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  "I might have been captured, but I'm no one's slave!” she said fiercely.

  "Is that so?"

  Her chin raised a notch. “Yes."

  Galen seized her and pulled her against his chest. He held her immobile in his grasp, her back pressed against his front. His erection pulsed against her arse, eager and hungry for a taste.

  "Let me go!” She tried to jam her elbow in his side, but he held her immobile with his greater strength.

  "Not until I prove my point.” The chain around her ankle rattled as he frog marched her to the mirror over the sink, so she could see her own reflection. “Look at yourself. You were made to be a pleasure slave."

  Rowena gazed at herself and then met his eyes in the mirror. Galen let her see the full measure of his desire, willed her to see herself through his eyes. She was a lovely creature, made for pleasure. It was time she realized that.

  "Let me show you,” he rasped in her ear.

  He was unable to keep his hands off her any longer. Her breasts were glorious, full and round and sat high on her chest. The nipples were large and pink, perfect for sucking.

  Galen pinched one of her nipples and her breath hissed from between her teeth. He gently rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.

  "Do you like that? Tell me the truth."

  "Yes,” she bit out.

  "Good girl.” He gave her another nipple the same attention. Then, he squeezed it, not too hard, just to add another dimension to her pleasure. Sometimes a small amount of pain made the pleasure all that much sweeter.

  Rowena moaned in response to that. He only had one arm wrapped securely around her waist, but she didn't try to escape him. Instead, she clutched at his hand.

  "Do you like that, Rowena?"

  "Yes,” she sighed.

  "Yes, what?"

  "I'm not calling you master!” she snarled, tugging at his hands.

  "Soon enough you will. Put your hands on the sink and spread your legs. I want your arse in the air."

  Rowena's hands shook as she hesitantly placed them on the porcelain sink, but she did as he bade.

  Galen ran hands down her body, relishing her soft, supple skin. He put his feet between her legs and pushed her legs apart even wider. He wanted to lift his sterile white robe and sink his cock deep inside her. He longed to feel her around him, enveloping his stiff flesh in her welcoming, wet heat. He needed to fuck her senseless until she begged and pleaded with him for rest.

  Unfortunately, now was not the time.

  For now, he'd have to content himself with making her come with his fingers. Galen pushed inside of her sweet quim and groaned at how tight she was. He couldn't resist pumping his fingers in and out in a furious rhythm. With his other hand, he played with her clitoris, pinching it and causing her hips to buck.

  "Do you want me, slave?"

  "N-no!” Her body belied her words. Rowena was wet, the delicate folds within slick with her arousal.

  "Do you want me? Tell me, or I'll stop!” He growled.

  "Yes! Damn you, yes!” she cried. Her hands gripped the sink, her knuckles white. “Please!” With a wail, she came.

  Galen splashed some cold water from the sink on his face and willed his erection down, but soon he would have his chance with her.

  Rowena was too delicious to pass up.

  Galen wanted her desperately and he was going to have her. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

  * * * *

  Vayne Thorne drained his glass of whiskey. Unfortunately, it would take a lot more than that to dull the pain of being near Rochester. He hated these little summonses to Strongholde Castle.

  He watched Damien Rochester torment Rowena for his own amusement. Her body had been bared for all to see and she knelt on an oriental rug at Rochester's feet. Rowena was a sorcerer and should have been treated with a modicum of dignity. It was a disgrace to display her before all of them like a common trollop. Yet, Vayne couldn't help but physically respond to the site of her splayed legs and luscious bottom on display. He could hardly wait to get her home. He'd had fantasies about Rowena for years. Rochester had all but promised Vayne that he could own her, although he doubted that anyone could truly own her, she had an unbeatable spirit.

  Sinclair had been avidly watching the girl's every movement. It was evident that he'd developed an interest in her while she was in his care. Rochester had oh-so-casually mentioned that he'd received Sinclair's petition for Rowena. Lately, Vayne had begun to suspect that Rochester doubted his loyalty to him, proving that he wasn't a complete fool.

