Enthralled (The Enslaved Duet 1)

I wanted to hate that such a cruel, nonsensical man had given me my first experience with mind-bending pleasure, but a small part of me wondered if that wasn’t one of the reasons I’d loved it.

For so long, I’d been navigating the choppy waters of my family’s future, struggling to keep the ship upright and airtight against all the odds.

It was oddly liberating to have someone else make the decisions for me.

“Lord Thornton requests your presence in his rooms,” Riddick said, cutting through my thoughts.

I frowned, shaking my head to clear it before looking out the massive windows to the murky landscape beyond. It was the first time the shutters were open, a boon I gathered that I’d been granted because of my obedience last night in the dining room. There wasn’t much to see in the tenebrous light, through the diaphanous plumes of fog rolling across what seemed to be gently rolling hills of green in the distance, but what I could decipher was beautiful.

It was also clearly much too early to be awake.

“What could he possibly want me for at this hour?” I demanded.

Riddick blinked at me, then when I didn’t move, he repeated, “Lord Thornton requests your presence in his rooms.”

I huffed and unwound my aching body from the unforgiving marble floor, planting my hands on my hips and rolling my eyes as if I wasn’t chained to the floor stark naked.

“Take me to his Mighty Lord then,” I acquiesced.

It could have been a trick of the light, but Riddick seemed to smile as he crouched down to unlock my shackle.

I followed him across the wide expanse of the ballroom, holding my breath when he unlocked the door and led me into the hallway without blindfolding me.

The corridor was long, lined again with nearly floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and enormous, exquisitely detailed portraits on the other that were clearly Davenport ancestors. A coat of arms was worked into the middle of the wall, sculpted and painted out of stucco so that it drew the eye from every angle of the hall. Framed by a fierce looking griffon and lion on either side, topped with a vicious hawk and footed by a phrase in Latin that I didn’t fully understand, the shield represented pearls, thorns, and red blooming flowers. It was beautiful.

I wanted to burn it.

We moved through quickly, bypassing an opening that led down to a grand marble staircase at the base of which lay a two-story grand hall painted pale blue with elaborate swirls of plasterwork. I noted the front door and thought briefly of running away, the thought of freedom so tangible I could taste its earthen grassiness on my tongue.

But Alexander’s words echoed in my head, if you want to put your family at risk with the mafia, Cosima, you must know that you are free to leave at any time.

It was excruciating to quell my inherent flight or fight response to the situation. I wanted to run out those doors and never look back. I wanted to shackle Lord Thornton to the ballroom floor and beat him until he was a black and blue smear on the shiny tiles.

I couldn’t do either.

In fact, I had to do the opposite.

I had to allow him access to my body, give him control over my every action, and cede to his every rule.

The house itself was a work of art. I couldn’t help but think of how much my artistic sister, Giselle, would love it here, and it made my heart pang like a lost echo.

I wanted desperately to check in with my family, to see what they had made of my sudden job offer and of Seamus’s inexplicable disappearance. Sebastian would be furious with me for not saying goodbye, his anger masking his broken heart. My own organ felt lopsided in my chest, half of it still sitting behind my twin’s breastbone where it belonged. I missed him with a ferocity that stole a piece of my every breath. Elena would be struggling to make a life for herself in a city she hated, and Mama would be busy as she always was trying to hold down the fort in a home of big personalities with very little space to move.

We continued down the other side of the hall and came to a stop at a massive set of double doors. Riddick knocked twice but didn’t wait for permission before pushing the doors open, snagging my wrist, and dragging me into the room.

The room was dark blue, gold accents winking in the low light streaming through two narrow windows framing a colossal four-poster bed draped in heavy navy velvet tied back with thick gold rope. They revealed a slick duvet, silver sheets and pillows and propped up against them with the same shade of grey in his eyes and a golden disarray of hair was a man.