My entire body jerks at her words. Every woman that has had him wants him again. Oh my God. Her words swirl around in my head, accompanied by the single word, marriage.
“I thought he wasn’t serious, that he was fucking with me. You’re all crazy. Fucking crazy,” I shout.
The three women freeze in their spots, I back away from them until my back slams against a hard stone wall. Ellyn gasps, taking a couple steps toward me. That is, until Jasmine throws her arm out to stop her advance.
Shifting my gaze from Ellyn to Jasmine, my eyes widen and my breaths come out in pants. She shakes her head once, her eyes trying to relay some kind of information to me, but I don’t know what she’s silently telling me. I’m too fucking stressed out to try to read her.
I hear the wind begin to howl outside, then thunder rolls in the distance again and I offhandedly wonder how fucking often it storms here, Jesus fucking Christ.
“These dresses are your options, milady. Now, we must hurry. Tomorrow morn will be here before you know it. His highness was unyielding in his demands. We have no time for hysterics,” she snaps.
My back stiffens and I take a step toward her. My entire body is shaking and without so much as a thought, I launch myself at the poor woman. Wrapping my arms around her back, I bury my face in her neck and begin to cry.
Her arms envelop me and she soothingly shushes me as she runs her hands up and down my back.
“There, there, milady. Everything will be right as rain,” she purrs. “King Elias will see that you are well cared for. He will put his heir in your belly and you will settle in just fine to our ways here,” she coos.
None of her words calm me. Not in the slightest. Pinching my eyes closed, I inhale a deep breath before I straighten my back and wipe my tears away.
I’m going to be his kidnapped bride.
This freak is going to marry me and I’m never going to see my family again. They believe, truly believe that I am in some different world, even those women who claim to be witches.
I’m going to stay here forever, my family will worry and I think that could be the most heartbreaking part of all of this. My sisters won’t know where I am. My parents won’t ever be able to call and bug the shit out of me with their crazy-assed stories.
My life, my world as I know it is completely over and I’m at the mercy of this man who has apparently fucked the entire goddamn world and never gone back for seconds, though all the bitches have wanted him to.
I would end up with some deranged player. It’s just my luck. Every guy I’ve ever dated hasn’t kept it in his pants, why would this guy be any different? Maybe this is just normal for all men, maybe I’ve been expecting too much out of life.
My grandmother used to always tell me.
Billa, she’d say.
Billa, you are a rare flower, just like your sisters. No man will ever appreciate the four of you for the rarities that you bestow. You must see this inside of yourself, dear. You must love yourself above any man. Never, but never love him above yourself. For if you do, he will have far too much power over you, sweet angel. Men are only human, but the love that a woman has for the power that she holds is beyond compare.
I thought she was crazy. Now I realize that she was right. Men are pigs. They’re bastards and cowards of the worst kind and apparently even in another world, they are the exact same.
“Let’s try these gowns on, is there a black one?” I ask.
“Black? But milady, black is for mourning. Blue is tradition,” Jasmine informs me.
I snort. Not giving a rip if blue is tradition. This whole thing is ridiculous and I’ll wear black, just to be a bitch.
“Black is my first choice,” I snap.
All three women dip their chins before they turn to the heap of fabric. I know there is something black in the pile, because I can see it peeking out of the bottom.
I’m sure it will anger Elias, but since he’s making decisions for me and disappearing, then I’ll just do whatever the fuck I want.
I feel a little looney, like take me straight to the nuthouse looney. This can’t be real. Cannot be real.
Chapter Eleven
ELIAS
“You’re done with me, then?”
Duraina watches me from beneath her lashes. She’s attempting to be demure. I’m not sure that the word or the actions behind them work for her. She’s acting, because I, as well as every other man that’s slipped in and out of her bed, know that she is anything but demure.
Walking over to the pitcher of ale, I pour myself another goblet full. I’ll need it if I’m going to get through this conversation. What I should have done was send a missive, but for some reason, I thought this the kinder avenue.
“I’ll be wedding my bride on the morrow, Duraina,” I explain as my answer.
She closes the small distance between us, lifting her hand to her charms. Her fingers dip between the crevices of her breasts. My gaze flicks down to the movement, but for the first time, I am not tempted by the action or by her diddeys.
Naught about her appeals to me. She wears far too much color on her face, her hair is styled too neatly, she smells too overpowering of faux flowers. Her dress is too tight in an obvious way. She is just too obvious. Her lips turn into a pout and I wrinkle my nose, throwing back the goblet of ale, emptying the contents.
“But you are not wed to her tonight, lay with me again, Elias,” she purrs.
Her palm touches my chest and slides up, wrapping around the side of my neck. Her touch feels wrong, so very wrong. My body jerks with the realization that just days ago, her touch did not feel that way, in fact, this would have made my cock stand at attention.
Does Duraina only feel wrong now because I’ve had Sybilla in my bed? Or is it something different? Sybilla is not of this world, and I suddenly wonder if my reactions to her are not genuine. What kind of power does she have over me? What did she bring with her from her world?
I need to see the witches.
