Page 102 of Tainted Souls
I finally manage to force my gaze away, heat blooming in my cheeks. I was the one who called them barbaric. I was the one who lunged, teeth bared and hands shaking. But now I feel like the savage one.
What I did was violent and desperate. What he did is the opposite. Something I never wanted to try, because I never knew how.
And the worst part is… a small part of me envies it.
Sophia arches her neck, drawing herself closer to Revenant, letting the fabric of her blouse slip just enough to reveal the contours of her chest. “Perhaps I could tempt you with more?” The suggestion in her voice is unmistakable. She’s offering herself willingly.
“Later,” he agrees, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that carries the weight of promise. “I have a guest to attend to.”
He motions to me as I stand awkwardly at the edge of the alcove, watching a world I can’t quite reach, feeling every bit the outsider.
I want to sink through the floor and disappear.
When Sophia notices my presence—or rather the fact that I’m not some mere bystander—her expression shifts into something territorial before she masks it with practiced politeness.
“Of course,” she says, rising gracefully. “Until next time, my lord.”
She inclines her head toward him and glides away, throwing one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing through the silk curtains.
“I hope the demonstration did not wound your sensibilities beyond repair,” Revenant says, beckoning me to sit.
I do not. “You set me up.”
“How so?” He furrows his brows. “Please do enlighten me.”
“I’m trapped here, starving,” I say through gritted teeth. “You left me no choice. You knew what would happen.”
He laughs under his breath, clearly entertained. “Starving, yes, but hardly helpless. Hunger sharpens instincts, makes fools of us all. Losing control is a failure of discipline, not circumstance. Perhaps if you had mastered yourself sooner, this scene wouldn’t have been necessary.”
I blink, unable to process the audacity required to say something like that. “Or maybe I shouldn’t have been left to rot like prey in a cage.”
“I agree.” His smile darkens, more predator than gentleman. “But there was a lesson in that, don’t you think?” One hand rests casually on the table, fingers drumming lightly, an almost imperceptible rhythm that underscores the control he’s exuding. The tapping seems too slow to be nervous, too tempered to be impatient. It’s like a countdown, the soft sound a reminder of his unhurried power, as though time is on his side. When he speaks again, every word is wrapped in the thinnest guise of kindness. “Control isn’t given, Seraph, it’s taken. Learn it quickly, or you won’t last long here.”
I hold his gaze, unable to look away, as if it would mean admitting defeat if I did. The tension in my chest grows heavier, a dull ache that threatens to twist into something more. It’s not fear. It’s more primal, something that makes the edges of my vision go blurry.
Rage.
How dare he? How dare he make this sound like a lesson I should begratefulfor?
My fists are clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I want to speak, to scream, to throw something, but I hold it in. I know better than to give him that satisfaction. Than to have himphysically showcase just how much power he holds within these walls.
He stands and beckons me with a subtle flick of his fingers. “Walk with me,” he says, offering his arm in a way that feels more command than invitation.
I steel myself for what lies ahead. The dress feels suddenly restrictive, the mask a flimsy barrier between me and whatever fate he has planned. The words I want to say sit heavy on my tongue, but they don’t come. There’s a cold logic in my mind, a warning that resistance is futile, that every decision and movement has already been mapped out.
With a reluctant exhale, I accept, letting him guide me through a side door and into a moonlit garden. Stone paths wind between neatly trimmed hedges and ancient oak trees. Fountains murmur softly in the distance, providing a constant backdrop of gentle sound.
It would be beautiful if not for the company.
He removes his mask, looking at me with those unsettling gray eyes that seem to see too much. “Do you know why we wear these masks?”
For a heartbeat, I’m astounded by the casual unveiling. The face I’ve been hunting for years, only glimpsed once in utter desperation, is now finally revealed to me in full.
But not in the way I imagined. Not in vengeance, not in triumph… just like this. Offering it to me as if it’s nothing. What is he trying to pull? A sudden vulnerability? A game? A distraction?
I unlink my hand from his arm and remove my own mask with the other, unwilling to give him an advantage, no matter how small.
With careful discretion, I lift the sleeve of my dress, fingers grazing the fabric, preparing to run if I have to. “Because it’s a convenient way to absolve yourself of responsibility?”
