Page 75 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

Sleep, my wife.

And just for a little longer, I’ll allow myself to be his.

Because only in the monster’s arms, do I find peace.

Santiago

Briseis finally falls asleep as her delectable body settles on my chest, her even breathing tickling my skin. With my hand tangled in her silky strands, I hold her head over my heartbeat so she knows I do possess the organ she so often speaks of.

Over the years, I laughed at people blaming their heart for their foolishness or speaking about it as if it was another person they couldn’t control. It’s an internal organ used to pump the blood in your body and nothing else.

It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t ache. It doesn’t fucking feel or urge you to take actions when you should stay put.

Or at least mine always stayed silent to the point I forgot I even had one.

Until tonight.

Tonight, seeing her shed tears at my various scars before kissing them gently—souvenirs left behind by all those fuckers in the past—my fucking heart squeezed so tight I lacked breath, threatening to drown me in emotions I refused to acknowledge years ago in order to survive.

When you feel nothing, there is no weapon in the world powerful enough to destroy you.

Laughter has always been my armor, but my beautiful bride managed to crack through it, coming dangerously close to discovering a truth I hate so much my insides burn with it.

I should have locked her in this room after the damned dress was unbuttoned so she would cry herself to sleep and think about a monster who became her husband. She wouldn’t have illusions about me then.

Because her affection right now isn’t sincere.

She’s playing Beauty trapped in a castle by horrible Beast who took her life in exchange for her father’s. Her attraction to me creates a false sense of security around her, urging her to get to know the beast and maybe then fall in love with him, because someday he’ll become a dashing prince.

She searches and focuses on the goodness, closing her eyes on the darkness, pretending it doesn’t exist.

Except every molecule in my body consists of darkness so hideous no sane person wants to be near it.

My phone rings loudly in the otherwise silent space, the sound screeching through the room, and Briseis groans in her sleep, nuzzling into my chest.

Rolling to the side, I gently settled her on the pillow where she sighs heavily, her brown locks splayed on the pillow. I throw a blanket over her before reaching my pants in two short strides, fetch the phone out of my pocket, and slide Accept on the screen without checking who’s calling.

Hating whoever it is, regardless, for disturbing my time with my new bride, ripping the make-believe world we’ve managed to build for a moment in time.

Fucking hell.

Even I believed the illusion, finding peace in my life that’s nothing but storms.

“This fucking better be good,” I bark into the phone, going to the terrace door and slipping outside, welcoming the frigid air and blast of wind on my naked skin. The sun rises in the distance, slowly casting a light over my land, and I drop onto the swing, enjoying the perfect view of God’s creation.

Since the person on the other end of the line stays silent, I prompt. “So? Fucking talk.”

The deep and dangerous tone, powerful enough, even after all these years, that it makes me sit straight when he finally speaks up. “Hijo, use the word fucking one more time addressed to me and I’ll personally come to cut your tongue out. Muestra algo de respeto!”

Fuck!

Pulling my phone from my ear, I finally see my father’s name flashing on the screen and curse everything that’s holy for not checking it sooner. Clearing my throat, I apologize. “Lo siento, Papá.” I wait a beat before adding, “I didn’t expect your call so early.”

“I haven’t slept the whole night. It’s not every day your only son gets married and doesn’t invite you to his wedding. Better yet doesn’t even bother to inform you he plans to get married. I had to find out about it from the fucking social media post.” Anger sinks into me at his tone, my hands itching to strangle whoever fucking leaked our photos sooner than planned while I try to find words that might appease my father, but find none.

So I go for the only ones I have. “Puedo explicarlo.”

“No, you can’t explain.” His harsh tone leaves no room for argument or justifications for my actions. Lucian Cortez issued a guilty verdict without the option of parole, and everyone should abide by the fucking law.

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