Page 58 of The Mourning Throne
Lex buzzed beside him like a fly caught in sugar the entire drive back to the hotel. Fingers tapping, feet bouncing. He hadn’t stopped looking over—eager, twitchy, still drunk on blood.
Morgan didn’t speak.
He let the silence stretch. Let Lex fill it with noise, with questions he didn’t voice, with thoughts running rampant through that pretty, eager head.
Let him bask in the gap between reward and consequence.
The moment they stepped into the suite, Lex didn’t bother hiding it—he was glowing. Practically high. Morgan could almost see the endorphins and adrenaline humming inside of him.
Lex draped the tie over the bed like he couldn’t get it off fast enough, mouth already half-open.
Morgan held up a hand.
Lex stopped. Mid-step. Mid-thought.
“I’d like an audience for my prize,” Morgan said, tilting his head toward the locked door. “Follow me.”
Lex’s lips shut. Opened. Shut again.
Morgan unlocked the second bedroom door, pushing it open. The air inside was thick—sour with too many hours alone, sweat and fabric left untouched. Stale in its silence.
Ollie hadn’t moved from where Morgan left him. Curled awkwardly on the floor, bloody sheets holding his arms firm. For a moment, he wondered if Ollie was even alive.
Morgan brushed aside the heavy curtain, letting moonlight spill in.
Ollie flinched. His entire body rocked to the side, spine twisting, face pressed into his shoulder like it might shield him.
Good.
Not dead.
Lex would’ve been insufferable if their “pet” had expired between this morning and now.
Morgan crossed to him in three steps. Pulled the first-aid kit from the top of the dresser.
Popping open the white case, he tore two strips of medical tape. Exactly long enough to fit what he needed.
He adjusted Ollie’s head, tilting it up just enough to expose the eyes.
“I’m sorry if I—I did something,” Ollie whispered.
“You haven’t,” Morgan said. “But don’t move. You’ll lose more than those lashes."
Then the tape went on.
One eye. Then the other. Peeled taut. Unblinking.
“Would you like a break tonight?” Morgan asked as he snapped the kit shut and returned it to its place.
Ollie was so quiet, so still, that Morgan had to look again. That perpetually sad, soft face. Even now, fresh tears welled, trembling just below the lower lids but never falling.
“Well?” Morgan prompted.
“Y—yes. Yes, please. Can…”
The words dissolved into silence.
As much as Morgan didn’t care to have Ollie around, even he had to admit: Ollie’s obedience? It was more than impressive. So clean. Almost near perfection.