  Vayne had often thought about wresting control from Rochester, but something held him back. Being a member of the Coven didn't have as much appeal as it once had. Vayne grew bored with their schemes and their politics. They actually wanted to gain control of mortal society. Unthinkable.

  "Whatever shall I do with you, poppet?” Rochester asked.

  She opened her eyes briefly. “Please don't kill me, master."

  "Are you certain that is what you want?” he asked, delighted. Rochester had murdered her father and now the girl begged for her life at his feet. His face was flushed with perverse pleasure. “I seem to recall you telling me that you'd never beg."

  "I—I was wrong, master,” she said, eyes still downcast. She'd hesitated over the words though. Had it galled her to say them? Had some spark survived the brutal torture she'd endured? It looked that way. Excellent. Vayne didn't want a passive pet, he wanted Rowena in top form, spitting and hissing as he took her. He bet she would be a little hellcat in bed.

  Rochester mulled it over or pretended to. “I shall allow you to live, then, poppet, but only because I am a generous man."

  Rowena sighed, her body nearly going slack with relief. Her life was the only thing she thought she had left to lose.

  "Tell me how grateful you are."

  Again, another hesitation. Obviously, Rochester irritated her. That was something that they had in common. “Thank you, master, for sparing my life."

  "My pleasure. Actually our pleasure.” Rochester paused for added effect. He sounded like the host of a particularly kinky mortal game show. “I'm going to give you to one of these men, poppet. You are going to be a pleasure pet for them, aren't you?” He threaded his fingers through her hair and roughly pulled her towards him. “Aren't you?"

  "Yes, master,” she whispered. The dear girl looked a little green around the gills at that news.

  "One of these warlocks will own you. You will be theirs to do with as they please. And you'll be fucked by him every day. He'll show you your true place."

  Rowena quivered.

  Rochester licked his lips, clearly enjoying his victory over her.

  Vayne had been surprised that Rochester didn't want her for himself, but he'd said he wasn't interested. He wondered if Rochester was secretly afraid of the girl. She'd come close to beating him quite a few times. Even if he did have her luscious little body at his mercy, he'd probably never get up enough of an erection to do her pussy justice.

  Rochester let go of her hair and she fell to her hands and knees again. “Two of you have placed your petition for her—Sinclair and Thorne. Do either of you wish to withdraw your petition?"

  Vayne didn't give a damn that Sinclair had petitioned for her. He couldn't have her. Rowena Black was his. He'd paid for the right in blood. Vayne touched the scar on his face. The bitch had disfigured him permanently and ruined his handsome face forever. He couldn't let that go unpunished.

  Besides, Sinclair didn't know Rowena, not like Vayne did. He knew her the way only an enemy could. She was cunning, quick-witted. Only the fiercest of warlocks would be able to keep up with her. The bloody bastard would have no idea what to do with the little hellcat.

  Vayne stared at Sinclair, but he refused to withdraw his request.

  "Come now, gentlemen. One should know when to retire from the field.” Rochester looked pointedly at Sinclair, who only stared back with a mulish expression.

  Galen
might have asked for her on a whim, but this was no impulse for Vayne. He'd wanted her for years and she was almost within his grasp. He'd wanted her long before she injured him. The idea of making Rowena Black beg at his feet was too delectable to pass up. He needed to make her his. She was too proud. She needed to be put in her place.

  The high priest of the Coven smiled.. “This is quite the dilemma, gentlemen.” He looked down at Rowena. “Perhaps I should slice her down the middle and offer each of you a half?"

  Rowena shuddered. “Please, no, master."

  "Silence, poppet. I am deciding your fate."

  Sinclair took a step forward but didn't say anything.

  Vayne gritted his teeth. It wouldn't be long now and Rochester wouldn't be an issue anymore.

  Rochester sighed. “But that's a little boring, isn't it?” He tapped his chin. He had all but promised him. Why was he suddenly backing down?

