Cassian and I stare at each other for a long time, before he tells me, “I have to get back to the house and help clean up.”
“I’ll be there shortly.”
He nods and leaves me to my thoughts. The Masked Dance is an event that’s held in the old castle that sits on the hill of our town. Every attendee is under thirty, men go to this to find a partner, a woman for the night, and perhaps longer.
The tradition started so long ago that I’ve lost track of how many of these things there have been. Over the years, it’s morphed into something far more sinister than it was originally created to be.
Every attendee will be masked; it’s the unknown that brings out the darkness of each act that happens in the town. It’s like a sensually erotic version of Cirque Du Soleil. The show takes place in the majestic ballroom that will be decorated in black, gold, and silver.
Once the show comes to an end, music starts, drinks flow, and people disappear into corners of the castle to enjoy the night. I’ve been to a few, I’ve had my experience, and each one has been more malevolent than the last.
By the time I walk into the house again, it’s quiet, indicating that nobody’s home. A loud crash comes from the back of the house, though, forcing my feet into action as I race through the foyer and kitchen to find Nesrin standing over a tray of broken glasses.
Finn and Cassian also make their way in from outside. “What the hell?” Finn chuckles.
“I’m so sorry. I slipped; the floor was wet.” Nesrin looks like she’s close to tears, and I find myself at her side in seconds. Her body shakes, and I pull her into my arms, without thinking. Her body, once more, molds to mine, and when I meet Cassian’s arched, questioning brow, I know I’m fucked.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, pulling her toward the door, gesturing with my chin toward the shards. “Clean that up, Finn.” I lead Nesrin toward the bathroom. Inside, I lift her onto the counter, and I’m surprised she allows me to do so.
It’s only then that I notice she’s wearing shorts that ride up her slender legs. But it’s not her clothing choice that captures my attention, it’s the small red lines that mar her perfectly tanned flesh.
She jerks the material of her shorts down, covering her upper thighs, but she can’t hide what I’ve already seen. When I lock my gaze on hers, I see the guilt flashing in those perfectly shiny golden eyes.
“What the fuck was that?” The growl that leaves my mouth is thunder, a storm brewing in my chest, the swirling of rage taking hold of me.
“Nothing.” She pushes me away, scooting off the counter before I have time to react. She rushes for the door, but I find my wits, making me quicker. My hand slams it closed and shuts us inside.
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I bite out, clenching my teeth so hard that my jaw aches painfully. “What the fuck was that, Nesrin?” I ask again, the fury in my voice is evident. When she looks up at me, under those dark lashes, defiance flashes in her stare. She isn’t going to tell me.
Her hands ball into fists before they slam against my chest, and as much as she tries to push me away, she can’t. I’m stronger, taller, and I’m far more solid than the wild rose that’s trying to fight me away.
“Let me go, Damien.” Her voice cracks, which only seems to make a gash right in the center of my chest.
I shake my head before I tell her, “You’re not leaving here until you explain yourself.”
“You are nothing to me! I’m not here to answer to you!” she screams at me, her voice breaking with emotion. Her eyes that are normally filled with fire are glistening with tears.
I slap the door on either side of her head, shocking her out of whatever fucking hysterical fit she was about to throw, and I lean my head down, so we’re eye to eye.
“Listen to me, I’ve seen a lot of shit in my life,” I tell her. “And that bullshit on your legs is not something I’ll allow.”
“You’ll allow?” she spits out as if I’ve offended her. Perhaps I have. I don’t care. She’s mine. The thought shoots through me without barriers, the knowledge that I want her has settled in my veins. “You have no fucking clue who I am. I am not a possession you can own.”
“Like fuck you aren’t,” I bite out. The air in the room is thick, heavy with the promise that I’m taking and claiming her, and I don’t give a shit who says what about it.
“Damien, I’m not yours. I can’t be. Don’t act like you give a shit about me.” Even though she attempts to square her shoulders to show off her confidence, the emotion falters in the tone of her voice.