Beauty's Secret (Beast and Beauty Book 2)

by Brantwijn Serrah

  As long as he held me at night and showered me with affection, I left things where they stood. I, too, had my reservations. All was well if I had eyes on him, could watch his movements and not be surprised. Now and then, though, when he caught me off guard or moved somewhere on the periphery of my vision, my heart skipped a beat and adrenaline flooded my veins. I recalled Alaric's voice in my ear, whispering I have always been stronger than you.

  It had been that dark sorcerer, not Bannon, who promised to hurt me worse than ever before. And yet—

  They were Bannon's hands on my wrists. Bannon's fingers closing in on my throat.

  So, we didn't speak of it. We didn't speak of our spontaneous bout of celibacy over the last month, either.

  Well, he's got a raging cockstand right now, doesn't he?

  Yes, and he'd administered vigorous spankings and fondled my breasts with wicked greed. Still... why hadn't he demanded me in full?

  Bannon tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear and leaned close to kiss me. "Soon. I promise. First, we must prepare for the journey. Our caravan leaves this evening."

  "Yes, Sir."

  I schooled my reaction, donning a mask of polite obedience. Of course, it couldn't only be the morning I finally found the courage to bring up the conspicuous lack of sex between us. It was also the day I left the desert behind.

  The day I threw aside everything I knew, to follow Bannon into—

  What?

  Chapter Two

  Returning to Alaric's chambers sent my heart into a painful, piercing ache. The moment Bannon swung open the doors to the opulent master suite, I caught my breath, hands clenching into fists.

  The master bedroom hadn't been touched since the final battle with Alaric's revenant golem. The earthquakes predicting the monster's rise had shaken the pitcher of drinking water from its place on the bedside table, leaving it shattered on the floor, and knocked the small pots of paints and kohl from Alaric's vanity. The bed had been spared any real damage, but the canopy above it sagged with small chunks of stone fallen from the ceiling.

  Relief filled my chest at the sight of Alaric's personal shrine to Akolet, the sacred serpent. He'd stored it in a wooden tabernacle set against one wall, and now the doors hung open, one of them dangling precariously by a single hinge. The stone centerpiece of the altar within—a statue of the seven-headed serpent—had broken into pieces.

  Bannon rested a hand on my shoulder. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes," I replied, though my heart still ached with each beat. "I... I feared it would still smell like him. Bergamot. How I hated that smell, and it haunted me in these rooms, even after he was gone."

  Only he hadn't been gone. I touched my throat, forgetting again that I no longer wore any collar. The cursed sigil protecting Alaric's soul after death had been destroyed.

  Perhaps I will never have to bear that wretched smell again.

  Behind us, a pair of workers entered carrying two large, wooden crates. I recognized one of the girls: a Sanraethi slave who had also belonged to the sorcerers of Akolet. When our gazes met, at first she glanced away, avoiding eye contact. I was used to that. So many people believed me a witch and feared the power I might wield. Before I could lament the gesture, though, the girl looked up again, and a faint red chagrin colored her cheeks. She offered me a smile before she and the other worker retreated into the hall.

  I blinked. My hand came to my lips, and I half expected to find some strangeness there, some odd bit of food stuck at the corner of my mouth or an unexpected wart on my chin.

  Did she genuinely just smile at me? Me, Alaric's supposed queen?

  Beside me, Bannon chuckled. He crossed to the fireplace mantle and picked up a polished wooden figurine sitting at one end, turning it over in his hands.

  "Are you surprised?" he asked. "The whole castle watched you strike down the seven-headed serpent. Akolet himself, I've heard them say, returned to punish us all. I think you might have put to rest the rumors of your 'evil witchcraft' at last."

  "Really?" I tilted my head, trying to read his expression, then moved to examine Alaric's shrine. I stared at the broken statue, picking up one of the monster's viper-like heads.

  "You're a war hero now, Sadi. Maybe soon, instead of Alaric's witch, they'll call you the She-Bear of Vashtaren."

  She-Bear. Mate of the Red Bear, not the dark magician.

  I dropped the fragment of stone back with the other remnants and shut the tabernacle doors, adjusting the broken one into place to hide the altar altogether.

