The Artist Gets Caught

Ifeel like I'm going to die right here on the floor of the bedroom. Despite my aches and pains, I can't call her because I reassured her leaving me here would be okay. She needs the time to herself with someone who's going to be good to her. Unfortunately, I also can't let the others know because the cat will get word.

Worse, someone will find out what's been going on behind closed doors.

There has to be something I can do, though, because I need help. I was wrong about the coyote keeping Wilde in check—she was away all weekend with the firestarter and the knife tosser. No one told me I'd be left me alone with him after he found out where my primary was. Of course, he took out his frustration on me; I was convenient and I'll heal.

It's become a recurring theme between these two.

Normally, I could depend on Sari to temper his ire a bit. She's not much better, but she hasn't reached full strength with her animal mutation yet. It makes her less wild and slightly more restrained. The two of them have amped up their game since the cat and I mated with Flame and Alistair, and it's getting dangerous. Most visits start out with one of them bitching about it having to share us. After the addition of her coyote and Wilde's demon, the constant jealousy lead me to believe that they'd finally calm down because they had something the others didn't.

Until they figured out what was going on with our other mates and now, it's become less a pleasure dungeon and more a torture one.

It's not an actual dungeon, but the room where we used to play is much more twisted than it used to be. We can't make them happy because we are not enough to distract their neuroses. Despite what Sari and Wilde preach, they would be happier if all their varied lovers were only in interested in them. That's not how it's supposed to work and it's causing a shit ton of grief amongst the family.

So far this weekend, Wilde has been exacting his revenge for everything that bothers him. From my relationship with Alistair to his fear of the agent stealing the cat to his trust issues, it all fell to my feet. His frustration at my refusal to answer questions about where the cat is hiding fueled two days of sheer insanity. I could have broken free before now if I truly wanted to—clone strength is no joke—but… then he would have hunted my primary down.

We're both trying to protect one another while keeping this fucking mess a secret—but that can't last forever.

I'm a flexible clone, and I enjoy a slice of pain with my pleasure. My kind lives a dangerous life at the Company and were trained to withstand an enormous amount of pain. I don't partake in that anymore, but a little rough and tumble is fun. However, if there was any pleasure in this, it was all his. Wilde's various methods weren't intended to drive me wild—no, there made me submit.

Honestly, I'm amazed I'm still upright and the fact that I drove myself home after freeing my limbs is terrifying.

But I couldn't stomach another night. I had to feign weakness and promise I could get the cat to heal me. He bought it, but only because he wanted me to continue ‘playing'. For all his insecurities, Wilde doesn't assume that anyone would want to leave when he's in his ‘demon-mode'. In fact, the cat did such a good job of convincing him that his demon was an acceptable part of him. He assumes everyone loves that wanker's twisted desires.

Trust me, this is not what we envisioned when we encouraged him to embrace his inner dark side.

The irony is that I have to hide all of this. I'm too sore to move and I might have a few joints out of whack from hanging. Without my primary, I'm not sure I can hide this if someone tries to help. The bruising is obvious, so?—

"What in the name of Tom Ford and Coco Chanel happened to you?"

Jesus Christ. How in the hell did the boozy bint know I left, much less get back here without a car?

I rub my temples gingerly. I can't deal with her attitude when I'm worried that I might pass out. That's the last thing I need her to see. "Bit of a rough night. We get a bit carried away when we're having fun." I leer at her, hoping that referencing my sex life will send her straight to the liquor cabinet while I figure out what to do.

She snorts. "Pull on the other one—I don't want to end up lopsided."

I arch a brow, not up for protesting more. She doesn't give in at first and I lean against the doorframe with a groan. This stand-off can't go much longer or I'm going to tip over.

"You look beaten to within an inch of losing consciousness. By your lack of horror, it was not something new. When confronted, you're a shitty liar, so don't bother. I'm going to carry you to the bathroom and prop you up. We'll get you clean and then to bed—where you will stay all of this evening and most of tomorrow—so you can heal before the kitty gets back."

Blinking, I tilt my head in confusion. This is a side of Philomena I've never seen before.

Bossy, yes, bitchy, yes, but this? It's weird.

"Siren and I will take turns bringing in food, art supplies, applying poultices from the cat's cabinets, and watching the clone healing to ensure that you don't need a proper doctor. Do not fight me on this or I will sedate you. My boys dropped the four-one-one on me when I pigeon-holed them this morning. I know what you two have been hiding."

Her glower makes me shiver, as if she's going to finish the job Wilde started. "Look, we can't…"

"Put a sock in it. If you won't defend yourself, I can't force you to. But I can damn sure let the rest of the family know. We'll see where it goes from there."

With that, she hefts me up on her shoulder and carries me into the bathroom, slamming the door behind us.

I guess we're done talking.