Mistress of Souls, page 7
“Hello! Welcome to Tightly Bound! Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you,” an enthusiastic employee calls from the window display she is setting up.
“Aye, I’ll do that.”
Hearing the Scottish accent, I poke my head around the shelf I was entranced by and give Hunter a beaming smile, but I allow a bit of my ire to seep into my eyes.
Hunter tilts his head to the side in question, unsure how to decipher my expression.
Before giving him the time, I stomp toward him and bind his wrists behind his back with my tail. His eyes widen in surprise, but I feel the evidence of his arousal pressing between us.
It does nothing to quell my fury.
“You do not have the right to make any decisions about my business!” I shriek, causing the employee to gasp and cover her mouth with both hands.
Hunter growls at my outburst and shoves me backward with his shoulder, forcing me to retreat into the secluded aisle of bookshelves.
He crowds me into a bookshelf, the spines of hardback books digging into my shoulder blades. His hips pin me in place, curling over me as he leans down to get in my face. My lower back screams from the tension of my tail stretching to maintain its grip on his wrists.
“I don’t know what ye are talking about, Cheetie,” he snarls, his warm breath fanning my cheek.
“Mhm, of course,” I say with attitude, rolling my eyes.
“Seriously, what is the deal woman?”
“I can’t believe you’re being so fucking obtuse,” I hiss, shoving him in the chest. “You fired all of my security and replaced them with members from your own pack!”
“Aye. What’s the problem?”
“They were my employees, not yours. They weren’t even in your pack.”
His expression softens slightly, but the anger still simmers in his eyes. “I’m an alpha, and they are not. I told them to get the fuck out, so they did. They were rogue Weres, lassie. Without a pack, they can rarely be trusted. I will not have ye put yerself at risk when I can easily bolster yer protection,” Hunter explains, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to dive headfirst into protecting someone he just met.
I stare at him with pinched brows and narrow eyes. Could it really be that simple?
“When I came to this existence, I was rogue too, and on my own. My employees are my people, picked for a reason. Someone took a chance on me, so I took a chance on them.” I stare at Hunter with pinched brows.
What are the chances he genuinely cares, and this was not a power play?
I free him from the confines of my tail, already missing the contact with his skin. He smirks while rubbing his tattooed wrists. Light indentations from the ribbing pattern of my tail ring both of his wrists.
I could get used to seeing those marks on his skin. They look good on him.
My clit throbs in agreement. I need to stay focused. Ignore his yummy tattoos and piercings for now, Mariax. You can play with him later.
“Seriously, Pup, that’s not cool. You cannot just decide to replace members of my staff without consulting me.”
He has the decency to look bashful for a moment. Hunter leans even closer, so his lips ghost mine as he speaks.
“Fine. I’m sorry, sometimes my alpha instincts don’t take no for an answer, so I do without asking. Don’t let this go to yer head, but yer right,” he says with a resigned huff.
Our banter is interrupted when ‘Down with the Sickness’ by Disturbed plays loudly from Hunter’s back pocket. His smile grows, and his eyes sparkle when he hears the song.
He reaches back and pulls out his smartphone, answering immediately without checking the caller ID.
Who the hell is making him so happy from a simple phone call?
“I’ll be right back,” Hunter tells me as he answers the call, walking a few paces away. “Hey, what’s up?” he says, greeting the caller.
I wish I could hear the other side of the conversation.
“No, I can’t today. I’m already spending time with a bonny lass,” he replies and winks at me.
Warmth blooms in my chest at his words, but it is quickly replaced by something ugly as his conversation progresses.
“Aye. That works for me.” He listens for a beat longer. “Wear something sexy,” he commands and ends the call.
I try my best to mask the jealousy surging through me, but I fail. Who is he talking to, asking them to wear something sexy? It’s not my place to be jealous, far from it. Hunter is not mine. We are not in a relationship, and he hasn’t even agreed yet to being my sub, these feelings need to back the fuck up to wherever they came from.
“Who was that?” I question, while I cross my arms, fully aware I sound like a petulant brat he thinks I am.
He smirks and responds, “Just one of the people I’ve been seeing. I recently put myself back into the dating pool.”
“Oh,” I say lamely, attempting to smother my demon instincts to make it rain blood.
I wish I could reach through his phone and drag my bladed tail down the torso of the mystery caller, spill their guts and dance on their maimed corpse.
“Cheetie?” Hunter says gently, softly rubbing his thumb across my cheekbone.
I mentally shake myself out of my dark thoughts before I act on them. Reminding myself again that Hunter is not mine.
“Hmm?” I respond and flutter my eyelashes dramatically.
“Nothing. For a moment, I thought ye were planning my murder.”
A startled laugh escapes me. If he only knew the depth of my depravity.
“Anyway. Coffee? How do ye take yers?”
I sigh in relief at the change in subject. “Cream and a little sugar. The coffee’s color should resemble hickory wood. Oh, please also add a dusting of pumpkin spice.”
He raises both brows. “Well, that’s oddly specific. I’ve never met anyone who describes their ideal coffee by a type of wood.”
