Connor cursed under his breath as she shied from him with not the desperate sort of energy he'd expect, but a fragile one, as though her grip on consciousness itself were tenuous. Light from the doorway fell on her thoroughly battered form, highlighted what might have been a tumble of red hair, a sunken, lost gaze of green.
Someone had lied.
This was no "just arrived" flesh for the pit. This young woman had been harmed far before he'd claimed her. She'd never leave this room under her own power and it mattered little if he carried her thin body just now; no matter where he moved to assist her, he'd do harm.
Un-fucking-excusable.
Rage tore at his senses but he managed to remain civil, gentle when he wanted to brutalize the useless fuckers outside the door who even now laughed. Connor slid an arm behind her. Thoughts of tempering a lovely pet's new beginning with a gentle lesson for the eve had already begun to wane when he'd spotted the guards--and now, they'd fled entirely. "I'm going to carry you now. I don't wish to harm you," he warned, that it would anyway left implied. Connor would be as careful as he could with injuries he didn't yet know the full extent of--wouldn't, until he'd bared her whole and sundry to his gaze. Which she would hate him for, regardless of the lack of fight he faced. One arm lifted under her knees, the other her lower back, until she was cradled in his arms, her head lolled against a strong, muscled chest he hid under a layer of expensive cashmere. "We'll have to go outside, so if you can manage it, try to hold on to the blanket."
If she couldn't, he'd merely nudge it around her until it was secured against the wind.
He'd seen victims of his father's games before. The gutter-trash, the broken ones, the fawning, sickening slaves to his whim. That this one might have ended like that...blood colored his vision and his hands tightened on her upon approach to the cell door. He sucked in a harsh breath. Calm thoughts. I can hit the gym later and bang this shit out. After I know every hand that's touched her has been sawed off.
"My apologies," Connor paused his rolling steps, nudged her forehead with his chin. "I am angry. Not with you."
"Easy," he warned again, to both himself and to her as they resumed movement and passed the marked men. When Connor reached the foot of the stairs, he whispered, "We're going home, sweetling."
They passed through the vast kitchens of the head-of-house's estate, an endless, slow walk during which Connor stewed over tangles of auburn hair he couldn't yet undo. He caught glimpses of her face now, a pixine shape that would have revved him up in an entirely different manner had it not been battered, cracked and peeling blood along her lips, dark bruises slipping down to her collarbone where the blanket lay furled around her. Fuck all knew what lay beyond.
Carefully, he maneuvered into the waiting towncar, laying her across his lap and not bothering with seatbelts. Wordless, this trip, his driver pulling to the front of his building, a collection of interconnected, high-security condos on a street that bustled in the daytime but lay still and quiet as the girl in his arms with nightfall. Connor's personal security was waiting up, knew to expect him with a woman, but their faces were tight with disapproval that he let his eyes return. One or two guards sent him clipped nods, as though they, too, would be heading to the gym, or down to the workout space he kept to get the sight of her out of their heads. Each and every man and woman in his employ knew better than to assume he'd done this. Connor's lovers were happy, perky yoga dolls and sturdy muscle-builders from his day job, the pets he'd taken under his wing--until they were ready to fly--over recent years never broken and reshaped.
He took the stairs two at a time to a floor near the top, the door already held open by an eager maid. "Thank you, Josie."
"Aye, Connor-sir. Will you be needing a meal?"
"I'll ring."
"Aye, Connor-sir. I'll lock up for you." The dark-haired buxom bobbed her head at him and waited until he'd crossed the threshold.
The door closed behind them, locked, and for a moment, Connor didn't know what to do.
He carried her to the bed, a cinnamon and white draped masterpiece that he'd had prepared as soon as he'd known he'd be retrieving a woman from under his father's own nose. But it didn't fit. Not this woman, and certainly not the moment. "Should've gone with the blue. Or the green." Making an inward promise that he'd fix it, fix everything, he laid her across the decadent comforter and settled her among the pillows, ignoring for now the rings lined across the headboard, the silk scarves and delicate, golden ropes that wound around the edges of a canopy of gauze. The blanket, he left her with, choosing a coverlet from the foot of the bed to pass over her.
"I can draw you a bath," he offered softly, not knowing if she'd want food, rest, or simply to be clean first. He brushed dingy locks from her forehead, sighing before stepping away from the bedside.
"Uncle," he said when the cell picked up. "You know that blood favor you've been waiting for me to collect?"
