Page 94 of The Vespertine Treaty
Rosette scoffed, shooting me one last look of pure venom before turning and sweeping out of the room. The heavy door closed, but didn't lock.
I was alone with him.
Malathor turned his attention back to me. The amused smile dropped. In its place was a look of clinical, predatory curiosity.
"So," he said softly, taking a step toward me. "The Prince of Death chose you."
He circled me, like a shark sensing blood in the water.
"I always wondered what his taste was. His whores were always so diverse. I assumed he liked them stronger. More... formidable." He stopped, looming over me, his shadow falling across my face. "But looking at you... trembling, weak, pathetic... perhaps Cain just likes things he can break easily."
"He didn't break me," I whispered, my voice shaking. "You won't either."
"Won't I?"
He crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. He reached out, his hand hovering over my knee. I flinched, kicking out, but he caught my ankle in a grip of steel.
"Does he touch you?" Malathor asked, his voice dropping to a murmur. It wasn't a question of romance; it was an invasion. "Does he spread these legs and take what he thinks he owns?"
I stared at him, horror freezing the air in my lungs. He was enjoying this. He was getting off on my fear.
"Or is he too noble?" Malathor sneered, his thumb pressing hard into the soft flesh of my calf. "Does he play the gentleman?Because I assure you, Ophelia... when he comes for you—and he will come—I am going to show him exactly what he failed to do."
He leaned in, his eyes dark and empty.
"I am going to take you right here on this filth. In front of him. I want him to watch. I want him to see me claiming his prize while he screams behind a barrier he cannot break."
The image he painted was vivid, horrific. Me, pinned down. Cain, helpless.
Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging. My body betrayed me, trembling uncontrollably. I was the victim again. Always the victim. First my parents, my mother selling me off like cattle. Then the world, ignoring my pain. Then Cain, locking me away. And now this.
Something inside me fractured.
But it wasn't a break. It was a snap.
A sudden, blinding flare of rage ignited in the centre of my chest. It burned through the fear. It burned through the trauma.
I was so tired of being the thing things happened to. I was so tired of males thinking I was nothing but glass to be shattered.
I looked at Malathor. I saw the arrogance in his eyes, the certainty that I was already defeated.
And I lied.
"You know nothing about him," I spat.
The words came out stronger than I intended. Malathor paused, his eyebrows raising.
I forced myself to hold his gaze. I forced my chin to lift, despite the terror hammering in my pulse.
"You think he is gentle?" I let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "You think Cain is a gentleman?"
I leaned forward, fighting the urge to vomit, and let the lie spill out, weaving a tapestry of protection around the male I was starting to love by claiming him in the most primal way possible.
"He fucks me like he hates me," I hissed, my voice trembling with a faux passion that shocked even me. "He touches me like he owns my soul, Malathor. He doesn't ask. He takes. And he does it with a fire that you could never summon in a thousand lifetimes."
I saw Malathor’s eyes widen. I saw the shock ripple through him.
"You want to perform for him?" I challenged, my voice rising, bordering on hysterical. "Go ahead. But know that whatever you do... it will be a pale, pathetic shadow of what he has already done. You will never be him. You will never have his power. And you will never make me feel anything but disgust."
