Page 79 of Wicked Vile King
"Probably the others," he shrugs, "but not that one."
"It's illegal," I protest.
It makes him grin even wider.
"So is shoving needles in our arms and strapping us down to tables, but you don't see that stopping them, do you?"
"This is so fucked up," I say.
And my remark makes him laugh, like really laugh where the skin around his eyes crinkles with his amusement and he shows all of his teeth. It should be outlawed to look as beautiful as he does when he laughs. My heart almost certainly develops a spontaneous arrhythmia.
"Out of all the shit you've seen," he says, "you're concerned about them putting you on birth control?"
"It's a violation," I defend. "It's got to violate some law or ethics code or something."
"Oh, pet," hetsksand shakes his head, "they did tell you in one of the forms your parents filled out."
"Papa," I breathe. He knew, and he sent me here anyway. Did they tell him it's just a mandatory precaution? Did he ask questions? Did he even care?
I feel sick.
"Hmm," Saint remarks, raising his eyebrows.
"Papa knew," I say.
"Yes, of course." He tilts his head, studying me, and I spot that gleam in his eye again, the one where he's a starving dog after a very tasty bone.
"You didn't say Mama though, pet. Why? Is she dead? Or just absent?"
"She's dead," I admit, exiting the building and starting down the sidewalk back to the main campus, away from him. He jumps easily into stride beside me.
"How did she die?" he asks, completely skipping the part where he saysI'm sorry for your lossorshe's in a better place.
"None of your business," I answer honestly.
"Ok, must have been unpleasant then." He sucks in a whistling breath between his teeth. "When did she die?"
"None of your business."
"Oh and recently too. Ouch."
Why do I get the feeling he already knew my answers?
"Do you miss her?" he asks next.
"Of course."
"Is that why you tried to kill yourself? To try to see her again?"
"No."Maybe.
"Hmm." He tsks again, and I wish he would stop. He sounds positively judgmental when he does it. "See I just don't believe you, pet, and that's a problem."
"It's not a problem for me."
"It should be," he says, snatching the collar and pulling me to an abrupt stop along with it.
"You want to be a good pet, don't you, pretty girl? You want to make me happy?"
