A Feather's Worth (Spawn of Darkness Book 2) Read online

  Her expression is blank, empty … her hand is not.

  She slides into me tightly, the action likely looking like an embrace between two fellow cum dumpsters.

  “For Delta,” she mumbles, running something sharp along the exposed skin between my corset and skirt. She drags it along my abdomen, parallel to my fucking scar and I suck a sharp breath through my teeth. She pushes away, a smirk curling her lips, then turns and disappears into the crowd.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Fighting to remain composed, I shift my body inconspicuously, feeling the cut with the tips of my fingers. It’s shallow, more of a deep graze. Not done to maim … but a message. One received loud and fucking clear.

  She’s telling me I deserve everything I get.

  I glance around the room as Kroe breaks through the crowd and strides back over to where I’m standing. “All for you, Cupcake,” he purrs, gesturing about the room. “Your impending return has been quite the draw card over the past two weeks. The girls have done extra hours to keep up. Well … the ones who are still able.”

  His words twist at my insides as I absorb their meaning—panning my vision, forcing myself to take in details amongst the crowd.

  Ariana, missing an arm. She used to help the girls apply makeup in the mornings. Malorie—she no longer has ears and her beautiful golden locks are gone; her shaved head mottled with red scars. Tanya, her gorgeous plump lips pulled tight in a sneer revealing fat, pink gums, without her trademark pearly white, straight teeth.

  And there’s Delta, swaying in a motherfucking sex swing over there. But not the Delta I know … not the Delta who’s long, shapely legs were the envy of many, despite the extra unwanted attention they garnered. In their place are now angry, red stumps, rising and falling to the beat of the old man pumping away between them. She flicks me the bird and I almost fucking faint.

  The women I don’t recognise are fresh faced, new … most of them sans the womanly curves that signify the rise to womanhood.

  Fucking hell.

  My knees buckle and Kroe grabs me by the arm, pulling me against him. “Hold it together, Cupcake,” he drawls, probably assuming I’m afraid of the stage he’s set for me.

  I’m not going to lie, that does look intimidating, but I’m a tough bitch and I know I can manage myself up there.

  What I’m afraid of is the way my girls are sizing me up, looking at me like I’m one of the many men in this room about to take advantage of them for the price of a token.

  They hold me accountable …

  This is going to be much harder than I thought.

  Kroe leads me towards the penis poles in the centre of the room, and my gaze falls on a swath of golden skin as we come to a halt at their base. My breath catches.

  There, sitting on a stool in the corner of the bar, a large hat covering his golden curls but otherwise dressed similar to the fucktards patronising this event, is Drake. He’s even wearing a red sash, the sight of which makes me want to vomit again. Apparently he’s doing his best to blend in with the crowd.

  His golden gaze holds me hostage and there’s a subtle shake of his head.

  What did he think I was going to do, yell to the crowd that the God of fucking Dusk is here in this brothel?

  I avert my gaze before my rogue vaginal juices send all the men in this room ravenous, because he was looking at me in a way that made my heart ache—literally fucking ache, which was like a little flush button for my vagina. I press my hand to my chest to try and hold her together, because she’s struggling along right now, probably because I’ve spent my whole life starved of affection and I just felt a whole wave of it in that one look. My heart gobbled it up, throwing me completely, which is not ideal because I’ve got a motherfucking job to do.

  Drake cares, and he’s about to see me get fucked a hundred ways to Sunday by most of the men in this room, and not be able to do a thing about it. Not an ideal situation when your Dusk God feeds off control.

  We might end up with a rogue player on the board, and I don’t want my Drake to become a victim of those wards …

  Fuck.

  Something cold clamps over my wrist and I look down.

  What the fuck?

  Kroe’s smiling to himself like the cat who got the cum, though the girl standing next to him, Leila, is not smiling at all. She’s scowling at me, her dirty blonde hair dishevelled, as if she put it up with fumbling hands rather than with the confident, deft movements I’ve witnessed when she works her hair into a style suitable for a day’s worth of fuckery.