Taking a step back from Duraina, I shake my head. “I have a duty to my wife,” I lie.
Duraina smirks. “You have no such duty, Elias. In regards to carnal pleasures, you are the one man on this earth who can do as you please and as you see fit. We both know this, do not try to deny yourself a taste of me, My King,” she breathes.
Shaking my head, I lift my hand and run my fingers through my hair. “Do not make this embarrassing for yourself, Duraina,” I warn.
“I’ll do whatever you like, My King. Consider my body yours to use as you see fit, please just don’t leave me,” she whimpers.
Narrowing my gaze at her, I take another step back. “Is it me, my favor, or my coin that you are grasping for?” I ask, arching a brow toward her.
Duraina’s lips turn up into a grin. “I must admit that I enjoy all of those things equally, Elias.”
Shaking my head, I wonder how I could have ever held even an ounce of affection for this woman, this brazen selfish cow. Not when the sweetest queynte I’ve ever had waits for me in the chamber connected to my own.
“Hopefully you have a wonderful memory,” I announce, turning from her.
“Elias,” she calls out.
With my hand on the door, I turn to look back over my shoulder as I wait for her to speak. She takes a step toward me, pushing her breasts out as her lips purse out even more in an exaggerated pout.
“She is not worthy of your loyalty. She has earned nothing,” she breathes, attempting to sound headier, sexier. It doesn’t work.
Lifting my chin, I look my nose down to this muckspout of a woman. “But you have, is that what you’re telling me?”
“You know that I have,” she whispers.
With a jerk of my head, I continue to look down my nose at her. “You, Duraina, have earned nothing. You’ve spread your legs like a common whore, accepting my coin in favor of my cock’s stroke. Along with others in the village.”
“But she has done more than that? You wed her after a few days, for w
hat reason? She is a stranger, in fact, I hear she is a witch. So, she’s bewitched you then?”
My lips quirk at her words. “Aye, she has bewitched me, but not because she holds any extraordinary powers, she needn’t possess them. The future queen is all-powerful without an ounce of magic and you’d do well to remember that.”
Without another word, I yank the door open and for the first time in my life, I leave a woman’s home, her bed, without an orgasm. Instead, I mount Storm and in the black of night, I make my way back to my castle, back to my bride.
To the world, my foes and my friends, Sybilla is naught but a vessel to carry an heir. To the witches, she is one-fourth of a prophecy that may or may not come to fruition. To me, she is something else entirely and I’m not quite prepared to come to terms with what that is quite yet.
What she will be is my bedmate, she will be my lover behind closed doors, soft and sweet for me. She will be the Queen of Bunafi to the world. She will settle into her place, her role, and together we will have a life.
I will protect my country from the prophecy, staying diligent and keeping Sybilla under guard for the rest of her days. It is the only way to keep my people safe, to protect my lands and the crown.
It is these things that I think of as I push Storm toward my castle, toward home, toward her warm waiting body. I should fight the urge to sink inside of her, no woman should hold the appeal that she does, no woman ever has. Yet, my cock has a mind of its own.
SYBILLA
I open my mouth to scream the instant that I feel the heavy weight on top of me. A hand covers my mouth, a face hovers above mine and only then do I let out a breath. Glittering steel-blue eyes meet mine and a mouth that’s turned up into a cocky as shit grin.
The asshole.
“No screaming, sweeting,” he murmurs.
Narrowing my gaze at him, I nod my head in agreement. I may not scream, but I do plan on giving him a piece of my mind. Thankfully, he releases his hold on my mouth.
“Why are you here?” I snap.
He jerks his head back, his own gaze narrowing at mine. “What do you mean, why am I here? You’re to be my wife and you weren’t complaining yesterday.” He grins.
Placing my hands against his shoulders, I push against him, growling when he doesn’t budge. One of his hands slips beneath my head, his fingers tangling in the back of my hair as he holds me still.
“What’s this then?”
“Where were you?” I whisper, hating the fact that I sound just as hurt as I feel.
He shakes his head once, his eyes turning indigo, almost immediately. “It is not your place to ask me such questions, Sybilla. This union is for safety and you will abide by my decision to wed you in a few short hours. We will get to the bottom of this prophecy, but until all is revealed, you’re not to leave the castle unless instructed by me.”
“I’m your prisoner bride, then?” I whisper.
He dips his chin. “If you wish to speak of yourself that way, then yes. In our bedroom, you may ask questions and converse with me however you wish. As soon as we walk out of the chamber doors, I am your king.”
“I’m asking you then, in our bedroom, where were you tonight?”
“It is also my decision whether or not I answer those questions which I’ve given you permission to ask.”
“You’re an asshole,” I snap.
His lips twitch. “I’m not sure what that means, but I have an imagination and I assume that you have not given me a compliment.”
“You would assume correctly,” I snap again. “God,” I growl.
He shakes his head. “Merely your king, sweeting.”
Turning my head to the side, I miss the way his eyes sparkle as he laughs at my expense. His smiling lips touch my cheek, then slide down my jaw, to my neck and I’m unable to hide the shiver that covers my entire body at his sweet and gentle touches.
