Page 91 of Deadly Rival

There’s a distinct undertone ofdon’t screw this upto the words, and it almost makes me smile.

“Yes. Of course. Sorry. Ophelia, I grant you my protection. You are mine, and mine alone, forevermore. I have selected this mark to grace your skin as a symbol of my ownership.”

Ownership.

I keep my eyes locked on Sebastian as I let myself feel the full weight of the word. I chose this. He gave me the opportunity for freedom, but I turned it down. And it won’t be ownership in name only; he’s made that perfectly clear. I belong to him, and he’ll take full advantage.

And you’ll love it. Sometimes, anyway.

I chose this. I can hardly imagine my father’s horror. The disgust he’ll feel when he hears about it from his spies. But with the thought comes a single, beautiful realization.

I don’t fucking care.

He can think what he likes about me. He never loved the person I really am. I hope he gets to hear every detail of this moment and it chokes him. From now on, there’s only one man’s opinion I care about.

A guy who must be the tattoo artist, given his ink, appears with a trolley. The tattoo. I’d forgotten all about it. What will it be? I don’t get a say. It’s Sebastian’s choice. It hits me all at once—this is the first of many decisions that are his to make.

My breathing picks up, and Sebastian must sense it because, under Kendrick’s disapproving glare, he ducks his head to whisper, “Don’t worry. I chose something beautiful. You’ll love it, trust me.”

Trust him. I do.

The tattoo artist sets himself up behind me and starts his design on my right shoulder. I yelp, not braced for the pain, and Sebastian takes my hands in his. “Don’t be a baby. You’re tougher than that.”

I straighten my spine. I might be naked and kneeling, but I don’t have to appear weak. Not because I’m a Calder—I’m done with being tough to protect my family image—but for myself. I’ve chosen to be here, and if I want any respect in this place, I’m going to have to earn it.

The pain consumes me for a while, and I let it. I’ve done enough thinking in the last few hours to last me a lifetime. After an indeterminate amount of time, the tattoo machine stops. “That’s most of it. I’ll get her back in for another sitting to finish off the finer details.”

“Thank you.”

He addressed Sebastian, not me. Because he’s my master and I’m his property. That’s going to take a lot of getting used to.

The tattoo artist leaves, and Kendrick steps forward. I know what comes next, and my stomach turns over. This is going to be bad. I know it.

“Ophelia must complete one final act to prove her loyalty. You are her Patron and her master. Command her, a true test. Prove to your Brothers how devoted your Ward is. Fail to test her, and I’ll instruct her myself.”

Crap. So he has to be cruel. How cruel? Eve had to kiss Kendrick’s feet. Will Sebastian think of something worse?

I catch his eye, and he smiles. It’s not his sweet smile, but the one that lights me up from the inside out. The dangerous smile. The smile that says I’m not going to like what comes next but he will.

Oh God.

He dips his hand into his suit pocket, and as soon as I see what he pulls out, I know. I shake my head at him, but his smile turns into a vicious grin as he flings the small rubber bone across the stage, right to the goddamn curtains. “Fetch, pet. With your mouth. And no standing.”

Maybe I should have let him die after all.

I stare across the stage, which feels a million miles long. Eve did it, I remind myself. She crawled across this very stage and survived. I can too.

The wooden stage is rough against my knees as I crawl toward the curtains. Blood rushes in my ears as I close the distance, and I’m hyper aware of the way my breasts move, but I’m doing it. It’s not going to kill me. You can’t actually die of embarrassment, though it feels like I might.

An eternity later, I reach the bone. Would he have thought to wash it? Most men, definitely not, but Sebastian? Probably. I grip it in my teeth, feeling stupider than I’ve ever felt when it lets out a goddamn squeak, and make the long journey back to Sebastian’s feet. I glare up at him as he takes the bone from my lips and pats my head. “There’s a good girl.”

He’s radiant, joy and amusement rolling off him in waves, and it manages to infect me despite the indignity of what he just made me do. I smile up at him. My master. My owner. I keep tripping over the words in my head, trying to make them apply to me. It still doesn’t feel real.

The relief in Kendrick’s voice is unmistakable. “Well done, Ophelia.” He disappears, returning with a silky blue robe, which he hands to Sebastian.

Sebastian holds out his hand, and I get to my feet. The robe is covered in tiny, embroidered flowers, and the watery silk caresses my skin as he wraps it around me. He bends his head. “This feels like a waste. I’ve got half a mind to keep you naked up here a while longer. Maybe make you do some star jumps.”

My face burns at his words, but a telltale curl of desire lodges in my stomach. I’m as twisted as he is, and the quirk of his eyebrow tells me he knows it.

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