  I follow her haunted gaze down, down, to where two tapered, bright red stumps hang limply before her.

  Gone.

  I stare, sick to my stomach yet mesmerised, blinking at those stumps … before finally shifting my gaze back to her eyes, hooded and dark, draped with bags that she’s tried to cover with too much powder. Or perhaps it’s just hard to apply when you have no hands.

  “This, Cupcake,” Kroe motions to the iron cuff around my wrist and the chain that flows to the sister cuff he’s now placing around Leila’s ankle, “is because I can’t keep tabs on you all the time. I’d hate to lose my biggest asset again. So, Leila is your new buddy. You’re not to communicate with her or I’ll also take the hands of Kit, her sister over there.”

  I look to where he’s pointing; to a small blonde girl who looks to be around fourteen, serving drinks behind the bar. What bust she has is pressed high by the tight-fitting corset she wears, but at least she’s behind the fucking bar that holds the rogue penises at bay.

  Bar maids are strictly off limits, someone’s got to be able to water the men. Hard to do with a cock in your arse.

  Kroe’s put Kit behind the bar as assurance that Leila won’t talk to me or help me escape. Tactical arsehole. I want to scream because my plan is quickly going penis shaped.

  I don’t know if I can do what I need to do with my gods watching on, and I can’t convince one of my girls to help me with my plan if they all hate me. Especially not if I have one so tightly bound to Kroe’s whims, with a sister on the line if she doesn’t oblige, chained to my fucking body.

  Fuck.

  I’m not going to get many chances at this—I’m going to have to take one when it comes and who bloody knows when that’s going to be.

  But I have to make this right, because I did this to my girls. Me.

  I’m responsible for every limb lost, every finger, every slice of dignity or hope that’s been shed from their already wounded bodies and souls.

  It’s with that thought that my arms are hoisted between the poles and, to cheers from the crowd, my clothes torn from my body and dropped, landing in a ruby swirl, reminiscent of a puddle of blood at my feet. Even my goddamn panties go, and I steal a glance at Drake …

  He’s staring at my scar, and probably the new graze above it, his face draining of all its glorious, godly colour.

  Kroe stalks across the dais and back again, addressing the crowd in a booming voice. “Here is the fantasy I’ve promised you all. Finally, her back has healed enough, but not so much that you can’t relish in the memory of the whips that were dragged across her skin for speaking out of turn.”

  I scan the circle of penises standing to attention, pressing against trouser linen left, right, and centre.

  “She’s triple the price of the regular but more than triple the pleasure. Who’ll be the first to put this whore back in her place? She’ll be here till nine lads, so you’ll all get your chance! First in though, the tighter the grip on your cock.”

  Guess I should’ve been practising my pelvic floor exercises rather than spending my time luring Ballsacks for penis amputation purposes.

  I dare to glance at Drake—note his knuckles, white around his glass, canines lengthening. To anyone else he would appear eager to go balls deep and put me in my place.

  I see that he cares.

  Leila sits next to the pole on my left. I search her eyes for a sign of comradeship but receive a seeth
ing glare in return. Trembling, l stare ahead. There’s nothing more soul destroying than being isolated by your fellow cum dumpsters.

  Drake can’t see me like this. I thought I could handle myself but right now, under these circumstances, I’m not sure I can.

  My beast is nowhere to be seen, I guess she doesn’t want him to see her vulnerable side either.

  I scream internally. ‘Aero, unless he’s just here to enjoy the fucking show, I need you to get Drake out of here. Please, there’s nothing he can do anyway!’

  No sign of him, only the crowd leering and chanting with their mugs held high, converging further to garner a closer view. Some old coot with white hair and a cruel smile pays a premium to have the first go at my twat that’s still raw from Kroe’s recent assaults.

  ‘Please!’ Still no fucking sign.

