Scarred (Never After #2)(41)

His skin is sopping wet; broken blood vessels spinning spider webs around his eyes, his lips cracked and bleeding from where he’s bit into them in his panic.

I adjust the table until he’s lying flat. “If you were anyone else, I would kill you.”

His head lolls to the side, his chest heaving. “I know,” he says, his voice broken and hoarse.

“Are you going to thank me for my mercy?”

His eyes find mine, his mouth parted and panting.

“I don’t want to break your spirit, Edward. You must know it pains me as much as it does you.” I place my hand on my chest. “But bringing someone in without my approval was dangerous at best and a suicide attempt at worst.”

He blinks, his tongue swiping against the chapped flesh. “Thank... you.”

“For?” My brows rise.

“For your mercy.”

I nod, satisfied with his punishment, leaning down to move the water bucket to the edge of the room and extinguishing the candles that light the space. But I don’t unbind him. He’ll stay the night and I’ll fetch him in the morning after I ensure he understands his loyalty and silence are of the utmost importance.

“Are you leaving me here?” he asks, his tone shaky.

Reaching out, I grip the rusty metal doorknob. “Think on your actions, Edward, and tomorrow morning we can start again.”

I swing open the door, stepping outside into the crisp nighttime air. Pausing, I twist back to face him. “If something happens. If anything goes awry, it will be you who takes the fall. Do you understand?”

His eyes are hazy as he stares at me from where he’s bound, bobbing his head against the wood.

And even though I’ve lost all my trust in Edward, for now, it’s enough.

Slamming the door shut behind me, I take out the skeleton key and turn it in the lock before spinning to walk away. Tilting my head to the side, I crack my neck, grabbing my matchbox from my pocket, retrieving a rolled joint from inside.

Perhaps it was stupid of me to let Edward live, and if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t. But Edward is a critical piece in the rebellion. Losing him would be akin to losing an arm, and that’s a risk I’m not prepared to take.

Lighting the hash, I inhale deep and start the trek back to the castle.

The moon is high and bright tonight; the usual clouds that grace the Saxum skies missing, creating a haunting glow on the darkened ground. There’s no clear-cut path to the cabin, I’ve taken different ways over the years to ensure the grass doesn’t wear from my footsteps, but the easiest route heads straight to my mother’s garden, and tonight, that’s the one I take.

Torture can be so tiresome.

I come out of the trees and stop short when I see a shadowy figure sitting at one of the black benches surrounding the fountain. As I make my way closer, I realize that it’s Lady Beatreaux.

Something unsettling jolts through me at the fact my little doe is, once again, out when she should be safely away and tucked in bed.

“Insomnia is a serious health issue,” I say, stepping up behind her.

She twists around, the moonlight splashing across her high cheekbones, a small smile gracing her lips. “You would know.”

I walk around the bench and sit next to her, splaying my legs out wide as I tip the joint to my lips and inhale again.

She watches me, a curious sheen coasting across her face. It’s innocent, I’m sure, but her gaze sears through me anyway, blazing a path beneath my skin until she’s burned her way to the deepest parts of me. I lean my head against the back of the bench, the wooden slabs pressing against my skull, and reach out, offering her the burning paper.

Honestly, I don’t expect her to take it, but she surprises me—as she’s prone to do—when she grabs it from my fingers with her dainty hands. I roll my head to the side, watching as she brings it to her mouth, wrapping her lips around the end, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks.

My cock stiffens.

Her eyes grow large, a plume of smoke billowing as she coughs and sputters, her fist coming up to smash at her chest.

“That’s—” She coughs again. “That’s horrid. Why would you do that? It’s torturous.”

Smirking, I take the hash back, scooting closer to her on the bench. “And what do you know of torture, little doe?”

Her coughing dies down, her eyes glazed from where they’ve watered.

“It burns,” she whines.

“You just have to learn how to inhale.” I move in even closer, my stomach tensing as I bring the joint to her lips, wondering if she’ll allow me or if she’ll slap my hand away.

Both options excite me, and I can’t decide which one I crave more; her submission or her fight.

Her fingers wrap around my wrist, the touch sending sparks racing up my arm, and I push the edge against her mouth. “Suck it slow.”

My cock hardens until it’s painfully swollen and pressing against my leg as her lips wrap around the paper.

I reach out, stroking two fingers down the front of her esophagus, because right now, when it’s just the two of us, I can’t not touch her. “Now swallow,” I rasp.

Her eyes flash, but her muscles bob as the smoke swirls down her throat and bleeds into her lungs.

Our eyes catch.

“Exhale.”

She listens, and a cloud curls around her face, obscuring her from my view. My insides preen from her obedience.