  Facing Bannon once more, I stood at attention. "What do you need from me, Sir?"

  "Need?" He glanced over the room, rubbing his chin. "Everything I want from these rooms, I have already. Since you agreed to travel on with me to my homeland."

  He flashed me a smile and I returned it, warmth rising in my chest.

  "But if there's anything you still wish to claim," he continued, "now is the time to do it."

  "Me?"

  My hand fluttered up to my throat again, and again I found no ring. I must stop doing that!

  "Nothing in these rooms ever belonged to me," I told Bannon. "Even the dog pillow on which I slept could be taken from me, if Alaric willed it. Nothing is mine."

  "It is now."

  Bannon took a seat at the round wooden table set by the fireplace. "When I claimed my victory, all of Lord Khan's possessions became mine, didn't they? Castle, servants, treasures... even you, according to the customs of the Vash. Well, for all I care this castle can crumble to the sand, the servants have their freedom, and I have no desire for Khan's treasures. Save one, and she has chosen me."

  He waved a hand at the room. "You dwelled here, Sadi, as awful as it may have been. If anyone has the right to claim something out of these rooms, it's you."

  I pursed my lips. Rubbing my chin, I looked over the master suite in which I'd served so many years as Alaric's personal pet. Did I want to take any of it with me?

  "Not the dog pillow," Bannon amended when I spent a long moment staring thoughtfully at it. "You'll never sleep on anything so demeaning again."

  Dropping my gaze to the floor, I hid a grateful smile. "Thank you, Sir."

  I paced the grand room for several minutes, still uncertain. The workers brought two more crates while I pondered the little, everyday things of Alaric's life. Things I'd been forbidden to touch unless he instructed me to retrieve them. Clothing he'd selected for me. Makeup he'd demanded I wear.

  "I can't," I declared at last. "It's all his. I'll always think of it as his and won't be able to touch a thing without cringing."

  "You took his swords," Bannon pointed out.

  Yes, I did. I sat on the end of the bed and tapped my fingers noiselessly on the blankets. Alaric's khopeshes were mine now, and it brought me a deeply gratifying feeling to wield them. A mad and empowering defiance. I liked swords, of course, and appreciated the elite craftsmanship and beauty in the blades. Alaric had never deserved such beauty. That made it easy to take them from him.

  I glanced around the room again.

  "These furs," I said finally, lifting a corner of the plush, thick pelt atop the bed. "I've always loved the way they feel. Especially when my barbarian pins me down and holds me against them."

  "Indeed." He nodded his agreement. "Anything else?"

  After another moment's hesitation, I pointed at the mirror over the fireplace. "And that, too. I quite like it. I suppose it might be broken along the way, though."

  "Maybe, maybe not." Bannon rose and took hold of the mirror, lifting it from its brackets on the wall. "We'll wrap it in the furs and hope it survives."

  As he lay the mirror across the table and came to my side to gather the pelts, he tipped a nod in the direction of the inner rooms, where Alaric's saunas—and his pleasure chamber—waited.

  "Anything from there you'd like, kitten?"

  I hadn't even considered taking anything from the pleasure chamber. This time I didn't argue, though, and rose to my feet to
peruse the vault of illicit pleasures while my barbarian packed away the items I'd already selected.

  The smooth smell of clean leather and richly oiled wood, sweet with hints of orange, greeted me in my favorite room of the castle. It made my heart soar to see nothing in the chamber had been harmed or broken in the earthquakes, save for a few hanging tools of discipline which had fallen harmlessly to the floor. Hardly thinking about it I gathered them up and returned them to their places.

  For a little while I forgot the task at hand, and basked in the comfort of the space, running my fingers over the hard wood and firm leather of the devices, soothed by the quiet serenity around me. Yes, each tool of torture had been used to inflict pain on my flesh, but to me, pain became a twisted, tormenting pleasure, wringing orgasmic bliss from my body.

  Alaric had hurt me, yes. In many ways. In here, though, the hurt always led to something greater, something momentous. Release. Relief. Catharsis. There'd been no true punishment within this chamber—though there had been moments when play had pushed far beyond my desire and left me injured. There'd been no fear, though. To me, each visit meant reward. Or at least, carnal indulgence.

