I follow them.
Of course I follow. How could I not?
But by the time I find them, it’s already too late, and I’m greeted with the sight of Claudius’s filthy hands ripping at her dress, and his disgusting hips pressing into hers. My logic flies out the window, chest tightening until my lungs shrivel; charred from the blaze of fury racing through my insides.
I can’t move.
I can’t hear.
I can’t speak.
I can only think one thing.
Mine.
The word shakes through me like an earthquake, cracking my foundation and all the defenses I’ve built up with it, creating a chasm so deep there’s no way to dig myself out.
Lady Beatreaux—Sara—is mine.
I see our future laid out before us clear as day; me sitting on the throne and her at my side. Because why not? Why shouldn’t she be at my side?
“Fucking dress.”
Claudius’s mumble snaps me out of my frozen state, and I move forward, my sole focus on reaching him and murdering him; bathing in his blood while I stake my claim on her body and soul.
My limbs tremble from the violence brimming inside me, its talons scratching beneath the surface of my skin until it cracks and bleeds.
How dare he touch something that belongs to me.
She shifts then, and the energy changes as she holds a blade to Claudius’s throat, and my heart stutters, my cock growing stiff when passionate words pass her pretty little lips, threatening to kill a man where he stands.
I make it two steps before I freeze again, watching this fierce, incredible woman who can twist and turn into whatever she needs to survive, take care of the threat herself. A sudden shot of arousal mixes in with the anger, creating a sensation I’ve never felt.
It’s not an unwelcome feeling. Not anymore.
With acceptance comes clarity.
My little doe is no doe at all.
She’s a hunter, pretending that she’s prey.
I lean against the wall, my hand coming to rest over my heart, pressing firmly to keep it from bursting through my rib cage and exploding on the floor.
She’s a fucking vision. The kind that should hang in galleries and be revered by the masses.
The perfect type of art.
Mine.
Footsteps sound from the distance and I move quickly to avoid being seen, not stopping until I’m standing at the end of the hallway, next to the portrait of my great-grandfather.
Eventually they fade, and then only thick silence surrounds me. I strain my ears, but don’t hear a peep. I wonder if she killed him. Disappointment settles in my chest, wishing I could have seen her do it; that I could have gone along for the ride.
But then another set of footsteps sound, and a gift is given when I see Claudius’s grimacing face as he runs down the hall toward me.
My hand snakes out before my mind can even process it’s happened, my rings cutting into the skin of my fingers as I grip his neck, dragging him into me, his back slamming into my front.
He gurgles from my grasp, but my palm slaps his mouth, my hand pinching his windpipe, feeling the muscle crunch beneath my touch.
“Shh, don’t be afraid,” I murmur.
I move my palm away from his lips and reach up, tilting my great-grandfather’s portrait to the side, the wall disappearing from behind me. I sink into the entrance of the tunnels, pulling a squirming Claudius with me.
Once the wall slots back into place, I spin us around, tossing him to the ground, reveling in the sound of his skull cracking on the hard stone floor. Blood splatters from the impact, and he groans, rolling onto his back, his hands coming up to grasp at his head.
Anger percolates in the base of my stomach, and I try to tamp it down, closing my eyes and breathing deep. He moves to stand, his arm shaking as he pushes himself off the ground, and I step forward until I’m hovering over his torso, the thick base of my boot pressing into his chest and shoving him back down.
“Oh, Claudius,” I tsk, bringing a joint from behind my ear and biting the end with my teeth while I dig in my pocket for a match. I fish one out of the box and strike it against the side, the sound loud in the cramped space.
Crouching down as I inhale, I let the sweet tang of hash sit on my tongue. “What shall I do with you?”
He groans, his eyes hazy and unfocused.
I strike him against the face so hard my hand tingles. “No passing out. Stand up and come with me.”
His brows draw in. “No.”
Reaching out, I grip his arm and pull him to a stand, bending it at a ninety-degree angle. His knees buckle, but I hold him upright. “It wasn’t a choice.”
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, fueling my strength as I half carry him through the tunnels and into the dark forest until we reach my cabin in the woods.
There’s no light on the path, but I’ve traversed it so many times I know it by heart, so the trip is quick. I kick open the door, leaving a dusty imprint from the bottom of my boot and toss Claudius inside, his body slamming against the worn wood of the floor. The joint hangs from my mouth as I twist to face him, narrowing my gaze.
“You’ve always been a very naughty boy, Claudius. But I don’t think I can let this one go.”
I pluck the hash from my mouth and place it in the ashtray on the small oval table that sits to my right before walking over to him. He’s pushing himself to a sitting position, blood dripping down the back of his head and onto his neck, the thin gash from where Sara cut into his throat already having scabbed over and dried.
“Your… your brother will… hear about this,” he mumbles, his words slow and slurred.
