CHAPTER 32 - BLAKE

I'd been coming to The Drained Rose long enough to know that most of the time you just had to look away. Madame Illustra wanted you to look away. Sometimes her girls– and boys–had rough customers, and it usually wasn't anything they couldn't handle. Hell, some of them liked it that way.

Most of Madame's workers enjoyed what they did. The low level coercion that we highbloods had spun over the blightborn in Veilmar and the rest of Sangratha made mortals more pliable to suggestion. But they still had a measure of free will. If one wanted to feed, one needed the blightborn to be willing–or one had to overpower them or use thrallweave. Something which most highbloods had no qualms about.

In any case, I was used to hearing the sounds of rough feeding and even rougher sex.

But this was different. The sounds were different.

And then I'd heard Pendragon scream.

Now I took in the scene, my heart pounding.

Pendragon, her cloak ripped off, her hair wild, cascading down her back.

Her dress was torn. It was fucking torn . I saw red.

The highblood brute had hardly noticed me. He still had his hands all over her. Clawing, pawing at her, his intentions sickeningly clear.

"Get your own girl, my friend," the highblood called back over his shoulder. "I've found myself a new girl and she's mine."

Mine.

Mine.

Mine .

The word echoed in my head and fire erupted in my veins.

"I'm not your fucking friend."

I launched myself at him, moving faster than I ever had in my life.

One moment, the highblood was latched onto Pendragon like a leech. The next I had ripped him away, my hand twisting into the man's collar as I hurled him against the wall with all my strength.

He was older than me. Probably stronger.

But not now. Not tonight.

Mine, he had said. Mine.

The sickening sound of bones cracking echoed through the room. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

The blood pounded in my ears as the man crumpled to the floor, dazed but still alive.

That simply wouldn't do.

Mine, he had said. Mine.

She wasn't his. She was mine. Fucking mine .

I didn't know why I knew it with such certainty then but I did. The word pounded through my blood. It spread through my bones. Mine .

Medra Pendragon was mine. And I was prepared to die before I let any harm come to her.

She was mine before we'd even met. Even when she hadn't known it yet. She was mine and I was hers.

It didn't matter if she believed it. If she accepted it. It didn't matter if she hated me. I'd believe it enough for both of us. She was mine and she always would be.

My heart might have been black, my deeds as dark as night, but she was mine to protect, mine to keep safe, with everything I had to give.

She thought she was trapped? I was the one trapped. Trapped with this feeling I couldn't get away from. The need to possess her. To dominate her until she accepted me.

I grabbed the man by his throat, yanking him up with ease. The highblood gasped, clawing at my arm in desperation. But my grip was like iron.

"She's not yours," I hissed. "I want to hear you say it."

There was no mercy in my eyes as I looked at him, holding him up off the ground.

I slammed his head against the wall, hard enough to crack the plaster. A trail of blood was left behind.

"She's..." The man choked. "She's yours."

"Mine," I growled, my voice thick with jealous rage. "You don't get to touch her– ever ."

The man's voice came out as a rasp. I could hear the blood bubbling in his throat. "For–forgive me..."

But there would be no forgiveness. Not tonight. Not ever.

I tightened my grip, twisting the highblood's neck with a sickening crack that reverberated through the room. The man went limp in my grasp.

I flung him to the floor, his body crumpling in a heap.

Breathing hard, I turned towards Pendragon.

She stood there, frozen, clutching her cloak to her chest as if trying to hide her torn dress. Her eyes were wide with shock.

Our gazes locked.

I reached for her arm, expecting her to slap my hand away. But to my surprise, she let me.

I led her towards the door.

"Wait," she said, her voice hoarse. She pointed down at the carpet.

Neville. The fluffin lay on the gaudy red carpet. His little chest was rising and falling slowly.

"Fuck," I growled. "He did that?"

She nodded tightly.

I suddenly longed to kill the man all over again.

I let go of her arm and scooped the little pup up into my arms.

"Come on," I said, hoping she'd comply for once in her stubborn life. "I'm taking you and Neville back."