by V. F. Mason
Her red summer dress emphasizes every delectable curve of her body, a body I worship every day while thanking my fate for giving me her.
For she healed my destroyed soul in ways I never saw coming. She has taught me to love not only her, but our children as well, while never letting go of my hand, believing I could push through the darkness calling my name every single day.
My past was so hideous no child should ever be subjected to such cruelty, yet whenever I lie in bed with the whole house asleep and my wife next to me, I wonder if she’s my reward for all the fucked-up shit that little boy had to face.
Pain, hurt, challenges, being found by Professor Smith, loving myths… all my life choices led me to her, and what more can a man ask for?
I would live my life a thousand times more if it meant claiming her as my own at the end of that journey.
“It’s bad, and we shouldn’t do it,” Esme says, and when Estella raises her brow, she exhales heavily. “It’s a short version, Mommy.” She pulls at her dress, twirling around. “And he deserved it, by the way.”
“Did not!” Raven wraps his arms around Estella. “I just used their weaknesses against them. That’s what Uncle Octavius says to do.”
“And Aunt Morgan says we should always be honest, because it’s a virtue.” Esme stomps her foot.
Oh yes. How could I forget their favorite aunts slash godmothers who spoil them rotten because they remind them why they don’t ever want kids?
At least for now.
Morgan and Josephine dated all through college while preserving their friendship with Estella. After graduation, Josephine accepted a marketing job at her family’s corporation in Paris, and Morgan followed her, becoming a famous illustrator. They got married a year ago, and the girls were their flower girls while Raven was the ring bearer. They come to Chicago once a year and usually stay at our house, since all they do is hang around with Estella anyway. My wife, who finished her degree and became a teacher, plans her schedule to always include their trip.
Judging by my wife’s face, she will have a long talk with her brother about his “wisdom” shared with the kids.
Can’t wait to be around for that particular conversation.
“Speaking of him, your uncle is here. Go greet him.”
Their squeals erupt, echoing in the space, and they rush to do that, each already intending to win the race of who gets to see him first.
It happens so frequently we no longer pay attention to it.
I crook my finger at her, intending to use this opportunity to properly kiss my wife, but she shakes her head, and I growl.
“I’ve got news.”
My brows lift and I cross my arms, waiting for her to elaborate.
What fucking news could be more important than kissing me?
“Santiago got married yesterday.”
Well, color me fucking surprised.
While I tuned down my darkness over the years… the Four Dark Horsemen have only gotten worse, diving deeper into chaos and gore while displaying their vices without a care for the world or people around them.
They’ve grown their empires, becoming even more powerful, but with this has come such darkness that even I’ve never indulged in it.
They’ve never dated anyone seriously or even been seen with women publicly, so the idea of any of them getting married any time soon hasn’t even crossed my mind.
Or rather, let me put it this way.
I thought there was no woman who would ever sign up for such insanity as belonging to one of them.
“Really? To whom?”
She shrugs while happiness brightness up her entire face, and she grins. “I have no idea. But do you know what that means?” She almost jumps up as she clasps her hands together, sighing in joy while hope radiates from her, luring any creature nearby to come closer and soak up all her warmth.
Too bad for them I don’t share. Ever.
Although I already know the answer to my question, I still ask, “What?”
“Octavius might get married someday too.” A breeze billows her hair backward while she twirls around. “My brother has a chance at love.”
Life has been one endless bliss after another; however, Octavius’s single status bothers Estella all the time, especially when the press loves to compare him to his three other friends and how no one has ever dreamed of snagging him.
The three others always top the most-wanted-bachelor charts—my brother-in-law, not so much.
My wife thinks love will heal all his deep wounds, but I’m not convinced.
While I like him, I think his psyche and soul are damaged beyond repair, and no amount of loving or acceptance would fix it.
At least the woman will have to be a saint to put up with all the shit he’ll throw her way, because even if Octavius falls in love, he will not give it freely and easily.
God bless her soul, seriously.
Before I can reply, the triplets squeal, then Raven screams, “Uncle Octavius, you need to teach us more tricks!”
Eve joins in. “Yes. We want to free the rabbit next! They keep him in our biology class.”
“Yeah. He suffers in that cage,” Esme says, quieter but still loud enough for us to hear. “Give us some pointers.”
Octavius waits a beat and then tells them, “Well, first and foremost… whenever you plan to free someone, keep your voices down and watch your surroundings.” A chuckle emerges from me while my wife just glares.
Her brother is damned hilarious and so fucking right.
If they intend to continue their ways, they should at least know how to cover their tracks.
“What are we going to do with them?” she asks, sighing in resignation, and I pull her toward me, locking my arms around her waist as hers circle my neck.