I sigh, blowing out a breath until my cheeks puff. “You’ve always underestimated me.”
He scoffs.
“It’s fine.” I wave my hand, walking toward the cupboards where I keep all the tools used for maintenance on the cabin. “I’m used to it. The world underestimates me, and it will be their downfall, as surely as it will be yours.”
I grab what I need before twisting back around and taking slow and steady steps toward him. His head lolls to the side and his body sinks, falling from where he was leaning on his elbows and dropping back down to the floor.
“Oh no,” I tsk, twirling the hammer around in my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re about to lose consciousness. We’re just about to get to the fun part.”
Smiling, I stop when I’m next to his head, bending and smacking him again, irritation squeezing my center at the fact he thinks he can pass out, and not experience every single iota of pain that I’m going to cause him.
His eyes snap open and once again, he tries to jerk upright.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I walk around his body and crouch down to hover above his kneecaps, one leg on either side of his body. “Do you know why you’re here with me, Claudius?”
“Because you’re insane?” He lifts his head and spits at my feet. “I am the Baron of Sulta, and your brother’s friend. You cannot do this and get away with it,” he forces out.
“Oooh.” I grin. “I’m shaking in fear.”
“You’re unhinged!” he screeches.
“So they say.” My smile drops and I lift the hammer. “But I am also your prince, and I do as I please.”
I bring the mallet down, his loud scream piercing through the air, drowning out the sound of his kneecap shattering.
“Yeah.” I scrunch my nose, satisfaction collecting in the base of my spine and trickling outward. “I bet that hurt.”
Sighing, I allow the sharp edge on the back of the hammer to skim across the top of his intact bones. “You’re here because you touched something that wasn’t meant for you.”
“You’re insane.”
Lifting the hammer, I use it to scratch the corner of my forehead. “Speaking of my mental health, I cannot stand leaving things uneven.”
His head droops to the side.
“It drives me mad.” I rest the blunt edge of the metal against his knee. “Makes me itch. Are you ever like that?”
His screams are even more delicious with the second blow, tears running down his face and mixing with his snot, every piece of the man he was draining away as he suffocates in his pain.
I throw the hammer to the side, leaning forward and running my fingertip along the gash in his throat; the one left behind by Sara, pride shooting through my chest like fireworks.
Standing up, I walk around his mangled legs until I’m by his head and grip him by the shoulders. His screams turn to whimpers as I drag him across the floor to the back of the cabin where two large pieces of wood are affixed to the wall.
A cross, with leather cuffs attached to the bottom piece and both of the sides.
Grunting as I hoist up Claudius’s limp frame, I push him against the beams, leaning my body weight into his to hold him in place as I grab one of his arms and lock him inside the leather restraint.
He sucks in a breath, blood trickling down his forehead. “Tristan,” he whispers, hiccuping around his words. “Please.”
I smile at his pleading, working on attaching his other wrist. “Do you not want to play anymore?”
“No,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.
I squat down, wrenching his legs together, causing him to scream out again as I bind his ankles to the bottom of the cross.
Standing back up, I look him in the eyes, revulsion bleeding from my gaze. “I didn’t want you to play with Lady Beatreaux either. Yet here we are, with you having done it.”
“I don’t—”
“Shhh.” I press my fingers against his mouth. “No more speaking, or I’ll chop off your cock and make you choke on it.”
I step back, looking over my handiwork, ensuring that he’s bound tightly. “I have to admit, I prefer fire.” Moving across the small room to the cupboards, I rummage around the shelves until I find a carving knife, holding it in front of my face to inspect the sharp edge. “But the punishment must fit the crime.”
“I’ve committed no crime,” he rasps, his voice weak and pathetic.
“You’ve touched something that isn’t yours to touch. In fact, I’ve recently concluded that she’s mine to touch.” Making my way back toward him, I skim the blade up his arm until I reach the forefinger of his left hand. “So, the fact you know what her skin feels like? Well… that’s unacceptable to me.”
I press the curved part of the knife into the tip of his finger, and drag it down the underside, feeling his flesh peel away from his bone like the skin of an apple. He screams, his body thrashing against the tight leather bindings.
“Does it hurt already?” I ask, tilting my head. Once the thin sliver is to his palm, I tear it from his hand, dangling it in front of his face. “Rather ghastly looking, isn’t it?”
Claudius’s body shakes so hard, the wood of the cross trembles.
“One down, nine to go!” I drop my voice. “You know… this is so much fun. Reminds me of when we were kids… when you’d help my brother as he beat me black and blue.”
Rage curdles my stomach and billows through my chest, and I drop the piece of skin, moving even closer to his arm.
“Please, God,” he cries.
Chuckling, I grip his second finger. “I’m your god now. And I don’t hear your pleas.”
