Page 112 of White Raven
Sarah huffed a laugh. “No…she doesn’t know whatI’lldo…if anything happens to him.”
CHAPTER 21
CIVIL WAR
His head was cloudy with the haze of good whiskey—whiskey he’d once helped distill that had the sweetest burn the entire way down. Madame Olivia had tried her best to beat him into sobriety. He supposed she thought that would keep him from costing them a life-changing sum. They’d never been offered that much for any escort. Every worker in this pleasure house was waiting with bated breath as to whether or not he’d blow this opportunity. He was to put on the show of his life and could barely get one foot in front of the other. Athan shook it off as he finally turned the knob to his suite and stumbled inside. He stared at one spot on the floor to try and keep himself stable—and not retch everything he’d consumed on his very generous patron.
“Well…this isn’t what I expected. But exactly what I ordered,” the woman drawled from a spot she’d taken up at the window on the far side of the suite. He could hear her smile through her velvety voice.
“Apologies, ‘Mum…” he slurred, straightening himself, and bracing the hutch to the left of his door for support. “Had I known, I’d have picked another evening to drown my sorrows.”
“In my experience, men tend to extend their duration after consuming too much,” she replied, smoothly. He smirked and chuckled through his nose.
“I can assure you; my talents will exceed your expectations…and my duration.”
She laughed, and her shadow crept across the floor toward him. The shape of her body, and sway of her hips hadhim raising his head before he had a chance to think about it. Her hair was so white it almost shone silver. Her lips were full and painted red as blood. Her frock was revealing and hugged every sleek curve of her pale body. She was a vision. And the way she carried herself…
“That’s precisely the reason I paid such a handsome amount for you, cherub. Tell me…why were you drowning your sorrows?”
The sharpest edge of grief’s rusty blade sliced through what little heart he had left. All he could see was his mother’s face. How the cheapest counterpaints dulled her beauty. Made her less of a woman. “I’d rather not discuss it.” He met her strange eyes and could swear she saw through his soul. “May I ask you something?”
“As long as you’ll allow me to help you out of your garments while you do,” she smiled. It was like watching temptation itself take form and laugh in your face. His spine went ramrod straight as she stepped in front of him and helped herself to the buttons of his satin jacket…his shirt. Athan swallowed.
“You don’t seem like the kind of lady that would be in need of services such as mine. Why did you spend so much coin for a night with me?”
She removed one piece at a time, slowly, and deliberately, taking in every inch of him when she’d finally stripped him bare. “I suppose you seem like you’ll be worth every penny. I’ll know for certain once that heavy cock can get no farther inside me.”
She had slowly slipped out of that dress and left him speechless as she spread herself wide on his bed, and stroked a slender, painted finger through her lovely, pink cunt. She beckoned him closer, and he found himself moving toward her before he could think to bother asking her name. He’d neverbed a client face-to-face before. Perhaps it was the whiskey, or perhaps…she was a witch, and had spelled him to forget his own rules. He put a knee on the bed and that serpent’s smile stretched across her lips—
“NO!” Athan screamed, banging his forehead, yet again, as he thrashed against the small space. He had suffocated again. Dying for…however many times it had been now. He’d lost count long ago. He swore he could hear a distant echo of Dahlia’s laugh, and his very bones scraped with the sound. This had to be Hell. God had finally turned his back completely and was giving him his due.
Every single time, he’d had to relive another painful memory, and every single time he’d awaken, weaker than the time before it. Sweat dripped down every part of him, and the harsh breathing he had woken to find himself exercising in the earlier parts of this torture, had trained him to be in better control of it now, as he slowly calmed himself.
Get your mind off it. Think of something else.
Someoneelse. His eyes closed, as if it couldn’t be any more dark now. Sarah’s face blurred into his mind. Big hazel eyes, glinting with flecks of gold, and here recently, shards of deep crimson that made him thirst for her like a drug.
Thirst.
His veins felt like they were laced with acid. His throat constricted, and his heart beat off-rhythm. It was like staring across the front lines at the enemy while they awaited the charge of battle. A civil war being fought within himself. Without warning, the enemy took flight, hacking apart the image of his mate, and he screamed inside—he screamedoutside. Her beautiful face disappeared behind that raging hunger, and his control was lost. A soldier falling like the biggest tree in a forest fed with blood. If it wasn’t bad enough that he’d inevitably lose his fight to stay alive, he couldn’t even waste away in silence,or peace. The hunger sought to swallow him like a dry pill. He refused to make it easy, clinging to anything he could, and trying to force her face back into his mind. What it felt like to kiss her. To taste her. To be inside her.
To love her.
His screaming drowned out the noise of what remained of his strength as his body beat against the coffin, to no avail. Shattered pieces of her went in and out of his vision, and he realized he'd lost this fight…again.
I love you!
“I love you!” He screamed, one last time, tears spilling towards his ears.
And just as quickly as she appeared…she was gone.
What happened?
Rhaena’s sweat beaded on her forehead, and she simultaneously thought she could freeze to death. Her breathing kicked up, and her ears roared. Her heartbeat felt slowed. Her throat burned. Her body felt parched.
“Rhaena?”A voice called. One she recognized.
“Bran—Brandon,” she exhaled, licking her dry lips.