I shrug. “I’m fancy like that.”
Hunter leans down and speaks just low enough so I can hear him. “If ye can describe yer coffee with such detail, I’m curious how ye will describe my cum as it coats yer tongue.”
With that, he casually walks to the coffee bar to order for us.
I’m speechless. My mind has momentarily forgotten how to function. Hunter has a dirty mouth, and I love it.
When he hands me my cup of coffee, I cradle it between my palms, soaking the warmth into my flesh. With every breath, I inhale the decadent aroma of my drink.
Perfect, it’s just what I asked for.
Chapter 7
Mariax
With texting and the occasional calls, we chat for hours on end. Getting to know Hunter has been the most fun I’ve had in a while. I usually ask him complicated questions so I can just listen to his Scottish accent and melt for him.
My attraction to him grows daily. His passion for his pack and determination to be everything they need him to be is inspiring. The plans he has for his pack and the future show him to be nearly perfect.
It makes me wish someone would go through such difficult lengths to keep me warm, happy, and protected.
My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement when his name lights up my phone screen.
I also feel completely safe with him in a way I never have before. I’m comforted by the knowledge he is a good person and doesn’t seek to hurt me.
Thinking about Hunter puts a little spring in my step as I walk through my home. I flick the switch to extinguish the lights, the shadows extending from the corners of the living room and toward the entryway. I exit my suite and lock the door behind me before sliding open the hidden door juxtaposed to mine.
When I step through the door at ground level, inky darkness envelops me. I make my way to the bar, using muscle memory to find my way. After flipping the switch behind the bar, long rows of liquor are illuminated by backlighting from floor to ceiling.
I stock the best liquors on the top shelf of my bar. And, not surprisingly, one of those is His favorite: Lagavulin. I wouldn’t bother stocking it, except that the prominent members of the supernatural community would throw a total shit fit.
Even the scent of it wafting in the air reminds me of him.
We would drink, fuck, and fight almost every night when I lived in Inferuna. A small smile plays at the corner of my lips before my anger chases away my brief moment of joy. I’d never wanted to have soft feelings toward him, never wanted to let my guard down. But he worked his way in, unwilling to let my soul survive without a part of his embedded in its recesses.
I don’t doubt for a second what he told me all that time ago. The memory of his whispered voice close to my ear as he held me and ran his hand down my back where I was stretched out on the bed is still fresh.
I will burn this place to the ground to keep you. I don’t care who I have to kill, torture, kidnap… list any atrocity you want. I will do it if it means keeping you as mine.
However, that level of devotion comes at a cost.
He broke me. My body, mind, and soul fractured in irreparable shards. No one else is to blame besides me. Something is wrong with me, and it has been for my entire existence.
When I became his, it was like a portion of my dark essence melded with his. The safety, comfort, and pleasure he offered was a balm to my exposed nerves. It was the main reason I agreed to be his submissive, but when I fled, the organ in my chest stuttered. A chunk of it tore from my body, leaving a weeping wound, and nothing has filled that void of longing ever since.
I know something fundamental in my makeup is missing, an abnormality that could only have occurred when the ether forged my physical self. I haven’t figured out what the difference is, but I always wondered if I could find out. I have a feeling he held the answers, but if he did, he never felt the need to divulge the information.
Bastard. He probably planned to lord it over me.
That’s what he did. He was a manipulator. A narcissist. Withholding secrets until it benefited him to get what he wanted.
He was a terrible Dom, and everything I strive to be the opposite of. It’s why consent, safety, and aftercare are so important to me.
It’d be nice if everyone showed me the same courtesy.
The bar was pretty cleaned out after the last full moon show.
This level of the club has only two entrances. One is for me and my trusted employees and the other is the curtained door. They have no access to the other levels of the club, especially the dungeon, and my personal living space; which is below ground level. If they want to visit The Pit, they need to go back to the lobby and get around my security there.
The entrance to the club consists of a lobby, bouncers, coat room, and elevator. The clients take an elevator directly to the Snuggle Pit directly below this floor. It opens out into a small foyer before they can enter the black gothic style large double doors. Those are always guarded, no matter what time of day or night.
I can’t risk exposure in any way that would hurt me, my business, or my patrons. Otherwise, if someone wanted, they could sneak in here and do all kinds of evil, especially considering that most magic is hard to trace.
I had my witch specifically place a trip board on every level, so if anyone enters outside of business hours, it alerts me the instant that it happens.
I work through the list, noting which top-shelf liquors need replenishing, but when I get to the spot where the Lagavulin should be, I only find one bottle with a quarter of the amber liquid left.
What the fuck? There should be at least three bottles. They didn’t drink that much at the last party. They were really into vodka.
Who is drinking my liquor?
Dread slithers along my skin, raising the fine hairs all over my body. A thundering pulse beats in my ears as my heart pounds harder.
I tear through the recycling bin, matching the liquor bottles to the empty stock list. Everything is accounted for except for the Lagavulin. My confusion turns to rage as realization dawns on me, and I bare my fangs at the space in front of me.