  Drake moves to stand at the back of the crowd, towering over them all, watching from a distance as the old bastard approaches me. A warm wash trickles across my skin, as though I’m being wrapped in a blanket of pleasure that’s caressing all my sensitive bits. Even my rogue vagina perks her ears up … sniffing at the air like she can sense one of her godly penises near-by.

  I moan with delight, but it’s incomplete, empty, because I know it’s my Dusk God trying to make things better for me—doing everything in his power to make this fucked up situation easier.

  Even so, I almost start dry humping the air in a desperate plea to gain some friction for my perked little flowerpot. I’m panicking, eyes darting around, a sheen of sweat covering my skin. ‘AERO!’

  Fucking hell. I can’t do this …

  I see a new movement in the crowd—a brush of black hair and olive skin half covered by a cap, just as the white-haired, premium paying fucker reaches my back.

  Kal, please be Kal.

  Please.

  A flash of royal blue eyes, a glimpse of familiar lips, luscious and full …

  Thank fuck.

  Aero sent Kal … probably because Kal can calm Drake with his emotion controlling voodoo shit. He’s a clever God, that one. A real forward thinker. When he’s not all dark eyed and scary.

  The man behind me takes his position, readying himself to spear me with his dick. My vagina’s not even mad about it, because she’s turned the fuck on thanks to Drake’s administrations from afar.

  The glass shatters in Drake’s hand, sending dark liquid splattering all over himself. Those golden eyes relax then turn … sultry? His gaze shifts to Kal, who looks about ten shades of fucked off as he does everything to avoid looking in my direction.

  Oh, I get it now … poor Kal. Forced to lure Drake out the only way he knows will work on our dusky horn dog …

  Drake follows my Night God out of the room, chewing his own lip and pinching Kal’s ripe arse on the way, earning him a feral hiss from Kal and a slap to the hand that almost makes me laugh, just before I’m pummelled by yet another unsanctioned penis, groaning in delight as my aching pleasure-puss finally gains some friction.

  Seductive Kal, taking one for the team like a fucking boss. I just hope he’s got the balls to back it up and keep Drake occupied all day.

  Sorry, Kal. His arse looks strong enough to take the beating though.

  I’m so fucking thankful, because this shit’s mortifying enough as it is without having them watch on and spend the rest of their immortal years picturing me as a victim. No thank you.

  But then the warmth subsides from my body—leaving me feeling, once again, cold and broken.

  Drake’s gone. It’s bittersweet victory at its finest.

  My vagina recedes within herself, disappearing into her clam shell. Bitch. The little tart couldn’t find it in herself to stick around for the day, just to make things easier for me? I’ll remember this next time she’s pleading me for a petting.

  This man is not being gentle. Not the best day to protest an oiling.

  I try to dip myself into the blank space my mind goes whenever I have a strange man tossing himself off inside me, but I can’t. I just can’t fucking get there. Meaning I feel everything, both emotionally and physically as this group of men have their way with me; while Kroe benefits lucratively at my expense.

  Chapter Five

  Ten hours straight and I stopped counting the men who found their release inside me while the rest of them watched on.

  Exhausted, chain dragging along the ground, I follow Leila up the stairs after our incredibly awkward bathing session—Leila glaring at me while she tried to wash her honey pot with two ineffective stumps. I wordlessly offered to help when I just couldn’t take it any longer … if looks could kill.

  Kroe had business to attend tonight, so Leila’s on Dell patrol. Which means Kroe will be fanging for me by tomorrow night. Problem is, after today, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

  At the top of the stairs we swing to the left, following a small trail of women, all fresh out of the bathing chambers too. Others follow behind and I can feel their eyes on the back of my head, their gazes scanning my half naked back that I couldn’t clothe properly because of this stupid fucking chain. I’m going to freeze tonight. At least I’ll have the girls to keep me warm, even if they aren’t interested in exchanging pleasantries.

