Lunaria (A Soulmark Series Finale), page 15
With swift maneuvering, I am placed on my knees and bent forward until my cheek is pressed against the worn blanket below us. My nails curl into claws against the fabric with his frantic thrusts. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh is strangely erotic, sweeping me to the verge once more.
A warning snarl erupts from deep within Adrian, and the roughness of his palm settles on the center of my back, pinning me down. I cry out from the slight adjustment, the head of his cock hitting against a spot that torments me. Adrian's answering holler vibrates across my body. His pelvis jerks, and eventually slows. Only when he begins to soften inside me, the trail of his release slipping out, does he pull us both down.
"Rest," he whispers after tucking me under the bed's blankets.
I do not need to be told twice. Body throbbing with a dull yet persistent ache, I close my eyes and snuggle deeper into the bed with satisfaction. The entwining went far better than planned. If only I didn't think I was forgetting something.
++
I find peace in the tender moments before waking fully. Wrapped so snug in bed, the soreness my body radiates is far more tolerable and my troubles distant. I shift to delve deeper into the nest of covers but am surprised to make out a crinkling disturbance. I rub the sleep from my eyes, sitting up to search out the source.
Several sheets of paper are within reach. A quick perusal shows their subject is me.
The room is bathed in an orange glow, thanks to the heater at the far end of the room. Its illumination is both modest and cozy and provides just enough light to make out the ways Adrian has sketched me; asleep and aroused. I flush at the sight of my rapture, noting with some appreciation how he has drawn in little blossoms to mimic those that drape along my cheekbones. I still as I study the details he managed to capture in my wings.
The last paper shares a brief note.
Stay inside. Medicine and water on the desk. Rest.
I take the medicine set aside for me, three small blue pills, before slipping out of bed. My bladder demands a trip to the nearby outhouse. Upon my return not five minutes later, I am shocked to see a tray of food upon the dresser. Three hearty slices of buttered bread fill a plate with a hard-boiled egg nestled next to them. I devour them, my stomach cramping in protest at the rate at which I consume. The discomfort is worth it.
Inside, away from the cold and clothed once more in Adrian's belongings, I am left with nothing but my thoughts and they tread to darker places.
Would the Adolphus pack or witches finally come to our rescue? Was my decision to win Adrian to our side a good idea... or had I doomed myself to a lifetime at his side in this horrible place? As the hours pass, my thoughts spiral, and I drown in a haze of my own making.
Lost as I am in the injustice of my predicament; I hardly notice when a man enters the room with a new tray in hand to swap my breakfast for lunch. It is the tangy scent of tomato soup that draws my eyes to the dresser, and then the man exiting without comment.
"Deval?"
Though my words are scantly above a whisper, the lycan stiffens for half a second, his swift retreat losing its fluidity, but he doesn’t stop. The door slams shut after him. It takes one mad thump of my heart to scramble out of bed and shove my feet into my boots to give chase.
"Wait, Deval!"
The lycan has already made impressive progress across the snowy terrain. I run to make up the distance between us, darting in front of him when he refuses to stop at my second call.
"Please," I beg, hands held out before me to force him to halt. He stares beyond me, his face primed in stone and dressed in bruises. "Deval... I'm so sorry they hurt you. You didn’t deserve it." Nothing. Not a twitch or tremor. "I'm going to find a way to leave this place," I tell him with a vehemence that calls his gaze to mine. "I swear it, and you can come—"
"What the hell are you doing outside?"
My head snaps to the left to see Adrian stalking toward us. A short gasp escapes my lips as Deval takes the opportunity to slip around me and continue on his way. I watch his departure with a mixture of disappointment and frustration.
"Back inside. Now." Adrian is at my side far faster than I anticipate, his hand splaying across my back to herd me back.
"But—"
"You shouldn't be talking to any of those scum," Adrian seethes as I glance over my shoulder. It is impossible for me to know if Deval can hear our words, or if he's listening at all, but on the off chance he is...
