way he would comprehend what I was talking about. I had to show him.
I twisted my body so I faced away from him. The gasp when he saw my back and the touch of his fingers along my skin made two tears fall—perfect, transitory drops that were lost in the black fabric of my dress.
“Who did this to you?” Dylan’s voice was a strangled whisper.
“They all did.”
“Cal?” His fingertips stroked across each mark.
“No, but it doesn’t matter who did it. It’s them. All of them. They all do it.” Why didn’t I want to tell him Vinemont had inflicted the wounds? I could have said, could have named him, but I didn’t.
I looked up and caught Lucius staring at me, his eyes burning even as Brianne was pliant under his touch. She was straddling him now, her skirt hiked up and her hands in his hair. He palmed one of her tits, his other hand on her ass, as she kissed his neck. Even so, his direct gaze was on me, pinning me to the spot. My mind spun out of the conversation with Dylan even as his fingers still traced the memory of the tortures written on my skin.
Lucius gripped Brianne’s breast harder, her head lolling back as he twisted her nipple. I swallowed hard, a tingling erupting along my same breast. He pulled down Brianne’s dress and latched his mouth on her nipple, his eyes never leaving mine. Her moan cut through the string ensemble and my heart sped up. When he gripped her hair and yanked her head back so that she arched into him, I let out a pent up breath.
“—Stella?”
I forced myself to look away from him, to engage with the one man in this cursed place who I knew cared about me.
“Are they going to do that to your back again at Christmas?” Dylan’s face was pale, the color drained like water from a sink.
“No.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I don’t think I could handle something like that.”
“Have you seen my dad?” I blurted it out. I shouldn’t have cared what happened to him, but seeing Dylan brought my mangled feelings for my father back to the forefront. Had Dylan’s message that my father was ill been true?
“He’s fine. Not sick or anything. Don’t worry. Just concerned about you. He’s the one that thought of this. There was no way to get you out, he said. But maybe if the Devereauxs could get in, we could help you. You’re all he talks about. Trust me, he wants you away from here. He wants you safe and back with him.”
Dylan’s words were meant to comfort me, but they were a rusty blade in my stomach. My father had not only betrayed me, but now he’d betrayed Marguerite and Dylan. Entering this realm was not something done lightly, and though I didn’t know for certain, I was sure there was no easy way out. My father had doomed Dylan to become one of the monsters that was seated around us now, the villains in beautiful clothes with perfect manners and a taste for blood.
“Don’t change the subject, Stella. What happens at Christmas?” He furrowed his brow.
How can I tell him?
“What happened before…to my back.” I shook my head. “Christmas will be worse.”
“What could be worse?” He pulled me into his arms and ran his palms down my shoulders. “What could be worse than this?”
A shadow fell across us. “Get your hands off her.” Vinemont glowered at Dylan, his hands fisted at his sides, the still-bruised knuckles turning white.
“You bastard. You did this to her, didn’t you?” Dylan stood, rage already turning his cheeks a bright shade of crimson.
Vinemont sneered and affected a bored air. “You don’t know what you’re talking—”
Dylan shoved him, and Vinemont took a few steps back before smirking. “I’ve been wanting a good fight since I got back from Cuba.” He appraised Dylan. “Too bad I still won’t get one.”
Vinemont was fast, his fist crushing into Dylan’s jaw in a scant moment. But Dylan didn’t fall. He was strong, well-muscled from rowing and lacrosse. He took the impact and rushed
I twisted my body so I faced away from him. The gasp when he saw my back and the touch of his fingers along my skin made two tears fall—perfect, transitory drops that were lost in the black fabric of my dress.
“Who did this to you?” Dylan’s voice was a strangled whisper.
“They all did.”
“Cal?” His fingertips stroked across each mark.
“No, but it doesn’t matter who did it. It’s them. All of them. They all do it.” Why didn’t I want to tell him Vinemont had inflicted the wounds? I could have said, could have named him, but I didn’t.
I looked up and caught Lucius staring at me, his eyes burning even as Brianne was pliant under his touch. She was straddling him now, her skirt hiked up and her hands in his hair. He palmed one of her tits, his other hand on her ass, as she kissed his neck. Even so, his direct gaze was on me, pinning me to the spot. My mind spun out of the conversation with Dylan even as his fingers still traced the memory of the tortures written on my skin.
Lucius gripped Brianne’s breast harder, her head lolling back as he twisted her nipple. I swallowed hard, a tingling erupting along my same breast. He pulled down Brianne’s dress and latched his mouth on her nipple, his eyes never leaving mine. Her moan cut through the string ensemble and my heart sped up. When he gripped her hair and yanked her head back so that she arched into him, I let out a pent up breath.
“—Stella?”
I forced myself to look away from him, to engage with the one man in this cursed place who I knew cared about me.
“Are they going to do that to your back again at Christmas?” Dylan’s face was pale, the color drained like water from a sink.
“No.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I don’t think I could handle something like that.”
“Have you seen my dad?” I blurted it out. I shouldn’t have cared what happened to him, but seeing Dylan brought my mangled feelings for my father back to the forefront. Had Dylan’s message that my father was ill been true?
“He’s fine. Not sick or anything. Don’t worry. Just concerned about you. He’s the one that thought of this. There was no way to get you out, he said. But maybe if the Devereauxs could get in, we could help you. You’re all he talks about. Trust me, he wants you away from here. He wants you safe and back with him.”
Dylan’s words were meant to comfort me, but they were a rusty blade in my stomach. My father had not only betrayed me, but now he’d betrayed Marguerite and Dylan. Entering this realm was not something done lightly, and though I didn’t know for certain, I was sure there was no easy way out. My father had doomed Dylan to become one of the monsters that was seated around us now, the villains in beautiful clothes with perfect manners and a taste for blood.
“Don’t change the subject, Stella. What happens at Christmas?” He furrowed his brow.
How can I tell him?
“What happened before…to my back.” I shook my head. “Christmas will be worse.”
“What could be worse?” He pulled me into his arms and ran his palms down my shoulders. “What could be worse than this?”
A shadow fell across us. “Get your hands off her.” Vinemont glowered at Dylan, his hands fisted at his sides, the still-bruised knuckles turning white.
“You bastard. You did this to her, didn’t you?” Dylan stood, rage already turning his cheeks a bright shade of crimson.
Vinemont sneered and affected a bored air. “You don’t know what you’re talking—”
Dylan shoved him, and Vinemont took a few steps back before smirking. “I’ve been wanting a good fight since I got back from Cuba.” He appraised Dylan. “Too bad I still won’t get one.”
Vinemont was fast, his fist crushing into Dylan’s jaw in a scant moment. But Dylan didn’t fall. He was strong, well-muscled from rowing and lacrosse. He took the impact and rushed
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