  We make our way through a creaky door and down a familiar hallway that’s dimly lit with rusty, sputtering old lanterns. Girls branch off through separate doors, some closing them behind them but some leaving them open, gaping at me and Leila as we pass.

  We follow a busty redhead into the room at the end, one of the only dorms with a window; great in the summer, fucking torture in the winter when everyone does their best to avoid it.

  The ground is cold beneath my feet and I look longingly towards the big bed pushed against the wall, with a single blanket that’s been in this room since as long as I can remember. The lantern flickering in the corner highlights how weathered the mattress is, how stained the one pillow is, and how tired the other six girls appear to be.

  One by one they climb onto the bed, curling themselves into each other and making room for the next, until Leila and I are the only two left standing.

  She clambers onto the bed, her oversized shirt swimming about her body, and settles into the crook of another, snuggling in close as heavy pelts of rain lash the big bay window.

  I follow, am halfway onto the bed when something, somebody, shoves against me, ramming me hard and fast in my stomach so that I land back on the ground with a thud.

  Did one of my fellow whores just push me off the fucking bed?

  Yes … that’s exactly what happened, I realise, hauling myself into a sitting position and catching the heavy glares of seven women who look like they want to kill me in my sleep.

  Well, fuck. Guess I’m keeping myself warm tonight.

  A puff of air whistling through a small hole in the window snuffs out the lantern. We’re plunged into darkness, apart from sporadic flashes of lightning slashing through the blackness.

  I shuffle as far from the bed as I can manage in my manacled state, curling myself into a tight, quivering ball as bitter outside air torments my exposed skin.

  My girls don’t trust me anymore. Probably never will. How am I supposed to get them out of this fucking place if we can’t work together?

  They see the girl who got special treatment, then disappeared for an extended period of time with no heed for the well-being of her fellow whores.

  Granted, I fucked up. I’ll carry that burden for the rest of my life.

  They don’t see the girl who would put her life on the line for them. Who has, time and time again, not because I owe it to them, but because I care about them.

  Because I love them.

  For a long time, they were all that kept me alive.

  I repress the sob that’s threatening to expose my weaknesses to them, wishing my emotional sensory button wasn’t malfunctioning. Or maybe it’s actually functioning for a change …

  The room slowly fills with heavy, sleep-laden brea
thing. I’ve always envied the other girls for their ability to sleep so well—exhausted from the day’s fuckery. Even asleep, I dream of shit that throws me straight back into consciousness again, generally breathless and sweating like an overexcited twat.

  I wish I was sweaty right now. Instead I’m fucking freezing, pushing big huffs of air at myself and jiggling against the hard, cold floor, trying to create friction. But it’s useless … and I’m hurting—my poor vagina’s throbbing, and not in the way which garners a night time fondle.

  This is all for them … there’s no point otherwise. But I can practically feel the hate rolling off them in thick, poisonous waves.

  I’m alone.

  I gulp air, swallow the ache in my throat, blink back tears.

  All I want is a cuddle.

  All I want is my mother’s arms wrapped around me, her breath on my face as she strokes at my hair, telling me it’s going to be okay, even if it’s a lie.

  Another flash of lightning slices through the darkness and I’m suddenly wrapped in a pair of thick, strong arms—my body pressed firmly against the toasty warm one curled around me.

  I become rigid. Gasping, I tug my head free from my Dell cocoon, drawing a deep lung-full of air and … Kal’s scent?

  Kal.

  I nuzzle my face into his chest, throat thickening, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

  “I’m here. You’re not alone …”

  My body heaves, the emotion spewing out of me as those walls come crashing down.

  He’s warm, his touch gentle as his hand makes small circular movements across my back, soothing my silent tears, pressing me closer into him, holding me tightly, protecting me against the sea of hatred threatening to drown my will.

  He’s here with me, comforting me, dealing with my backlash because I bound the Sun Gods to my fucking soul. I made him seduce Drake to distract the bastard … he’s probably copped just as much dick as I have today.

  “I’m sorry …” I whisper through a rogue hiccup.