Page 5 of Capturing the Ruthless Billionaires

Her little sister had finally opened up. Alexandria’s heart soared with love and pride for Rhea. She reached for her little sister’s hand and squeezed, and the look Rhea sent her told her that she knew she hadn’t hidden anything from Alexandria.

"Lucky, you don’t have to choose then.” Cara, who always wore her pin-straight coppery red hair in a short bob and tucked behind her ears, spoke with such matter-of-factness that Alexandria's love for her exploded. Until she hiccupped, she remembered the devastating plight that awaited her, what she would have to do, and took another swig of the liquid fire.

“Okay, listen to this,” Cara continued, getting comfortable before she started reading from her latest romance novel.

“‘Oh, Alistair, you are so big. I do not think you will fit. Oh, but I must, little dove, for my one-eyed monster will only get bigger. Elizabeth’s eyes drew wider in shock, her ample bosom rising and falling as if she were tossed into a tempest of her own doing.

“She couldn’t imagine his member growing any larger than what it was already. Touch me, my sweet love, Alistair said.’”

"Oh, for the love of Godzilla, Elizabeth, do not touch the man’s one-eyed monster,” Rhea cried with exaggerated hand motions. They all broke out into more laughter before Cara continued.

“‘His breath fanned over her face as he led her hand to his nature’s scythe, proud and pulsing so vibrantly with life that a blazing purple halo crowned his shiny head. Ah, sweet Elizabeth,” Alistair sighed. “My captain cries for the shelter of your ship, wet on a dark, stormy sea. Your oyster is beckoning me with warmth and nourishment. Grant access to my penniless pirate, Elizabeth, and part your pudenda so that he may plunder the priceless treasures of your python eater. At last, they cried out together, embracing from the hips down. Ah, Elizabeth, your quaffing quim is like a quagmire…’”

Oh god, Alexandria hiccupped.

“Not the quaffing quim quagmire!” Rhea roared with laughter.

“Alistair,” Cara said, holding the book to her chest in mock longing. “I want my own Alistair,” she added.

“You do not,” Rhea said, throwing a cushion at her.

Alexandria had no idea how the night ended after that, but between laughing their heads off, she managed to get through half of the bottle before she passed out.

How had her life taken such a drastic turn? Why had circumstances kept her here long enough that she needed to perform the Swan House centenary ritual two days before their planned escape?

She didn’t sleep very well either. Her dreams were haunted by the dark, murderous eyes of three men who hated her more than anything else in the world. They made that fact known without saying a single word.

Chapter Four

God, she just wanted a moment alone to throw up her insides. If she thought she could drown her sorrows, she had been misled into thinking it was possible.

“Ah, dear silly child. What have you done?” Melle admonished. “If the elders and your parents know you’re hungover for this special once-in-a-lifetime event, they will—”

“I don’t care, Melle,” Alexandria said, confidence blazing her tone. “And there’s no guarantee they would give in to me. What’s going to happen if they don’t? Will they be beaten until they submit to me?” Just the thought of it was too cruel to entertain. And why hadn’t she thought about this before?

“They will give Swan House what is ours for the taking. They know their place, and they know there is a time limit. When the hand of time is a quarter ’er noon, so cygnets will come to be, on fire and flight, to appease the gods and reap their treasures.”

“But—” Just because Melle could recite some Swan House poetry didn’t mean the men in the dungeon below would do as they were told.

“There’s no but, child.”

“I hate this, Melle.”

“I know, child.” There was that same look in Melle’s old eyes that Alexandria had seen before. She knew she couldn’t have asked Melle for help. Given that she had sacrificed her life for Swan House, the former first priestess would have destroyed herself if forced to choose between Alexandria and Swan House.

Alexandria knew that intuitively, and she never wanted to put Melle in such a position. The woman had acted more as their nanny than the First Priestess, since she lived in the house with them, in a room in the east wing of the Swan family mansion––just one of its seventeen bedrooms and ballroom-sized dining room.

“But I am here for you,” the older woman said softly, her gaze delving deep into Alexandria’s, “if things go wrong.”

She wasn’t talking about the ritual.

“There,” Melle added quickly. Two heads shorter than Alexandria, she reached up and retied the bow at her throat, gently tightening the thick velvet cape Alexandria wore. Under the heavy cloth, she might as well have been naked.

The gauzy fabric that served as a gown barely concealed her body—not her nipples or the dark discs around her breasts. Not the vee between her thighs or the smooth, glistening skin of her mound.

She had been lathered up and scrubbed to within an inch of her life, then dipped in a bath of scented oil—lavender and vanilla now clung to her and in the air around her. It had then taken four junior priestesses to massage the oil into her so that all she was left with was soft, glowing skin.

It was almost the middle of the day-the day of the ritual. The only people present would be the priestesses, who would report back in graphic detail to the council and present evidence of her virgin blood mixed with their essences.

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