Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
The pit seemed much bigger when I was standing inside it. The table of weapons was beside me. I ran my hand along the weapons, most of which I had never seen before. It was like something from the Grand Inquisitor’s torture chamber.
I circled the pit, Arthur tracking my every move.
Finally, I drew to a stop in front of him. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the ivory queen piece from his chessboard. I had taken it last night when he had left the study. After he had provoked me and I had provoked him right back, setting off tonight’s chain of events. The smudge from the cigarette still stained my queen’s chest.
I took the cigarette hanging from Arthur’s mouth, put it between my lips and took a long, drawn-out drag. The smoke filled my lungs and I tasted Arthur on my tongue. I blew the smoke into his face. Then I placed the queen at the base of Arthur’s throat.
Fixing my gaze on his, I dragged her down through the thick layer of blood on his skin, sullying her remaining cleanliness. Smearing the evidence of death and torture on her smooth, polished surface.
I stopped when I reached the waistband of his trousers. They had dropped low on his hips, the V leading to his prominent cock, a perfect gutter for the blood and sweat that dripped down his body.
Stepping closer, so close that I could feel the blazing heat pulsing from his skin, I tucked the queen into his trouser pocket, his hard cock brushing against my hand as I did. I released the queen, then wrapped my hands around his length through the fine material and gave him a slow, hard stroke before pulling my hand away.
I finished the cigarette, blowing the smoke over Arthur’s face one last time before flicking the butt to the floor. Arthur’s jaw clenched, then he placed his hand around my throat and pushed me back a few feet until my back slammed against the wall.
His eyes were wild and his nostrils flared. He was breathing hard, pants ripping between his lips, yet the hold on my throat was not tight, just a placeholder, a way to keep me still and obedient as he exerted his dominance. Arthur raised the sword he still held and placed the tip at my throat, above the hand that held me in place.
“Are you scared?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. The low light in the pit glimmered off the few remaining slivers of clean steel on the sword’s blade.
“No,” I said, nothing but truth in my response. “You won’t hurt me.”
“Are you sure about that? I could kill you,” he said, pressing the tip harder against my skin. I could feel its sharpness, how easily it could slit my throat, pierce through my flesh.
“You won’t,” I said, knowing it to be true.
I know it to be true …
Here stood the most dangerous man in London, his hand around my throat and a sword precariously pressed against my skin. And I knew. I knew with unwavering faith that he would not harm me. It was a revelation, a clear burst of sunshine on a grey and drizzly day.
I was one of the only people who could say with true certainty that Arthur Adley, Dark Lord of London Town, would never ever hurt them.
I swallowed, something shifting inside me at that knowledge, something at a cellular level. Irreversible. An eclipse, his moon casting me in much-needed shadow. It was the acceptance of letting go of my old life and being reborn—my cleansing baptism in hell’s raging fire.
It was a heady surge of power charging through my veins.
Arthur’s sword nicked my throat, propelling me back into the moment. A tiny trickle of blood ran down my neck and toward my breasts—my communion, my sanguine pledge to join his side. Arthur’s eyes were stone, stones rolled in lava and ash and solar flares, as he pushed and pushed me.
“You’re so certain,” he said, head tilted. His eyes were narrowed as though he was searching for my deception, any doubts in my heart.
There were none. Not a single, solitary one.
Making sure I had his undivided attention, I said, “I am your queen.” Arthur stopped breathing. Taking advantage of his pause, I lifted my hand and pressed down on the blade until it was back by his side. He let me take away its threat.
The residue of the recent tragedies faded, and a new feeling was awakened. An opening of a new door in my heart. One that only allowed in Arthur and his family. One that kept me safe, sheltered and in his dangerous embrace. I felt taller, stronger … changed.
I pressed my palm to his chest, sharing the blood he had just spilled. “I’m your tainted, sullied, and corrupted queen.”