Page 13 of Cardinal House
Wolf Blackwell.
I’m not sure why thoughts of him come to me now. I have thought of his warmth many nights when I’ve been lonely and scared. And I don’t even know why. He never says more than three words to me and they’re always usually grunted and cold. A bit mean.
Him asking me to dinner was because he had a high temperature and is on a ridiculously high dose of intravenous pain medication.
And yet, I wish I could go with him.
Anywhere.
Away from here.
I think of the cupboard, his hot naked skin heating me through my scrubs, his breath on my face, our lips almost brushing.
I thought he was going to kiss me.
I think I would have let him.
Be my first.
He has these pretty eyes like dark honey, yellow-caramel, which remind me of an actual wolf’s. With his tanned, olive complexion and his dark brows. Black hair, strong features and thick black stubble, he’s like a man-wolf, one of those men that can shift under the light of the moon.
I think about him doing just that, fur sprouting, a snout elongating his face, dissolving his strong features into a dripping maw. I think of him bounding through my front door, racing his way up the stairs, and ripping all of my Uncle’s men to shreds. He tears out my uncle’s throat, before he comes for me.
He’s slow and careful when he approaches, his thick, black fur drenched in crimson. But he dips his head, pushing his wet nose into the palm of my hand and nuzzles me. Curls his huge wolf body around me, and neither one of us cares about the blood as we settle together in a dark corner. Then he stays.
With a quivering hand, I reach up, pulling open the mirrored cabinet to retrieve some concealer. I dab it on quickly, patting it in with my fingertips before wiping my hands on the dark hand towel. I try not to think about anything else as I twist the door knob, letting myself back out into the hall.
The wall sconces are lit few and far between, just enough to make it to the end of the corridor without tripping over my own feet. I count ten men between the bathroom and Uncle Nolan’s rooms, and knowing that he could call on any one of them to hold me down, and they would, without question, makes me want to vomit all over again. So I push the thoughts aside, my bare footsteps light against the worn runner carpet, my silken nightdress fluttering around my thighs.
The door opens from the other side as I approach the bedroom, revealing the fire roaring brightly behind the grate, someone must have added new wood. When I step inside, the guard stays where he is, on the inside of the bedroom door, and I sense another on the other side of me as I pause just inside the room.
Uncle Nolan sits before the fire, bare except for a pair of dark coloured boxers covering him. He looks handsome and strong, at ease in the way he elegantly lounges in the leather armchair. All open and carefree. Sated. Like he just had the best sex of his life.
It makes me sick.
“Luna,” he purrs, the sound raking up my spine like a rusty pitchfork. “I thought you had gotten lost,” he tilts his head. “And so early on in our evening too.” He clucks his tongue, a soft shake to his head, he smiles, this loose, warm grin, that makes my insides knot as though they are snared in razor wire.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” I whisper, my entire body trembling so hard that little loose hairs drift around my face, catching in my lashes.
“No need to be sorry, sweet girl,” he smiles, something carnal. “Come here.”
He opens his arms in demand as opposed to invitation, and my feet start reluctantly dragging me forward. He pulls me carefully down into his lap, manoeuvring my legs over his thighs, tucking me into his chest, my face into the side of his neck. His scent is stomach-churning, because he smells like us, our scents combined together with sweat and blood, too much skin and too many unwanted touches. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, my eyelids hot and clammy as Uncle Nolan slides his hand down my spine, his fingertips grazing over the top of my painful bottom, only the silk of my nightgown between us.
He rests his chin atop my head, his other hand coming around my waist, holding me to him, his hand light on my hip. He doesn’t need to hold me tightly, he knows I won't try to get away. I haven’t tried to escape him since I was a very small child.
“I do not mean to hurt you,” he starts, as he always does, with the niceness and the fake apologies after he has been particularly aggressive with me, impatient. “Sometimes, sweet girl,” he hums, the vibration like a sonic wave penetrating my skull, “I get so carried away with you, your beauty makes me forget myself. You understand what you do to me, don’t you, Luna.” It’s not a question but I am expected to answer anyway.
“Yes.” I swallow, the feeling like razor blades attacking my throat. “I’m sorry, Uncle Nolan.”
“Mmm, yes, yes you are,” he hums again and my breaths are these short, laboured, painful things. “You know that we are going to have to do more tonight.”
My eyes squeeze closed, fingers curling tight in my lap, “Yes, Uncle Nolan.”
“I don’t like hurting you, Luna,” he tells me again, his words too soft and kind to be real. “It’s why I’ve left you untouched here,” he says, just barely grazing his fingertips over my mound, reminding me of my virginity, like a scythe swinging just atop my head. “Pure. I’m not trying to ruin you completely, I love you, sweet girl.”
Completely.
Sickness churns inside of me, every part of my body feeling like it isn’t mine.