  Vayne began to speak. “Sire, I—"

  "I think a compromise is in order.” He looked down at Rowena. “I want you to be totally debased. Belonging to one man is far too kind a fate for you. I want you to be communal property. You will be used by any warlock who wants you."

  Rowena shivered.

  "We shall start with these two."

  Sinclair and Vayne both scowled at each other before turning enraged faces on Rochester, who seemed oblivious to their anger.

  "Sire, I think this is most unusual.” Sharing a slave was unusual. As a rule, warlocks didn't share anything. Warlocks didn't play well with others. If they did, they would have remained witches.

  "Yes, well, this is an unusual pet, don't you agree, gentlemen?"

  "Of course she is,” Sinclair agreed. “But the logistics of this arrangement would be most troublesome. I'm sure that—"

  "Nonsense. I am going to reward you both for your faithful service. You will share her. I think you should switch every other day, that way she will not get too comfortable in either setting."

  Vayne and Sinclair nodded and mumbled something that sounded like gratitude, even if it wasn't.

  Bastard, Vayne seethed. He wasn't sure which bastard he was most angry with, Rochester or Sinclair. Sinclair had managed to completely ruin his revenge. Although he tried to hide it, Vayne could see the displeasure in the set of his jaw and the tightening of his hands into fists. Good. They were both angry.

  "Let's see,” Rochester said, staring down at the girl. “Who shall have you first?"

  Vayne held his breath, anticipation made the time seem greater.

  "You will be going home with the apothecary first, poppet.” He spoke to her, but he looked at Sinclair.

  Sinclair had triumph in his eyes. Not only had he stolen part of her ownership, he would he be the first to fuck her.

  Bloody. Everlasting. Hell.

  Chapter 4

  Galen Sinclair's Apartment

  London, England

  With a flick of his wand, Sinclair had unceremoniously deposited Rowena in his home. In a moment of weakness, she had frantically tried to escape his apartment, but it was a foolish attempt. The doors and windows were magically locked and the phone had password recognition. No computer in sight. She was effectively contained, awaiting his pleasure.

  With resignation, she walked through his apartment, running her fingers over the furniture, looking for clues to his personality, looking for clues as to what the Coven was up to. The apartment had a modern feel to it, sleek lines and chrome accents. Barren. Clean.

  She searched his desk drawer and the library, but found nothing about the Coven's plans. It made sense to her. Sinclair healed their members. He wasn't a warrior and probably had no idea about the various plots they hatched.

  Rowena didn't know what to with herself. She was a woman of action and led an active life. The dull void of servitude held no appeal. She usually spent her days spying on wizards and stealing their powers. Puttering around Sinclair's apartment was unbearable. She hardly recognized herself, anyway. Rowena felt as though she were slowly slipping away.

  I am Rowena Black. I am Rowena Black. Rowena repeated this assertion every day, in the safety of her own mind, the only place she had any privacy now. She had been laid bare by her captors both literally and figuratively.

  She couldn't quite recall how long she'd been captive. Days? Weeks? Years? The endless hours she had spent in the castle torture room bled together and obliterated any sense of time.

  She'd lost much more than her sense of time in that dank room. She'd lost the last vestiges of her innocence, her sanity, and a bit of her soul—and all in the name of a cause. All in the name of destroying the Coven. But was it worth it? Yes, Rochester must be stopped at any cost but the price had been steep indeed.

  She hadn't fully anticipated the toll this would take on her. Of course, she'd been distressed by the loss of her powers. It had been like losing a sense, such as sight or hearing but she hadn't taken into account the toll of the abuse. It had nearly eradicated her sense of self.

  Merrick had been right. Hubris had gotten her in trouble.

  At first, she had refused to betray the Alliance by confessing what she knew even if it meant her life. Then came the day when they finally broke her. At the time, she lived in the most basic state of mind possible. Her thoughts centered on making it through the next moment, the next breath. She'd been unable to control herself and had even spilled some of the Alliance's secrets.