I keep watch on his retreating figure. "He isn't scum. He's my friend and doesn’t deserve their abuse."
Friends might be a stretch, but Deval's gait falters. His body twists, but I am denied the opportunity to see him look back our way as Adrian yanks me around to face him. His hands cup my face. A stormy expression glares back at me.
"Tell me you don't mean that," he whispers harshly. My teeth dig into the inside of my cheeks as I tilt my chin up. Adrian's scowl deepens. "They don’t deserve your kindness or sympathy, Luna. They're the enemy. If he thought, even for a second, you trusted him, he'd use it against you. Don't get caught up in his pathetic, wounded dog act."
My hands fasten into fists. "He's not pathetic," I reply in the same heated breath. "He's just as much a prisoner here as you or I. Who knows how many others—hey!"
Adrian marches me backward, guiding me with unshakable force back into the little house. With the door shut behind us, he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me.
"Eat your food."
I make a disgruntled noise of protest at my harsh treatment and make no move toward the soup. No matter how delicious it smells.
"Did he do something to you?" I ask, for I am at a loss as to why he is so volatile.
"He's part of this pack—that's enough."
Adrian shrugs out of his coat and shoes and tosses a bag on the bed. I watch his stilted movements with mixed emotions. The muscles of his back are bunched together, and he doesn't bother to spare me a look as he strides over to the desk and sits down.
"I don't think he wants to be part of this pack," I reply with caution, draping my arms across my stomach as it grumbles. "Nor many others here. Some thrive in this violence, but others." I swallow as I recall the faces of the pack with their empty expressions. “They’re drowning. They don’t want to be here anymore than we do.”
"It doesn't matter what he or any of the others want, because they're too weak to do anything about it."
I bristle with a retort all but ready to launch out of me. We could, I want to shout back, but there is something about the stern set of his mouth that keeps me from making the declaration. How can I persuade him to help when he so clearly remains without hope?
"I know what's going through your head." Adrian leans forward and places both elbows on his knees. My eyes seize on the flash of skin above his collar, unobstructed by his thick-knit sweater. The blackened veins from yesterday are gone, and the dull shine of red that remains is almost gone. "Grand plans of escape,” he says, his voice taut. “Ways to turn the minds of the weak against the strong, but it can't be done, Lunaria. The alphas are constantly informed of what we do and who we speak with. Your friends and I have been here months, don’t you think we’ve attempted escape before? It can’t be done. Remember, trust no one here."
"Even you?"
The color plunges from his face—he is stricken at the very suggestion. "I am your heart's content," he says at last, his voice a ragged whisper. "All I do is for your safety and future happiness."
I duck my head in shame and deflate. I should have made my attempts at persuasion during our entwining last evening.
"Eat," he urges me. "We both need our strength for tonight. There should be more medicine for you too. Take it."
I stop before the dresser, hands outstretched but falling short of the bowl and medicine. "What's happening tonight?"
"The alphas have invited us over for a special dinner." Adrian sighs loudly. "Eat. Take the medicine."
I do so without this morning’s gusto. "What's in the bag?" I ask.
"Some new clothes for you." I eye the bag curiously, inspecting its contents once I finish. Between the second round of food and medicine, I feel better than I have in days.
"How did you get these?" I ask, running my hands over the charcoal-colored pullover. The material is thin, but it is clean and is roughly my size. Adrian's silence earns my attention. He surveys my every move with the trained eye of a predator, and I find my actions slowing because of it.
"I requested them for you. You'll be allowed time in the shower stalls before we go."
A frown peddles my forehead down. "Why do they wish to have us for dinner?"
My special breakfast with Carrie is enough for me to know I never want to share a meal with a Wselfwulf alpha again—let alone both of them. Especially not both of them, I think with growing dread. Every interaction thus far with the two has included a power play, with the fair-haired Noah turning out the victor each time... and Carrie extending her wrath to me instead.
