Page 51 of Black Sheep

What I don’t know is who will emerge the victor in this round. Finnan has innumerable aces up his sleeve. Including the video whose existence confirms the solid reality of monsters.

But Axel was…is the most cunning man I know, otherwise he couldn’t have deceived me so completely. Couple that with the extra edge the army has honed into him and every fear that lurks in my heart is ramped up another thousand degrees.

I shut off the water and step out of the shower. My body is as clean as it can be with Finnan’s brutality still stamped on it. Before the attack, he hadn’t touched me in months, his preoccupation with Taranahar relieving me of his interest. Even as I threw myself between him and the maid, I knew it was a bad idea. But my conscience and my heart couldn’t withstand letting him traumatize another human being. Not when I could stop him.

My fingers trace my midriff. Axel’s cream has worked wonders. The muscles that were screaming before now merely throb with each heartbeat. The ribs that were on fire no longer deliver agony with every breath I take.

Grabbing a towel, I pat myself dry then sit in front of the vanity. I avoid my gaze in the mirror as I apply moisturizer over my body. I also avoid acknowledging the sneaky little tingle between my legs that has resided there ever since Axel walked through the door at his macabre club.

Yes, I’m ashamed I writhed at his erotic command and momentarily set aside my goals for a taste of what his touch promised.

I release my hair from its knot and brush it out, taking refuge in the mundaneness of the act. When my scalp begins to tingle, I drop the brush, rise, still naked, and leave the bathroom.

Axel is leaning on the wall next to the door leading to my dressing room, arms folded, legs planted. A dark overlord bringing nothing but chaos and destruction.

My gasp fades to silence as we stare at each other.

I can attempt to pass him, get some clothes to cover myself. Or retreat back into the bathroom and grab a towel. I do neither.

The seconds pass, and I accept that there’s no use rushing to cover myself. He’s seen me naked more times in the last week than anyone else has in a long time.

But still he looks his fill. Bold eyes burn a path down my face, my throat, my breasts. He lingers there for an age, compelling my nipples into painful peaks until, satisfied by my reaction, he continues tracking a course down my body. His jaw clenches when his gaze drops to my bruises. But the slit between my thighs soon draws him away.

Axel lingers the longest at my pussy, his nostrils flaring as he scents me audibly from across the room. The raw, animalistic nature of it weakens my knees while keeping me locked in place. “I double-locked the door. How did you get in here again?”

It’s false security, locking my door in a house where I’m a prisoner, but it’s one I cling to nonetheless. Staring at him, watching his powerful arms drop as he prowls forward, that security dissipates faster than a snow cone in hell.

“I picked up a lot of tricks during my time in the army, sweetheart. Infiltrating places I’m not supposed to be was a job requirement. Especially in my last year. Remind me to tell you about it sometime.”

The connotations of that spike panic inside me. “You say that as if we’ll see each other again anytime soon.” I know we will. But my intention was for it to be on my terms.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze conducts another sizzling scrutiny, this time from the feet up, lingering again at my now-throbbing sex.

Then he walks around the room, taking his time to run his hand over the silk scarf draped over the armchair next to my dresser, my bottle of perfume and the gilt frame holding the picture of Saint, the dog I lost when I was twelve.

His touch is clinical, devoid of emotion. Not so the face he presents to me when he’s done fingering my things. A face etched with naked, savage intent. “Did you think we would not? Shame on you. Especially after everything you did to ensure this very outcome?”

He starts to cross the room.

I take a step back.

“Stay,” he growls.

Downstairs in the hallway, the word was filled with icy command. Here, now, it’s no less domineering, but there’s an added inflection to the order, a warning that promises anarchy if unheeded.

I kill the tortured sound that rises in my throat. And take another step back.

His hand whips out, capturing my arm. The restraint isn’t painful or unbreakable, but the fire from his hand brands me, spreads like wildfire until my belly quivers with the shock of it.

“One of the many lessons you’ll need to learn, fast, is this: when I say stay, you stay.”

Panic escalates. “Why would I need to learn anything? Isn’t your business in this house concluded?”

“My business with Finnan is. My business with you is just starting.”

“No. We don’t have anything to—”

“Are you really going to say that, Cleo?” he cuts across me. “Did you really imagine that all you had to do was deliver me to him and you and I would be done?”

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