“Love them?” I offer, and she smiles, giggling. “At least no one will ever doubt they are ours.”
“Because they’re little brats who think this world belongs to them?”
I connect our mouths in a deep kiss, licking her lips before pushing my tongue inside, seeking hers as they duel for dominance, and we engage in a heated embrace that always leads to one thing for us.
Pleasure.
She moans, fists my shirt, and raises on her tiptoes, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and I oblige, drinking from her and pouring all my love and gratitude into this kiss, so she never doubts her place in my life or how much she has given me.
Tearing our mouths apart, I finally reply to her question. “Because they grow up in love.” And by how her gaze softens and a dreamy expression settles on her face, I know she understands.
It took me a long time to realize love is truly all that matters.
And our little family has that in abundance.
What else might one need?
The End
Want more from the Four Dark Horsemen? Turn the page to read an excerpt from Santiago’s Conquest.
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Santiago’s Conquest Excerpt
Briseis
A raspy breath of distress slips past my lips when my hold on the bouquet in my hands tightens, the roses’ thorns digging into my skin and probably drawing blood.
The priest’s booming voice echoes through the space of the church, his smile so bright I wonder if it hurts his face.
Or do despicable creatures have no idea about the devastating emotions of mere mortals?
“Do you, Briseis Dawson, take this man…” With each word, I zone out farther and farther from this situation while the ringing in my ears replaces his rusty voice. I barely hold myself back from spitting on him for what he’s allowing to happen inside these walls that should have been my sanctuary.
Instead, this place fed me to the wolves so they could shred my flesh to pieces, their sharp teeth sinking into me so harshly they won’t rest until I bleed out on the floor… with God as my witness.
Monsters, hideous monsters led by the devil who….
A single tear slides down my che
ek, hidden behind my veil made of the finest tulle. Nothing but the best for the bride of this groom, after all.
The groom, who I promised to hate till my last breath for what he has done to my family, stays oblivious to my begging, only a small smirk on his face while pleasure at his deeds radiates from him.
The King of Darkness and Deceit.
He chuckles, and I can almost imagine how his sapphire-blue eyes glisten with something wicked—the only expression that fills those orbs whenever his gaze lands on me—and I have to run far away from him… well, as much as I can in the current circumstances, in order to avoid it.
Not that he lets me do it for long; the freaking sadist enjoys my discomfort in his company, if his constant grins are anything to go by.
Madness has many forms and faces on this earth, covered in the masks of beauty and power, sneaking up on you when you least expect it, snatching you into its web of deceit and pain that follow you wherever you go.
His madness though?
Has no boundaries or control. Instead, it soaks up all the chaos around him.
The corset of my wedding dress is impossibly tight on my waist, and each gulp of air becomes a struggle, the pressure reminding me of the invisible chains the man has placed on me with no way of breaking them.
Shifting my focus from the priest, I stare at this unusual church they brought me to with its expensive colorful glass in the windows and the ceiling carved in an oval shape that almost gives a fairy-tale-like experience.
Except I’m trapped in a nightmare, which—no matter how much I pinch myself—doesn’t transform into the fairy tale I’ve pleaded for my entire life.
Despite its beauty that has the power to make one gasp in awe, the place reeks of doom and hopelessness that no amount of expensive artwork or luxurious design can hide.
A princess-cut diamond and sapphire engagement ring on my finger bumps against one of the thorns, the stone glistening in the shimmering light from above me, and I resist the urge to snatch it off and throw it at the groom, along with a few colorful word choices.
I catch Father Paul’s stare on me; conflicted emotions cross his face along with distress that he soothes with his gentle smile, as if it can reassure me.
Nothing on this earth has the power to reassure the inferno burning in my chest or the monster claiming me as his because he wishes to.
The priest’s lips stop moving, and he looks at me expectantly while my brows furrow, since I’ve no clue what he wants.
Panic shadows his face, and his lips move once again. I shake my head, hoping the ringing will go away so I can listen to him.
Still nothing though, and instead, my heartbeat speeds up in my chest, beating so fast I’m afraid it might jump out and land on the floor where the monster can stomp all over it.
Literally this time, since he has done it figuratively already.
A strong hand wraps around my waist and spins me so fast my head gets dizzy. I bump into the hard-as-brick muscles of his chest as his other hand captures my chin between his fingers, raising it so our gazes clash. “He asked you a question, mi novia.”
Rage flashes through me so violently that for a second the air gets stuck in my lungs while I want to shout in despair from not being able to unleash it on him with full force.
Maybe then he would have choked on his words, because calling me his bride is an insult to all the married couples all over the world.