"I don't know," Adrian says as I fetch a pair of black leggings out of the bag that is too long for my legs. The last garment is another top; a baggy sweater with a plunging neckline. "Promise me you won't say a word and behave. No backtalk or tantrums." He raises both hands in hasty surrender as I send him a pointed glare. "You know what they'll do and how they'll react if you step out of line. Some way, somehow, they always find a way to take out the smallest hint of disobedience on you or your friends."
I say nothing for we both know the accuracy of his words.
++
We dine in the same room I took breakfast in with Carrie yesterday, though no one sits around the table yet. Adrian and I stand-off to the side in one of the room's corners. We are the only occupants without a refreshment in hand.
Our party as a whole is not terribly large. Besides the alphas, Adrian, and myself, two brutish men linger in the room's entryway, and a threesome of finely dressed men entertain one another with small talk at the far end of the table.
I cannot help but listen in on their conversation, for they make no attempt to dull their voices. They speak about myself and Adrian. My face reddens over their succinct dismissal of my appeal. Adrian fairs better with their critiques. He displays no indication of unrest, though I have no doubt white fury blooms inside him at their slander. Even I find myself fuming on his behalf from their vile slurs.
"He's far more gluttonous than the typical lycan is he not? A veritable savage," a man comments, his voice the essence of droll as he sips his wine. He is portly and dark-haired, and unfortunately familiar. Ferris.
"Yes, they stressed his wild nature as ostentatiously barbaric when they first captured the beast," another gentleman comments with pale blue eyes and withered lips. "Ah, but such raw strength and potential is compelling."
The third member of the trio appears to be on the cusp of manhood, his face alights with promise. "Your bimetallic chokers have worked excellently, thus far, and your second prototype is even better than the first, Master Blight!"
"Is there no praise for my newest invention, Mr. Bowers?" Ferris asks in jest, his significant frame shaking with a self-indulgent chuckle. "After all, I constructed it in record time.
Master Blight grins. "You would not have completed it without your loath accomplice."
The sorcerers' laughter crowds the room uncomfortably. It chafes my skin and runs my blood cold. Ferris catches my eye and grows a smile so large I cannot contain the shiver that creeps up my spine.
I grimace and duck my head, heart hammering at their cruel mockery. Adrian's fingers swallow my hand in his grasp. The gesture does little to calm my racing pulse, but the thought behind the action does ease some of my worry. Rather than peek at Adrian's reaction, I peer over at the alphas.
Noah smirks knowingly back at me. He tilts his glass of whiskey subtly in my direction, enjoying the unease I’m caught in.
The alpha is in pressed gray slacks and a tailored white button-down rolled up to his elbows. He is completely at ease, and unnervingly confident in the formal dining room. His face is clean-shaven. His hair recently cut and styled out of his face. I do not like the belittlement sparkling in his hazel eyes, as if I am unaware of something larger at play.
I tear my gaze away from Noah, only to run into Carrie. The she-wolf wears a handsome floral blouse and form-fitting, dark trousers. She lacks her usual snide superiority. The oddity of her somberness does not reassure me.
"Let us sit," Noah declares.
Inside my worry hardens like glue to my gut and weighs each mutinous step down as we go to our chairs. Adrian helps me into my seat before taking the one next to me. The room tracks our short interaction with varied displays of interest. I do my best to ignore them all. Be quiet and behave. I don't think I'll have much luck with Adrian's plea.
Plates filled with chicken and asparagus are brought into the room without fanfare at the snap of Carrie's fingers. I examine everyone's expression, noting the youngest sorcerer does not hide his disappointment fast enough. Noah's fork and knife clink against his plate, and soon the room fills with the gentle scratches of dinner underway.
"Now that you've seen the property, Lunaria, what do you think of our grounds? Not all of the pack lives on the farm. Only those deserving of it, and those who tend to need a stronger hand to guide them." I say nothing.
Somewhere in Noah's innocuous question, a cut of the protein makes its way on to the end of my fork and into my mouth. The over-baked bird takes time and effort to masticate.