Someone was here. Someone not only drank my liquor but tried to hide the evidence, like I’m some imbecile who doesn’t keep track of her stock.
I search behind the bar for the empties and find them stashed in a shadowed corner behind the cheap liquor. Grabbing one bottle, I glower at it, examining every inch as if looking at it would give me insight who the bastard is who’s fucking with me. I’m willing to bet that whatever is stalking me through the city is also messing with my club now, and I’m tired of waiting for the creature to show up.
At this point, I’m ready. I dare them to show their face.
I close my eyes and grip the neck of the bottle tighter. Small fissures appear in the glass as I grip it like it’s the neck of my mystery stalker. When I slam the bottle onto the bar top, it shatters into thousands of tiny pieces. I plant my hands on the bar, ignoring the sharp pieces of glass that cut into my palms, inwardly cursing myself.
I do not have time to worry about this shit.
I need to make sure the Snuggle Palace is ready for business tomorrow night. I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead, brushing my pink locks out of my eyes.
Owning my own business shouldn’t be this much extra work, especially considering my past, but I give anyone who runs their own small business credit. This is not a cakewalk. Sometimes it is more of a hellscape.
When I open my eyes, I swear I see Him leaning against the doorframe in the corner of the room, a tumbler of whiskey dangling from his fingertips at his side.
I hear the slight tink of rocks tapping against the glass as he swirls it and stares at me with void-like eyes. That’s impossible. It can’t be him. He’s in Inferuna right now.
Why is this illusion plaguing me?
With my next blink, it vanishes.
Just moments before, He was leaning against the wall with that irresistible smirk I hate so much gracing his features. The corner of his lips were slightly curled, and his dimples on display. Tears pool along my bottom lashes, and I have to rapidly blink them away, not allowing myself to succumb to the agony that thinking about him brings.
He doesn’t deserve my pain. For someone who said they love me to bring me so much torture is irredeemable. Allowing love into my life was a mistake.
Never again. Love was for suckers, anyway. It was for humans, with their stupidly short lifespans while I go on, forever, with no end in sight. I’ll clasp at my immortality for the lifeline it is. I can, and will survive, anything.
My mind refuses to believe that my past is just haunting me or stalking me with no chance of escape. No, someone is out there, fucking with me for their own fun. So, following my instincts, I check the entire floor and the surrounding view from the catwalk above.
Proceeding with my crusade to lessen my anxiety, I hurry into the main club room. This portion of the Snuggle Palace is triple the size of the showroom. The showroom is usually closed off, unless it is a night with a live sex show, which occurs twice a month.
When customers want to imbibe in their fantasies in a hands-on manner, they explore every kind of pleasure imaginable in this room. I set up the space like a typical nightclub, but there are a few kinky additions. The side rooms are a big draw with their themes, set with any toy you can imagine to bring your sexual fantasies to life.
In one room it is all about bondage, another breath play. The kinky themes of the rooms rotate because there are so many different fantasies to account for.
An enormous bar runs along the wall, perpendicular to the dance floor. Purple lights outline the mirror behind the display of liquor. The bartenders are nude and sometimes offer lap dances for extra tips, making their choice freely.
I would never make it a job requirement.
Anyone getting too handsy with one of my workers without permission either has their face scraped against the sidewalk as they’re thrown out, or the worker gets the freedom to break their fingers. That’s a favorite rule and concession of mine; one which makes my employees feel safe and allows them to tap into their vengeful side if they have one.
However, when consent is granted, we absolutely encourage open sexual exploration and socialization of all kinds. No kink is shamed, no matter how strange or perverse.
There are also several cages hanging from the ceiling, where professional dancers tease and pleasure themselves. On any night, there could be vampires feeding from their favorite artery, while their meal moans and pants as they pleasure them simultaneously. Arousal and blood lust almost always go hand-in-hand.
Or you can find a demon giving out the pleasure of pain, wolves knotting their playmates, and all manner of public spectacles. And don’t forget the themed rooms and all that can be done there from role playing to using the provided implements.
Lauren manages this aspect of my business, so I rarely have to deal with it. She maintains the schedule and hires employees to tend the bar, serve patrons, with bouncers and monitors to keep everyone safe.
I survey the room, noting anywhere someone or something could be lying in wait. I turn on all the lights and clear the space, leaving no shadow unchecked.
Once I’m satisfied that nothing is amiss in the main room, I head back to the showroom to complete my check of the nooks and crannies that someone could hide in. If someone is here, they would have had to get by me in the main room to get out or go down my private stairs and that has a coded scanner protecting it. No, the only place left for someone to hide is here. The reason I left the check of it to the end was to make sure no one was getting by me by hiding until my back was turned and I was busy in here.
There are six square rooms made of glass. Customers can change rooms, depending on his or her taste. With their consent, they can leave their glass clear for nearby voyeurs to enjoy the view. But if they desire privacy, with a tap of a button, a thick, smoke-like substance fills the glass, obscuring everything from view.