  The furniture couldn't come with me. I sat on the edge of a bench where Alaric had perched me, bent over with my bottom raised up and my arms bound from wrist to elbow in rope. He'd struck me with paddles and strops, even a light, whippy cane. The bench would be too big to transport, though, and so would every other piece in the room. I sighed.

  Perhaps I can show Bannon how to build similar devices once we've reached our destination.

  "Look here." Bannon had appeared in the doorway. "I let you off on your own for three minutes, and you're daydreaming again instead of doing the work I assigned you."

  I hopped to my feet, beaming. "I'm sorry, Sir. Would you like to punish me?"

  He strode into the room, grinning and stroking his beard. His gaze roamed over the torture devices, and I imagined he must be choosing which one to strap me to.

  "So many of these we never had the chance to explore," he lamented, giving voice to my own thoughts. He ran a hand along the top of a set of stocks, then fingered a set of shackles hanging down from the ceiling. "Show me your favorite."

  I brightened. Without hesitation, I took him by the arm and escorted him to a large, standing wooden cross in the shape of an X. The dark, gleaming beams had metal restraints bolted at top and bottom, and crossbars, too, turning the X into something closer to the shape of an hourglass. It stood upon a base which propped it up at an angle, and at the intersection of the beams—where my body would rest—a small, smooth, vaguely pear-shaped protrusion had been carved.

  "You bind my body like this," I told him, stepping up to the device and positioning myself upon it with my back against the wood. I raised my hands so they fit in the upper restraints and spread my legs, so my ankles met the lower ones. "The knot in the wood presses against me, well..."

  I flashed him a wicked smile. "Somewhere sensitive. When I stand like this it can be painful and leave a lovely bruise. When I stand like this—"

  I turned to face the cross, demonstrating the wrist and ankle placement again, and rested against the beams. Touching my tongue to my upper lip, I moved my hips against the wood to show him how the wooden bulge would press and rub between my legs, providing a firm, hard shape to grind against.

  "You may whip me, or spank me, or run a wheel of spurs over my flesh." I writhed suggestively against the wood. "With each stroke, I squirm, pressed against the knot, rubbing and teasing... but never enough to carry me to orgasm."

  "I find that hard to believe," Bannon chuckled, stepping up behind me. "My sweet slut comes so easily and so shamelessly. I bet you could work yourself into a trembling, wet climax on that thing without much trouble at all."

  "It's not like a cock, Sir." I spoke in a breathless whisper. "But you can fuck me against this cross yourself."

  "Can I?"

  His hands moved up to meet mine, and he closed the restraints over my wrists. He pressed his body to me, forcing me against the wooden knot, and I gasped. Even through my sarong, the hard shape of it teased my cleft; against my bottom, the powerful jut of Bannon's erection strained beneath his breeches.

  "Just like this?" He slid his hands around my torso and cupped my breasts beneath the loose silk wrapping I wore. "Seems like a fine position to take your ass."

  "Yes." I closed my eyes. "Yes, that is one way to enjoy this particular piece."

  "Ah, I knew my pet slut would be wanton enough to give me that pleasure."

  His voice poured over me like sweet, dark liquor. I shivered. "Any part of me that can be fucked, I believe we agreed?"

  "We did." He kissed the back of my neck and glided one hand down between our bodies. A beautiful dawning relief spread through me at the click of his belt buckle.

  He was fumbling between us when a voice called out from the master bedroom. "Captain? The ladies down the hall said you'd be in here."

  Rayyan!

  I cursed under my breath as Bannon moved away. He reached up to release me from the restraints and I eased down from the cross, straightening my sarong.

  Oh, Rayyan, of all the times for you to come looking for us, why now?

  My friend poked his head in from the darkened passageway, brightening as he laid eyes on us. "Ah, Captain. Mara asked me to find you."

