She bristled. “How dare you? He is my child. And my terms are nonnegotiable, beast.”
“And yet you’re coming with me, never to see your devil-dog again.” He squeezed her wrist until she mewled in pain and dropped the blade. Not because she had to. She didn’t—for real, she didn’t. She could hold on forever if she wanted. Keyword: if.
She would rather mount a proper defense. Except, he wound both of her arms behind her back before she moved an inch, trapping her body against his.
She gasped as her breasts smashed into his chest, her nipples rubbing her dress with every ragged breath. Heart flying at warp speed, she captured his gaze. In unison, they stilled. He breathed heavier. She breathed faster. Long black lashes framed those stormy irises. An array of freckles dotted his nose.
How adorable was that?
Adorable? The man threatening to pass her to others for torture? She sneered. “Release me, Brochan. Immediately! I’ve changed my mind again. You aren’t worthy of my company.”
He flinched but jutted his chin. “You’ll hear my terms now. The only terms that matter.”
“Hardly. This is the moment we part ways.” Viola flashed and—nothing. She remained in place. What the—what? Her brows drew together as she floundered for an explanation. Why couldn’t she flash?
She struggled against him to no avail, satisfaction radiating from the beast. When she brushed against something hard—she gasped again. Whoa! Brochan liked her movements. Like, a lot. He might deny it, but he wanted her. Greatly. Her knees shook.
Perhaps she had a few loose wires in her head. For some reason, her captor had just gotten more interesting and better-looking, and she wasn’t sorry.
A scowl darkened his expression, and for a moment, only a moment, she thought he might be the most beautiful male in the history of histories. Then he drew her arms forward, revealing a thin, lightweight link of metal around her left wrist. “For the rest of your days, you will obey my every command. Until I hold the key to Nevaeh in my hands, I vow you won’t enjoy any of those days. I’ll ensure you regret what you did to my brother. Perhaps I’ll make you regret your birth as well.”
Did he think to intimidate her? Well, mission accomplished. True imprisonment was her worst nightmare come to life. Even still, she held her ground. “How cute. The rampaging brute thinks he won a great war. Let’s lower your zipper and measure your body’s disagreement.”
His ferocity ramped up. His lips pulled back from straight, white teeth, revealing a pair of fangs. “I would rather die for good than allow you to touch that part of me.”
“A true death can be arranged.” She hadn’t forgotten her idea…
Fury emanated from Narcissism. The fiend prowled through her mind, stirring pots of self-hatred, punishing her for failure, just as she’d feared.
Too weak to escape this Fallen One… despised and rightfully so…only deserving of suffering and tragedy…Fluffy deserves a better mother…
What if her fur-baby died during her absence, alone and frightened, as Viola had once been? What if—No! No, no, no. Absolutely not. Viola wasn’t weak. She was strong sometimes. Super strong! Why, her roundhouse kick once propelled Chuck Norris into yesterday.
She protected herself and her baby, whatever the cost. And if Fluffy worried or required aid, he would flash to her side. He carried a literal piece of her heart, after all, which granted him the ability. That shred of heart had been woven into his and now acted as a battery she charged with other people’s immortality.
As for the Fallen One, she could manage him. She must. She had wiles Brochan had never seen, and the male did harbor a secret desire for her, just as she’d suspected. The way his feverish gaze watches me even now. As if she were already stripped and waiting in his bed…
Her confidence grew. Oh, yeah. I’ve got this. She would use him for protection and force him to admit his insatiable hunger for her. He had threatened her family—now he must suffer. Once she’d brought him to his knees, Narcissism could gorge on his admiration with Viola’s compliments.
He won’t walk away from me. He’ll crawl.
Never again would he challenge a powerful goddess of the Afterlife.
She smiled her most wicked smile, purring, “Go ahead and mark this day in your calendar, beast. It’s the day you invited your downfall.” Not brag about her endgame? Hardly.
He jerked against her, his muscles knotting. “You hope to seduce me?”
“It’s not as hard as that measuring stick,” she said, all innocence. “Admit it. You ache for me.”
“Whatever you do,” he grated, ignoring her rasping words, “you. Will. Fail.”
Viola failed at nothing. She lifted her attention to his eyes and grinned. “You’re mine, beast. And soon I’ll prove it.”
Chapter Four
No, goddess. You are mine.
Brochan silenced a roar of trepidation…and triumph. He had secured Viola. She remained in his keeping, and there was no force great enough to take her from him. Not now, not ever. He had suffered at her hand, followed her for months. Lusted after her. Despised and captured her. Now, he owned her.
Vibrating with aggression, he flashed her to his fortress in the abandoned realm. As soon as the palace’s master suite materialized, he severed contact and stepped back. To his consternation, he was hard as steel, his palms tingling as if desperate to bask in the softness of her skin once again.
The danger she presented…
Viola was far worse than the demon she carried. She was temptation itself. Everything Brochan had ever wanted, tucked inside the most exquisite package.
“What is this place?” she asked, her just-roused-from-bed voice eliciting visions of tangled sheets and writhing bodies. She spun, eyeing his meager belongings. “Besides a hovel, I mean.”
His hands curled into fists. The elaborate pieces once housed in this chamber had reminded him of Viola. Lovely and far better than he deserved. He’d destroyed the furniture in here during his first stay, replacing it with a plain bed, a table and a chair. The only room he’d truly altered.
“Welcome to your new home, goddess. Pure luxury,” he mocked. As a Sent One, he’d been unable to lie in any capacity. As a Forsaken, he had no such troubles.
The only light streamed through a cracked window flanked by ragged drapes. Dust motes twirled about, coating the walls, every piece of furniture, and even the floor. She walked here and there, pinching the grubby clothes slung over the dresser and grimacing.
“To win my heart, other males have offered vast treasures,” she said. “This is an…interesting opener.”
“I don’t want your heart, and I offer nothing but your continued survival. That occurs only if you behave.” Her disdain for the palace irked him. As if he couldn’t provide the best for her. Better than any other. “If you don’t like the condition of the room, clean it.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll begin cleaning right away. Just as soon as you summon the servants I’ll be ordering to clean it for me.”
With great delight, he informed her, “From now on, you’ll be your own servant.” Her other males had catered to her whims, McCadden among them. Something Brochan wasn’t inclined to do. Why should he? She would never attempt to charm him, never treat him as sweetly as she’d treated the others or look at him with glittering eyes and smiling lips and mean it… No, nothing but a fantasy. She hadn’t even wanted him when he’d looked his best.