Page 19 of Cardinal House

“Do you see what happens, sweet girl,” he says quietly, his cigar-tinged breath blowing over my mouth, “when you disobey me?”

Tears run down my cheeks, my eyes are burning, eyelids hot enough to burn, I feel my heart cramping, and I don’t know what to think. I’m not sure I even have the ability to. My eyes roll back to the body, and a sob chokes me, seeing this man lying dead where I lay only a few nights ago bleeding in a different way.

Will this be me one day?

Slowly, I drag my gaze back to Uncle Nolan’s green eyes, “I’m sorry, sir,” I whisper.

“Mm, yes, I should think you are.”

He releases my face, pushing to stand, drowning me in his shadow. The way he peers down at me, towering above me, is terrifying. Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt beneath his waistcoat, he flourishes a white handkerchief before cleaning his face off with it. Meticulously wiping off his fingers one by one, he finishes cleaning his hands and then re-pockets the blood-stained square of fabric out of view.

“Get up, Luna,” he orders, taking a single step back, and with jerky movements, I do. “Turn around.”

Something inside of me shatters and crashes and I don’t try to stop the feeling of hopelessness as it overwhelms me. The cries ring hard and loud, like a wailing that only seems to appear inside my head. Outwardly, despite my body trembling, I don’t make a sound.

His fingers move to his fly, the zipper loud as he pulls it down.

Silent tears slip down my cheeks, running along my jaw, as I turn around. My hands trembling, he grips my arms from behind, just tight enough to hurt, but loose enough to ensure he doesn’t leave a mark, he moves me around to the back of the chair. Sliding his palms down my arms, stopping when he reaches my hands, he moves them to curl over the back of the leather chair.

Back pressed to my front, he flips the skirt of my silk nightgown up, bunching the delicate fabric in his fist, he holds it up around my waist. His breath sluices down my neck, but all I can do is tremble, staring down with tear drenched eyes at the smashed skull, the oozing blood and pulp like substance seeping from it.

I hardly feel it as he forces himself into me, the tight ring of muscle in my backside clenching tight as he shoves himself deep. Grunting into my flesh, his breath hot and quick against the side of my neck, he bottoms out.

Tears drip from my face, nails clawing into the leather under my hands, I hold on tight and try to relax. To let this happen without a struggle, without being held down. I try to drift off somewhere else when the pain ricochets up my spine, settling in the base of my skull, my hips colliding brutally with the armchair.

I close my eyes, thinking about what it would have been like if I had said yes, if I were to attend dinner with Wolf. What would he wear, where would he take me, would he cook? I have never been anywhere, but I think I would like to go everywhere if he were the one to hold my hand and lead me.

Wolf makes me feel safe when I’m with him, even though he’s sometimes grumpy. He’s handsome with that thick black hair pulled back from his face, those honey coloured eyes dressed in heavy fans of lashes. He has a squared chin, a wide set jaw, the back corners angular curves covered in a thick black stubble. There are piercings in his upper ears, black hoops in both shells of cartilage, multiple and unsymmetrical on each side.

His body is clearly treated like a temple. Ridges of muscles wrapped up in tanned, olive skin. He has large thighs and dark hair along his legs, but it’s not thick, and I bet it feels soft to the touch like the very sparse hairs dotted across his chest.

I picture his mouth, pout plump, his lips the same thickness both top and bottom. The slight upturned tip of his nose that makes the feature almost soft on his masculine face. And the way his brows are so thick they should probably look comical, but they’re gently sloping arches over his eyes that tie everything in together instead.

I think of his lips brushing mine, his breath on my skin and I can almost imagine more.

With him.

So as my uncle exhales hard against my neck, his face nuzzling into the side of my throat, I picture Wolf instead, but like a slap to the face, the image inside my head doesn’t stick.

Because Wolf, Wolf would never hurt me.

Chapter 9

Wolf

The hospital agrees to a nighttime discharge because that’s the hours my family keeps.

And we paid them off.

It definitely did not have anything to do with me wanting to see Luna.

Our eldest brother, Thorne, not quite a year older than me, is the first one through the door, followed quickly by Archer and Hunter, entering the room in an arrowhead formation.

Thorne is elegant when he enters, dressed in his usual black-on-black suit, shoes shined and polished, hair immaculately swept into place.

Hunter stalks in like a predator. A scowl on his face, a tear in the hem of his t-shirt, dark hair shoved messily back. Hands curled into fists, he glances around the room like he’s looking to pick a fight with a piece of medical equipment.

Archer saunters in last, wearing his usual smirk, hair a mess, slices of it hanging in his eyes, until he tosses it back like he’s in a shampoo advert, grinning wide when he catches my eye.

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