  Rayyan stood slightly shorter than me, a native of the Cursed Sands. Unlike Alaric's people, the serpent worshippers, who were all bizarrely pale in this sun-drenched desert, Rayyan had smooth, beautiful brown skin and dark, tightly coiled hair, which he'd shorn down to a single strip down the center of his scalp. The Order had stolen him from the river colonies in the south and forced him to live the life of a woman—his anatomical sex—for over twenty years. As soon as he'd attained his freedom, Rayyan discarded every vestige of that life and presented himself to his rescuers—and his former friends—as the man he was.

  I'd thought I understood my dear Rayyan. But I'd known a different person: a shrinking violet, awkward, struggling and demure and obedient. In the scant weeks since our liberation, though, the woman I'd thought I'd known had disappeared and passed into distant memory. A shadow, a paper mask blown away on the wind.

  Now, only the true Rayyan remained. He no longer flinched when given attention or stared at the floor when he spoke. He spent his days outdoors, rebuilding vital parts of the castle or studying the fallen stonework as I might study a book of lessons. He carried a spear and had taken up one of the Sanraethi shields, and the soldiers of the morning guard welcomed him, training him in their ways of warfare.

  The change took me by surprise at first. These days, I wondered how I'd ever mistaken him for anybody else.

  "Soldier," Bannon greeted Rayyan. "What does Mara want?"

  "There is a dispute over what's to be done with some of the relics from the solarium."

  Bannon rolled his eyes heavenward and gave a weary sigh. "Cordelia, I assume?"

  Lady Cordelia Shan, the niece of Bannon's king, had assumed regency over Vashtaren after the death of her father, the king's brother. A shrewd and intelligent lady, if still somewhat young to be ruling in her uncle's stead. She had an unfortunate habit of crossing Bannon's lieutenant, Mara, though, and this would not be the first time Bannon had been called to intervene.

  Bannon joined Rayyan at the entrance to the torture chamber and the two of them fell into discussion. With a sigh, I crossed to the collection of playthings displayed along a section of wall and perused them for anything worth taking along on our journey.

  I selected a short whip comprised of soft suede strands and struck it against my palm. Not a painful sensation, but a firm, sweet caress, for gentle arousal and teasing torment.

  Bannon will like this. I set it aside to be stored in one of the crates and took down a wooden paddle next.

  After several minutes Bannon appeared again at my side. I tried hard not to jump as I caught his movement out of the corner of my
eye, but he seemed not to notice. He reached for one of the toys, lips pursed into a fine, hard line as he turned it over in his hands. A knife, handle brazenly carved into suggestive, sexual figures, with a keen, deadly blade.

  He met my gaze over the toy. "I know you enjoy pain, Sadi, but this is a damned murder weapon."

  "Yes." I brought my fingers up to play along the triple scars above my collar bone, raised lines Alaric had specially inflicted to contrast and complement my tattoos. They weren't the only scars he'd engraved me with. "Knives can become intense tools for mastering and branding one's slaves."

  When he didn't say anything, I stepped closer to him, taking his hand in mine, and guiding the very edge of the blade lightly across my skin. I held his gaze, staring deep into his ferocious eyes.

  "Remember, my barbarian," I whispered. "I am well-trained, and pain is my pleasure. Don't worry. I can take it."

  I stole the knife from his fingers and flipped it in my grasp, pressing the blunt side against his naked chest, drawing it across his skin in a simple pattern and leaving a flush, pink line in its wake. Bannon gave a hiss through his teeth, grabbing my wrist.

  "There's no need to draw blood," I assured him. "Just the kiss of the blade on skin brings delight... it summons up the rush of sensation and threat of danger. It focuses the mind and body in the moment. In the flesh."

  Bannon's eyes, sparking with deep heat, burned into mine, and his grip on my arm tightened. After a brief, hot moment, though, his gaze shifted to other implements hung on the wall: wooden paddles with fat, stubby spikes; wooden rods for caning; harnesses, restraints, and chains. I tilted my head to the side, trying to read his expression.

  Releasing me, he selected a leather mask meant to buckle tightly around the slave's head, covering mouth and nose. "And this. How would you breathe?"

  "There are slits cut into the leather." Taking it from him, I turned the mask over to show him. "See?"

  "And do you find pleasure in it?"

  I considered. Alaric had made me wear this mask, and others like it. I'd never had the power to say no, but if I had, would I?