Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 40901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
He takes my hand in his, and I watch, stunned, as he sinks to one knee in front of me with the energy of a man who is not at all captive in a hostile facility.
“Katie,” he drawls. “Will you marry me?”
The guards start to laugh at his sheer fucking nerve, and I have to admit, I begin to smile too. But not from any place of mockery. Starlight is sweet, underneath it all. He seems to be genuine, and he seems to consider his captivity a complete irrelevance.
“Starlight,” I say. “Get up.”
He gives me a smirk as he stands. “I mean it, you know.”
“If I am going to marry a man, it will not be one who asks me in a room where his toilet is two feet away from us both.”
“That’s more your design choice than mine,” he says. “But I understand.”
I shake my head. "You are absolutely incorrigible. What am I going to do with you?”
“Marry me,” he grins.
“I don’t know if we’ll go that far just yet. You don't know what you’re getting into. You don’t know how I am as the director of this facility. You,” I say, putting my finger underneath his chin. “Don’t know what life is really like when I am in charge.”
Starlight gives me a darkly adorable look. “But I can’t wait to find out.”
9
Starlight
I must have said the right thing, for I have been set free, in a manner of speaking. There’s not much in the way of freedom for a man who has been in league with the devil for the better part of a decade. I have an unpleasant concern that at any moment I might find myself once more assailed by his charms or encounter him in another form. Katie would not allow that, though. She’s very strict when it comes to consorting with the devil, as it turns out.
Katie’s home is on the same grounds as the facility, but not in view of them. It is a newly built mansion in the Georgian style, largely constructed in white and gray marble. The interior is similarly elegant, just like Katie herself. A lot of effort has gone into making these white balustrades spotless, these marble floors absolutely flawless. This is a home on display, but it is being displayed to nobody at all. I wonder if Katie will tire of the constant elegance. I wonder if she misses the blood and dirt and filth of my prison realm.
She leads me up the stairs, past many empty rooms, to the empty room where she has installed a large four-poster bed. The duvet is a light cornsilk blue. All the better to be ravaged on. I am still in the clothing of my incarceration, and of course, that will not do.
“I suppose I’m going to have to dress you,” she smiles, opening a wardrobe that contains a series of men’s suits, all in black. They are not made in my usual style, but at least she’s paid attention to my preferred palette.
“This is sweet, Katie.”
“Is it? Is it sweet to have you as my little dress-up doll?”
Her eyes laugh at me. She’s goading me. Provoking me. She wants something, and she will get it. But not yet.
“Dress yourself,” she says. “I have more to show you, and we can’t have you padding about the place in plastic shoes looking like an escaped patient.”
I notice, not for the first time, the way her pants curve around the rear of her very pretty ass. My palm itches. This woman, as elegant and powerful as she is, is a brat. It is only a matter of time before I treat her as one.
I take the opportunity to get changed first. The suits she has commissioned for me fit perfectly. She put no small effort into this wardrobe, or into making a place for me in her life. This house, which at first appears to be little more than an adult’s dollhouse at full scale, has touches of masculinity all over. I’m almost certain if I look in the bathroom, I’ll find his and hers towels.
“Very nice,” she says when I am dressed. “Now you’ll look like a presentable person when others see you, not a mad American hobo. I have something else for you. These won’t feel the same as they once did, but I thought you might like to have them back. My team found them when they were combing the rubble for your artifacts of power.”
She hands me two very familiar pieces of equipment, curved arcs of metal with rotating tips on a short shaft at the height of the apex. I take them in my hands, and I feel… bereft.
My spurs no longer spark with demonic magic. They are just two pieces of metal with no use or context here.