Yield (46 page)

Authors: Cari Silverwood

Tags: #Pierced Hearts

BOOK: Yield

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He never lost his taste for sadism and, if anything, once he had a basement room soundproofed and set up to his liking, he resumed our scenes with greater enthusiasm than before. I didn’t mind, though; my initial reluctance had been replaced by a liking, a craving even, for his pain as well as for his dominance. My favorite time became those sessions out on the rear patio, bound and tied to the ceiling rafters, while he flogged me to the sound of the waves crashing on the sand.

I grew accustomed to the loss of Glass. He’d been a far gentler man than Moghul, a man who deserved to live, but I couldn’t change what had happened. I took blame on myself because I’d led him to his death. If I’d not involved him in my ridiculous hunt for my father’s killer, he’d be alive. My father hadn’t needed justice, he’d needed a shovel for his grave then maybe some flowers, if I was generous.

After all the fearful things that had happened, I’d lived and had been given my two children. Fate played high stakes games. Once I might’ve thought Moghul my penance for my stupid search for the killer but now, he was far more than penance. He was my world.

When I considered the possibility that Moghul might die before I did, that I might survive him...I felt that potential loss as something annihilating and I wondered how I’d exist without him.

He was a part of me in a way that Glass could never have been.

A year after that terrible day when I’d made my decision, the day Glass had died, Moghul drew me to the walled-off section of the garden where we’d planted our crimson rose bushes, so that Theresa and Kegan, when he learned to walk, wouldn’t end up with thorn scratches. Moghul had joked that he’d craft me a collar made of their branches with the thorns ever pricking me to remind me of my subservience. I still challenged him on my most unruly days and he never tired of punishing me for it.

The difference was that now I appreciated it as part of the give and take of our relationship. There were pluses and minuses to any marriage. I doubted any man, including my poor Glass, would have kept me away from knives.

Moghul did.

Knives were such a beautiful combination of light and dark, of good and evil.

Why they fascinated me escaped my comprehension. I think they always would, but they weren’t essential. I had servants for chopping up things.

“Kneel, Wren.”

I went to my knees, tucking the light fabric under me so the wild sea wind, blustering over the wall, didn’t make it flail at my face.

I wore a flimsy red gown with an irregular hem, in honor of the journey I’d made, that day a year ago, from his pit of despair. Also it was in remembrance of Glass, though I hadn’t told that to Moghul.

“This is my gift to you.” As he spoke, he unlocked and removed the steel chain-link collar from my neck. Then he held out to me a new collar that lay across and dripped from his palms. This one seemed to be steel also, but it was in the form of interwoven thorns with a half-opened silver rosebud as the lock.

“You will always be my only partner in life, Wren, and this is a symbol of our struggles and our triumphs, as well as my mastery over you. Know that I will always be fair and reward you when you deserve reward, that I will punish you when needed and care for you for the rest of your life. I will never desert you. I will love you to the end of my days.”

As I smiled up at him, tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. “It’s beautiful, Sir. Thank you.”

“Say your vow, Wren.”

“I will be yours forever, Sir. I will obey you and accept your judgement in all things. I will care for you and trust you to love me and care for me.” I swallowed as I thought over the last words. “I will love you to the end of my days, Sir.”

“Bow your head so I can put the collar on you.”

Then he locked it in place. The click of the key no longer declared my captivity to me, it quietly spoke of freedom with the man with whom I truly wanted to live my life. Though he’d begun as the man I’d loved to hate, he’d ended as my knight in blackened armor and the father of my children.

“Now put your head next to my foot with your cheek to the ground.”

This was new, but I barely hesitated. I went lower and put my head at his feet, then his foot lifted, and I felt his boot press down on my head, with enough force that grains of dirt dug into my cheek.

“Just a reminder of where you belong. Under me.”

I stared beyond the sole of his shoe at the grass stalks swaying and wondered at the change in myself. A year ago I would’ve snarled and rebelled, whereas now, I felt terribly comforted by where I was.

A little over a year ago, I didn’t have
Mine
written on my back and I didn’t understand the joy there could be in belonging to someone.

“Who owns you, Wren?”

“I’m yours, Sir. Always yours.”

The End

Click to return to Chapter 36, which is the beginning of the
Blade Path
ending.

About Cari Silverwood

Cari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she’s spent staring into the night. She has an ornery nature as well as a lethal curiosity that makes her want to upend plots and see what falls out when you shake them.

When others are writing bad men doing bad things, you may find her writing good men who accidentally on purpose fall into the abyss and come out with their morals twisted in knots.

This might be because she comes from the land down under, Australia, or it could be her excessive consumption of wine.

Freaking out readers is her first love and her second love is freaking out the people living in her books. Her favorite hobby is convincing people she has a basement...though she really doesn’t. Promise. If it existed it would be a terrifying place where you would find all the dangerous things that you never knew you craved.

To escape you’d need to get the key you can see through the grate in your cell door. A key that’s hanging from the ceiling by string. The light above is flickering on...off...and you can hear feet dragging along the corridor floor. Your door is locked.

Anyone know how to get blood stains out of concrete?

If you’d like to learn more go to
www.carisilverwood.net

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Also by Cari Silverwood

Preyfinders Series

Precious Sacrifice

(Published in the anthology, Kept. Also released as a solo book)

Intimidator