complexion was pale, her skin flawless. Brilliant blue eyes, framed by sooty lashes, gave her a sultry appearance, one accentuated by high cheekbones and full red lips. Black hair, pin straight and shining, fell to her waist.

She was very tall, of course, like all Nephilim. Her figure was proportioned to match, with generous breasts and hips. A black leather corset constricted her waist to almost waspish proportions, creating an illusion of delicacy.

Her massive ruby hung from its wooden chain. The stone nestled in her cleavage, pulsing like a heartbeat. Luc’s thrallstone responded to its mother stone, matching its rhythm with its own burning throb.

Mab unfolded her legs. They were about a damn mile long, encased in black lace as far as her thighs. She rose to kneel on one knee, the opposite leg splayed wide, offering Luc a prime view. A blood red stiletto heel, propped on the bed, sank into black fur.

The room smelled like sex. Sweaty, explosive sex, recently completed. One whiff of the scent was a potent aphrodisiac. Instantly, Luc was hard and aching for it. Warmth crept into his face. He’d known both pleasure and humiliation at Mab’s hands. Even though the bad had far outweighed the good, he was helpless to prevent his cock from near-combusting with lust for the sadistic bitch. It was the thrallstone, controlling his reaction. He knew that beyond a doubt. The knowledge didn’t stop him from hating himself.

A figure separated itself from the shadows. Rand, a crystal tumbler in hand, strolled out of a dark corner of the room. He was naked, his penis half-erect. The ruby in his thrall collar was dark. That was a sign of his mistress’s favor, but ultimately, Luc knew, it was but another illusion. Rand wasn’t nearly as independent as he believed.

He saluted Luc with his whiskey. Ice clinked against the glass. “Howdy, cousin.” He grinned as if he’d uttered a sly joke.

Mab waved a negligent hand. “Leave us, sugar.”

Rand’s smile turned to a scowl. No doubt he’d been looking forward to the party Mab had planned for Luc. He made no protest, however. With a respectful nod in his mistress’s direction, he strode from the room.

Mab’s eyes, in that unnerving shade of blue, raked over Luc. Responding to the slightest flick of her finger, Luc’s thrallstone delivered an electric jolt to his throat. His muscles went rigid.

Her whisper vibrated both inside and outside his skull. “Where is Cybele?”

“I don’t know, Mistress.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t insult me.”

Luc lowered his gaze to the floor. Black stone, polished to a dull shine. “I wouldn’t dare, ma’am.” That was true enough. What would be the point? Mab knew when he was lying.

“Sometimes I wonder.” She swung her long legs over the side of the bed and rose. She smiled as she lifted an object from a low table.

It was a jeweled whip handle, carved from yew wood. The stones embedded in the shaft—gems of various colors and sizes—had once belonged to Arthur’s kin, the British Druids who had come to Texas in the wake of Tristan’s death. After Magnus had lost the duel, the rest of the British line had been left no option but to accept Mab as their new alpha. Along with their pledges of fealty, Mab had demanded they give up their touchstones. In exchange, they had each been given a fragment of Mab’s ruby, to be kept on their persons at all times.

The stolen jewels blazed to life. Mab twirled the handle once, like a baton. She smiled.