The only appropriate word is captive.
His deep, husky voice sends shivers down my spine, and revulsion runs through me at his touch, the rose thorns digging sharper this time, and I wince in pain, finding no wiggle room in his hold to step back and throw away the stupid bouquet I never wanted in the first place. “Will you take me as your beloved husband and promise to cherish and love me till the day I die?” A sinister smile widens his mouth while he winks at me. “Or, in other words, till death do us part?” His thumb slides over my cheek gently, evoking fear inside me, reminding me how this hand can kill someone with just one strike.
I twist my face to the side, avoiding his caress, but he tightens his fingers on me, digging them painfully into my skin, and a whimper of distress escapes me. “The choice is yours, querida.” He prolongs the last word, as if tasting it on his tongue when he addresses me.
I wish to slap him hard, so he won’t call me his darling again, then fist the skirt of my dress and, with my high heels clicking soundly on the marble floor, run through the heavy, wooden doors at the end of the church’s hallway to hide far away from here.
“I always keep my word, darling.”
He won’t chase me, granting me my freedom he has promised from the very beginning, and with time I can forget all the events that have happened, like a bad dream that should have never even involved me.
However, all this musing has no point.
I stay silent, waves of shock rushing through me while I will myself to say the words everyone expects, yet they seem to get stuck in my throat, not wanting to be spoken for the destruction they might cause in my life.
The groom sighs, winking at me. “Querida, I’m starting to get bored. And it’s never a good sign.” Someone clears their throat, and I shift my focus to the bench on the left where a blond-haired man flips a knife between his fingers while the man next to him, bound in tight, black ropes, groans in pain, blood seeping from various wounds on his torso and head.
The blond man puts the sharp tip to his victim’s neck and nicks the skin, chuckling quietly, finding amusement in how his victim bursts into tears, his eyes pleading for mercy he will never get from the likes of them.
The victim mumbles something through the tape covering his mouth, and I don’t have to read minds to know what he thinks.
Or rather asks of me.
After everything he put me through… he still expects me to do it.
“Choose, Briseis,” the groom says, boredom lacing his tone as he snaps my head back to him so his hot breath fans my face, his lips inches away from mine. “Either become my wife or I’ll kill your father.” He waits a bit and adds, “Choose wisely. Don’t bargain with the devil if you are not ready for the consequences, mi amor.”
Yes, Santiago Cortez has given me a choice.
But no matter the outcome… my soul will be crushed like a porcelain mug hitting the floor.
Turning away from him, I focus my attention on the priest and finally find the strength to utter the words that cut me from inside out, while self-loathing fills my entire being along with hate that burns brighter with each passing second toward the man standing next to me. “I do.”
My life has become a nightmare.
Because a sinner decided to own me.
* * *
Click here for Santiago’s Conquest.
Also by V. F. Mason
Dark Romance
Sociopath’s Obsession
Sociopath’s Revenge
Psychopath’s Prey
Lachlan’s Protégé
Micaden’s Madness
Callum’s Hell
Madman’s Method
Madman’s Cure
Arson’s Captive
The Land Where Sinners Atone
Santiago’s Conquest
Lucian’s Reign
* * *
Mafia Romance
Pakhan’s Rose
Pakhan’s Salvation
Sovietnik’s Fury
Brigadier’s Game
Kaznachei’s Pain
* * *
Free Books
His Broken Princess
Acknowledgments
First, I want to thank God and my family for allowing me to write and make this dream possible. The support means so much to me, and I understand that sometimes it drives you crazy, especially when I try to meet my deadlines and seem unavailable to you. But I love you guys and appreciate everything you do for me.
Once upon a time…on a bright summer night lit by a thousand stars…a story popped in my head about a
professor and his student…who ended up being his obsession. Although I drafted their story in my notes, I resisted the urge to write it since I had to focus on my other projects. Two years have passed and this summer I opened the project again…and I couldn’t help but write this story that just poured from my fingers. And that’s how I knew the time had come to share it with everyone. I loved writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
Huge thank you to Hot Tree Editing team for helping me with my editing process. Especially Becky, Donna, Peggy, Kayla and Mandy. Plus beta readers and final eyes, who gave me valuable feedback and made sure I covered any plot holes I had.
Thank you to Hang Le and Wander Aguiar for the fabulous cover.
Heather Roberts, thank you for being with me during this release every step of the way.
L.Woods PR thank you for hosting my cover reveal and release blitz.
Thank you to my reader group, you are amazing!
Thank you to all the bloggers for spreading the word about The Professor and His Obsession and leaving reviews.
And finally to all the readers who took a chance on this journey of love between Ryder and Estella. Thank you to each one of you.
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