Waiting a beat and despite not being seen on the other end of the call, Connor nodded, blond curls jostling every which way atop his head. "I understand. It matters little, because you will not allow this to await judgment. Tonight, Uncle. Immediately. And...forgive me for overreaching. But there are two."
Someone had lied.
This was no "just arrived" flesh for the pit. This young woman had been harmed far before he'd claimed her. She'd never leave this room under her own power and it mattered little if he carried her thin body just now; no matter where he moved to assist her, he'd do harm.
Un-fucking-excusable.
Rage tore at his senses but he managed to remain civil, gentle when he wanted to brutalize the useless fuckers outside the door who even now laughed. Connor slid an arm behind her. Thoughts of tempering a lovely pet's new beginning with a gentle lesson for the eve had already begun to wane when he'd spotted the guards--and now, they'd fled entirely. "I'm going to carry you now. I don't wish to harm you," he warned, that it would anyway left implied. Connor would be as careful as he could with injuries he didn't yet know the full extent of--wouldn't, until he'd bared her whole and sundry to his gaze. Which she would hate him for, regardless of the lack of fight he faced. One arm lifted under her knees, the other her lower back, until she was cradled in his arms, her head lolled against a strong, muscled chest he hid under a layer of expensive cashmere. "We'll have to go outside, so if you can manage it, try to hold on to the blanket."
If she couldn't, he'd merely nudge it around her until it was secured against the wind.
He'd seen victims of his father's games before. The gutter-trash, the broken ones, the fawning, sickening slaves to his whim. That this one might have ended like that...blood colored his vision and his hands tightened on her upon approach to the cell door. He sucked in a harsh breath. Calm thoughts. I can hit the gym later and bang this shit out. After I know every hand that's touched her has been sawed off.
"My apologies," Connor paused his rolling steps, nudged her forehead with his chin. "I am angry. Not with you."
"Easy," he warned again, to both himself and to her as they resumed movement and passed the marked men. When Connor reached the foot of the stairs, he whispered, "We're going home, sweetling."
They passed through the vast kitchens of the head-of-house's estate, an endless, slow walk during which Connor stewed over tangles of auburn hair he couldn't yet undo. He caught glimpses of her face now, a pixine shape that would have revved him up in an entirely different manner had it not been battered, cracked and peeling blood along her lips, dark bruises slipping down to her collarbone where the blanket lay furled around her. Fuck all knew what lay beyond.
Carefully, he maneuvered into the waiting towncar, laying her across his lap and not bothering with seatbelts. Wordless, this trip, his driver pulling to the front of his building, a collection of interconnected, high-security condos on a street that bustled in the daytime but lay still and quiet as the girl in his arms with nightfall. Connor's personal security was waiting up, knew to expect him with a woman, but their faces were tight with disapproval that he let his eyes return. One or two guards sent him clipped nods, as though they, too, would be heading to the gym, or down to the workout space he kept to get the sight of her out of their heads. Each and every man and woman in his employ knew better than to assume he'd done this. Connor's lovers were happy, perky yoga dolls and sturdy muscle-builders from his day job, the pets he'd taken under his wing--until they were ready to fly--over recent years never broken and reshaped.
He took the stairs two at a time to a floor near the top, the door already held open by an eager maid. "Thank you, Josie."
"Aye, Connor-sir. Will you be needing a meal?"
"I'll ring."
"Aye, Connor-sir. I'll lock up for you." The dark-haired buxom bobbed her head at him and waited until he'd crossed the threshold.
The door closed behind them, locked, and for a moment, Connor didn't know what to do.
He carried her to the bed, a cinnamon and white draped masterpiece that he'd had prepared as soon as he'd known he'd be retrieving a woman from under his father's own nose. But it didn't fit. Not this woman, and certainly not the moment. "Should've gone with the blue. Or the green." Making an inward promise that he'd fix it, fix everything, he laid her across the decadent comforter and settled her among the pillows, ignoring for now the rings lined across the headboard, the silk scarves and delicate, golden ropes that wound around the edges of a canopy of gauze. The blanket, he left her with, choosing a coverlet from the foot of the bed to pass over her.
"I can draw you a bath," he offered softly, not knowing if she'd want food, rest, or simply to be clean first. He brushed dingy locks from her forehead, sighing before stepping away from the bedside.
"Uncle," he said when the cell picked up. "You know that blood favor you've been waiting for me to collect?"
Waiting a beat and despite not being seen on the other end of the call, Connor nodded, blond curls jostling every which way atop his head. "I understand. It matters little, because you will not allow this to await judgment. Tonight, Uncle. Immediately. And...forgive me for overreaching. But there are two."
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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