Magnate (Acquisition 2)

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 forward, seizing Vinemont around the chest and slamming him into the marble floor. The other guests, smelling blood, stopped their small chatter and watched the show.

“Dylan, stop.” I stood and stepped toward them, but they both ignored me.

Vinemont laughed as Dylan caged him with his knees and started raining blows on his face. Vinemont wasn’t blocking them, just taking the vicious hits until he saw his moment. Then he aimed a powerful fist to Dylan’s ribs. Dylan wailed and fell sideways, clutching his side. Vinemont pushed Dylan onto his back and put a knee on his chest before raising his fist.

“No. Please, don’t.” I grabbed Vinemont’s arm. I knew what he could do, what he was capable of. “Don’t.”

He turned to me, his eyes wild and wrathful. I let go of his arm and ran my hand down his face, brushing my thumb over his split lip. His flesh burned beneath my touch, but his eyes cooled and he leaned into my palm the slightest bit. I felt it then, the one thing I wished had completely died that night when he’d shown me how truly alone I was. The string that bound us together, the inexorable link that ran from his heart to mine, came back to life. The connection tightened, and he rose as Dylan sputtered. Vinemont took my hand in his and leaned over me. He was so close. Everything stopped. My eyes closed of their own accord and I wanted his kiss, his blood, him. I just wanted him.

“Fuck, Sin. If you aren’t going to finish it, I will.”

I opened my eyes to see Lucius aiming a kick at Dylan’s side. “Stop!”

Too late. Dylan howled with pain as Lucius’ foot connected. I dropped to my knees and draped my arm across Dylan as he curled into a ball. I held my free hand up, trying to ward off Lucius.