“Please, if you haven’t bathed after leaving her bed, don’t come to mine with her stench on your body,” I whisper.
I’m unable to keep the hurt from my voice. I wish that I was better at hiding my emotions, but apparently, I really suck at that shit, especially since I’ve fallen for this stranger after about a minute of knowing him. I hate myself, my weaknesses, when it comes to Elias.
“Sybilla,” he rasps, his lips never leaving my skin. “I’ve been with no other woman this eve,” he informs me.
I don’t call him on the fact that he’s only promised to not being with someone tonight. Instead, I let that knowledge soak in for a moment. I allow myself to feel an ounce of happiness.
The fact is that I am being forced to marry this man tomorrow so I should at least try to make it a happy union, even if he’s probably only going to use me to pop out some kids.
“Where were you then?” I chance asking as his hands slide my nightgown, expertly, up my legs.
He doesn’t even pause in his movements as he slips the gown up my hips, to my waist and then forces my arms to rise as he pulls it free of my body.
“None of your concern, Sybilla.”
His words aren’t particularly nice, but the way that he says them, in a whisper, I can’t deny the way they wash over me causes my legs to part. He grunts, fitting his hips between my thighs and rolls them, his dick sliding along my clit.
One of my hands slides into the back of his hair, holding onto the strands at the nape of his neck. The other stays curled around his shoulder as I shift my gaze to look directly into his. Elias’ blue eyes are now as black as the night sky as he looks down at me.
The fireplace glow is the only light in this room, and it somehow makes him look soft, and perhaps a bit sweet as he looks down into my eyes. Sliding my hand from his shoulder, I cup his scruffy jaw and slide my thumb along the bottom of his scar.
Elias’ nostrils flare at my move, his jaw clenches beneath my touch, but there is something vulnerable in this moment between us. Soon it will all be broken, but for a moment, I have him without his kingly shield up.
“I’m scared, Elias,” I whisper.
“Why?” he demands.
Licking my lips, I run my thumb along his scar again. “I’m in a world that isn’t my own, my family has no idea where I am or how to find me. I’m alone, and I’m terrified at the thought of being used by you and yet…”
“Yet?”
Lifting my head from the pillow, I touch my mouth to his before I finish my thought. “I’m terrified to be used by you, and yet, when you’re here with me I find that I crave you.”
He growls, and without warning, his hips shift and he fills me in one swift motion. I’m not ready for him. Pulling my head back, I let out a cry of pain as he stretches me. He tugs on my hair, forcing my neck to arch for him, but doesn’t shift his hips as I expect. Instead, he stays fully seated inside of me, and completely still.
“Open your eyes, Sybilla,” he demands, his voice almost harsh.
Opening my eyes, I attempt to regain my breathing as I stare at his face. His black eyes glitter, his jaw is set hard and there is a tic in his cheek.
“Never be terrified of me, sweeting. I’ll never hurt you, my future queen. You’ll carry my babes inside of you, you’ll give me sons, and you’ll make me happy.”
“In that order?” I breathe.
He hums, lowering his face, his teeth nipping my bottom lip. “Nay, Sybilla. Not in that order. For I think making your king happy should be top priority, then carrying my babes, then providing sons.”
“What if we only have daughters?” I exhale as he pulls out of me before he sinks back inside.
I find it almost shocking that his movements are done with such ease, my body becoming wet almost immediately.
He hums. “Then we will keep trying for sons.”
“How many?”
“Sons?”
“Children?”
His lips turn up into a blinding smile at my question. He tugs a bit harder on my hair, forcing my neck to arch even more. His hold sends sensations th
roughout my body that should be painful, but instead are nothing but pleasure. He slowly eases in and out of me in a rhythm that is unmistakably achingly close to making love.
“Dozens.”
I let out an unladylike snort. He doesn’t allow me to respond to his words, instead he slants his head to the side, his lips slam against mine and he fills my mouth with his tongue, fucking me in tandem.
It doesn’t take long for both of us to find our release. I push back the thought that as he fills me with his release that he is setting about impregnating me, as he’s made so abundantly clear he wants to do as soon as possible.
Wrapping me in his arms, he rests and we don’t say another word. I can’t get my mind to shut down. All of this seems so extraordinarily fascinating. I still expect to close my eyes and wake up in my apartment in Portland.
Though now, after the witches’ little speeches, I’m thinking that may never happen. That is, if what they say is true. I’m still not sure that I’m convinced by their words.
This could still be some kind of cosplay thing, and they’re in on it too, but as each hour passes that becomes less and less of a possibility. I may have to come to terms that I’ve landed in some kind of warped, Twilight Zone, thing.
However, if I have to live some magical Twilight Zone life, I guess it could be worse than being married to a king who gives really great orgasms.
Chapter Twelve
ELIAS
With my back to the door, I stare out of the window. It seems as though I’ve been doing much of this in the recent week, looking out of the window and reflecting. Strategy is important to me, though I’m not sure why I feel the need to strategize when it comes to Sybilla.
Bride of the Traitor: A Prophecy of Sisters Novel Page 9