  However, she didn't let them know why she had allowed herself to be captured. The bastards hadn't been able to torture her enough to get that. She hadn't compromised her mission. Rochester had offered her up as a human prize, a reward for madmen. The Alliance was up against warlocks who were willing to do anything to reach their horrific goals. They had no qualms about using dark magic, murder, torture to further their own interests and now Rowena had become intimately familiar with all of their means of domination, but apparently, she had more innocence to lose.

  But now she craved Sinclair's touch.

  Seduction was insidious. Wrapped up in compassion and coercion, it didn't feel wrong. She hadn't been prepared for how gentle he was, or how ruthless. He'd made her want him as a means of controlling her. Rowena knew without a doubt that she wanted Sinclair. Wanted to use him as well.

  And Vayne. She couldn't even think about the effect Vayne would have on her.

  Rowena lay down on Sinclair's bed and closed her eyes. She couldn't think about this anymore. She needed to rest, regroup, and then maybe she could figure out how she could get the information she sought without losing anymore of her self.

  * * * *

  Hours later, she awoke to a noise. Her eyes fluttered open and she knew that she wasn't alone. Sinclair stood at the end of the bed, his hungry eyes on her as he disrobed. A strained silence stretched between them.

  Rowena told herself that she wasn't excited about what was going to happen next. He'd already taken off his linen apothecary robe. It had been discarded on the cedar trunk at the end of his bed.

  Sinclair was a handsome man. He had long, Roman nose and square jaw with a cleft in the center. His long black hair fell in unruly waves around his broad shoulders. His eyes were a cobalt blue and filled with wicked hunger.

  "Did you rest well, Rowena?"

  "Yes.” Rowena told herself that her heart beat with fear, not anticipation. She suddenly realized how she looked, laying on his bed naked and vulnerable. “You have a very comfortable bed."

  No point in covering up now, he'd already seen all she had to offer. Rowena realized that she had to take control of the situation or she would be lost forever, even if that meant submitting to him. Inversely, she would have power over him because she planned to manipulate him with her body. Just as he had done.

  His full lips curved into a sinful smile. “Good. I plan to keep you in it for a very long time."

  Instead of covering up, Rowena lifted her arms over her head and gripped the headboard. Then, she splayed her legs, enticing him with her willingne
ss.

  Sinclair lifted one raven eyebrow, watching her quizzically. “I must say I'm surprised. I'd expected another fight, not to say that you're surrender is unwelcome but it is uncharacteristic.” His expression was droll, but the way his nostrils flared and his harsh intake of breath was not. He hadn't been unaffected by he little display.

  "What's the point in fighting? It's useless, isn't it? I don't have any magic to escape with, and you've set up enough wards in this place to guard the Hope Diamond."

  "Ah, so you've gone from being a rebel to a pragmatist?"

  Rowena undulated on the bed and saw his fists clench at his sides. “I prefer to think of myself as a realist. Now is the not the time for a prison break. Now, do you want to chat or do you want to shag?"

  Sinclair laughed. “Well put.” He walked to the nightstand and pulled three red silk scarves from the drawer. “Then I'll tie you up and fuck you."

  Rowena bristled at his tone, but she knew she could take anything. Just because she'd become a slave, didn't mean that her will had been compromised. Rowena smirked at him, ignoring the thrill that went through her body as she imagined him tying her to his big bed and dominating her.

  "I shall have to remedy that."

  Sinclair centered one scarf over her right wrist and wrapped it repeatedly, but not too tight. The, he repeated the process with the other wrist and scarf. He threaded the other scarf through the others before attaching her arms to the wrought iron headboard. While the scarves bound her tightly, they didn't cut off her circulation. She also she sensed that Sinclair wouldn't hurt her. He wasn't like his brethren, perhaps because he healed others. Sinclair had some semblance of a conscience.

  Sinclair stood at the side of the bed and looked down at his handiwork with a satisfied expression. He still wore a pair of linen trousers and she could see his erection, fierce and insistent pushing at the buttons.

  "I promise not to hurt you."

  Rowena bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she'd be punished for. “I can take anything you can dish out."