"Our beloved farm, Lunaria, what do you think of it?" Noah watches me with a bemused expression as I hurry to ingest my food. I say the first thing that comes to mind.
"I think it is an odd place to have a farm."
The room falls silent before erupting into pleased amusement. I shrink back in my seat, fork stalled above the limp asparagus hugging the chicken’s side. Noah smiles back at me. It is neither kind nor cruel but set somewhere precariously in-between.
I avert my gaze to the lackluster meal, dwelling on my words, and finding no fault or humor in their frame. This place might dress itself to look the part of some rural sanctuary, but in my passages between the structures making up the "farm", I'd seen no crop fields or animals.
"How did you find your friends in the Greenery?" Noah inquires.
Every point in my body tightens as the blood drains from my face. I raise my eyes to Noah. His smile concedes to crueler depths.
"I heard about your chat with them—didn't Eva explain the rules to you when you arrived? There is to be no communication in that foreign language of yours. We don't like secrets here." He punctuates his sentence with a sip of his drink.
Noah licks his lips of the amber liquid that sneaks down the side of his mouth. I steel my jaw at the sight, my appetite vanquished at the mere mention of my friends. When I make no move to respond, he continues.
"Did you know, secret agendas are the exact reason your friend Keenan, our old pack mate, continues to be featured in Trammel House."
My fork slips from my fingers. Its clatter makes me flinch.
Every set of eyes drill into me, drinking up my reaction. Their scrutiny acts like a physical presence anchoring me to my seat.
"What do you mean?"
Noah's smile swings back to neutral ground, ebbing on something closer to kindness. He looks to the brawny, pale wolf on his left. "Allow me to introduce, Logan. He's my beta. He knew Keenan, once upon a time, isn't that right?"
It is hard to believe Logan is a beta knowing the compassion and affection Atticus, the Adolphus beta, exudes with every breath he takes. Logan is stoic and holds a type of steely calculation in his eye as he studies me. There is nothing behind his brown eyes—no emotion—nothing at all.
"Keenan never used to stick his nose where it didn't belong when he was still part of our pack. Apparently, his new pack gave him a big head. They made him think he's worth more than he is, with all his big talk of ‘plans' in the pit." I keep my expression carefully blank. They know what Keenan is attempting to do.
"What is Keenan's rank in the traitor's pack, Lunaria?"
An elbow knocks into my side. I spare Adrian a glance, all too aware that my heart finds its way lodged in my throat. "I don't know," I choke out.
The room reads my lie correctly, their pinched lips and wrinkled foreheads speaking to their mild annoyance.
"He's good practice for the others. He always puts up a helluva fight since he has something to fight for—that soulmark of his," Logan continues deadpan. My stomach drops. The mere thought of Callie experiencing the same agony and turmoil of Keenan making me sick.
"I hope that bitch feels each inch of what we give him," the second lackey adds cruelly. "Let the traitorous pack know just what we're doing to theirs up here... and what we'll do to them."
This comment receives a range of approval, from grins to endorsing chortles. Venomous words tempt my tongue as I glare at the second, unnamed wolf. Callie is a true friend, who risked her life to save mine. My hands drop to my seat, readying to—
"Don't," Adrian whispers in my ear. I still, heart pumping with rage as his hand comes to rest on my thigh. "Don't," he repeats, applying pressure.
It is not his words or urging that keep me from spoiling the night with my anger, but Carrie's rapt attention I catch from the corner of my eye. I force myself back in my seat, hands balled in my lap as I press my lips together. Tears gather at the corner of my eyes, but a few practiced breaths help to curb them.
The room calms from their delight at my suffering and tucks back into their food. I make no move to do the same.
"Tell us, fairy," Master Blight pipes up several minutes later, his napkin dabbing at the seam of his lips. He clears his throat in an attempt to gather the undivided attention of the room. "Your powers are quite different from that of your friends. The boy is, as he calls himself, a tree runner, which seems to be a rather useless ability when compared to the female’s powers of light..."
