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His downfall was brought on by himself; he could have avoided all of this when I offered him a deal the night before her twentieth birthday. He declined, and it was the last mistake he will ever make. He tried to create leashed monsters, but I’ve never been fond of being tied up. He could have remained at the top for a few more years. All he had to do was give us back what was ours. Now, he has no choice, and neither does she.
“She’s here,” Bastian says, the door open wide, letting in the frostbitten air. Lightning fills the sky, illuminating Bastian’s feral grin of excitement. Wet footsteps smack across the ground, getting closer and closer until two shadowed bodies fill the doorway.
Hawthorne doesn’t hover, gently pushing Octavia over the threshold and out of the rain before scurrying back to the car. The jagged scar running down his cheek catches my eye, and I can’t help the cruel grin that pulls at my lips. There are more scars littering Hawthorne’s body; everyone involved in the taking of my little sister bears those scars, and this is only the beginning. The dead ones are the lucky ones. The ones left alive have learned what happens when they interfere with what is mine.
Octavia stands shivering in the doorway, her arms wrapped around her plump waist, platinum blonde, waist-length hair blowing in the wind. Her nipples are hard, showing through her thin white silk blouse, and Bastian lets out a small feral growl, biting his bottom lip as he stares.
I clear my throat in a reprimand, raising an eyebrow as he scowls. Octavia smiles widely at the two of us, her eyes sparkling with joy, but as she notices both of our eyes dropping to her chest, the smile drops. She fidgets from side to side, a frown pulling at her forehead as she bites the inside of her cheek. Her gaze drops to the floor in a demure and scared manner, and that certainly won’t do. I have not waited three years for her to fear us now.
Thunder rolls through the air, lightning illuminating the moorlands once again, a storm brewing the night our dark angel returns. My polished black shoes press against the tip of her wet heels as I stand in front of her, the top of her head reaching my chest. A wave of strawberry and vanilla hits my senses, and I suppress the growl that threatens to break free. My dick hardens in my trousers, throbbing with the need to rip open her blouse and pull one of her taut nipples into my mouth, biting them until I taste blood.
But that is what Bastian would do, not me. I’m more in control of my needs. I understand that this will take a bit of time. I have the patience he does not, and that is why we agreed I would take the lead.
Slowly grazing my hands up her arms, I smirk as she shivers at my touch, keeping her gaze on the ground. Her breathing grows louder, her chest heaving, pushing her breasts forward until I feel her hardened nipples scraping against my shirt. I run my fingers across her cheek, her skin soft to the touch. She stands straighter, her spine stiff and hands clenched at her side. I place my fingers under her chin, lifting her head until her golden amber eyes meet mine.
I smirk, leaning down until my nose brushes against hers, tasting the minty freshness of her breath, her pouty lips dropping open. Her eyes widen until she stops breathing all together.
“Welcome home, little sister.”
3
Octavia
Ican’t breathe. All rational thought left my brain the moment Dorian placed his hand on my chin, lifting my head, welcoming me home. During my time away, I convinced myself that my brothers were not as sinisterly beautiful as I remembered them to be. I tried to tell myself that I built them up in my head, putting them on blood-stained pedestals because they were the only good things in my life.
I was wrong.
“Hi,” I whisper, taking a step back.
Dorian pushes his jet-black hair back away from his face, creating a striking contrast against his pale skin and angular cheekbones. His appearance takes my breath away as his grey eyes meet mine. He smirks cruelly at my gasp, making him look like the sinister monster I know he can be. I’m not blind to my brother’s darkness; I’ve never shied away from the people they are. Monsters may terrify some people, but mine make me feel alive.
He’s dressed in a bespoke suit as always, handmade by the family’s personal tailor. Even as a child, he wore a suit, nothingever out of place, even while smashing someone’s head in with a metal pipe. I asked him once why he always wore black and never any fun colours. He looked down at his clothes, a vicious grin on his face, and said,“better to hide all the blood, little sister.”
It was only after he said it that I realised his clothes were damp, but not from the rain. It was from the shower of his victims’ blood as they breathed their last breaths. He was thirteen years old.
Father didn’t like us wearing anything colourful, but Dorian and Bastian would sneak me pretty pink and yellow dresses, always with colourful socks. I had to hide them away and only wear them when he wasn’t around. A butler once caught me in a lilac dress and told my father. He beat me until I threw up and forced me to watch as he burned the dress. My brothers found me, sobbing in their bed, apologising for getting caught. They hunted down the butler the next day and gave me his fingers as a present.
There was no hiding from what I was born into; my family never shielded me from the darkness. But there was a life raft I clung to until my fingernails ripped out, and that was them.
“We’ve missed you, baby sis,” Bastian says, wrapping his arms around me from behind, squeezing me tight.
I let out a little squeal of joy feeling him at my back, lifting my feet from the ground. My brothers enclose me in tight, one holding me too hard, the other demanding my eyes remain on him by pinching my chin in his grip. A peace settles over my soul, one I haven’t felt in years. This is how it has always been with us. They have always surrounded me, giving me no space to breathe, no space to even think straight without them in the equation.
I have never felt more at peace.
Bastian chuckles, placing me back on the ground, not taking his arms from my waist. My back flush against his torso and my ass grazes against his pelvis, letting me feel the bulge inside his trousers. Immediately, my skin flushes, and I have to force myself to not push back, grinding against him. At the same time, my stomach drops, and the nausea that I felt in the car comes rearing back.
If Father sees me like this, he’ll know. He’ll know that my feelings for them haven’t changed, that sending me to the academy did nothing but prove how much I need them. He’ll send me away. I’ll be ripped from them before I’ve even been back.
I struggle in their grasp, my ass grinding on Bastian while my breasts push harder into Dorian’s chest. Pleasure rolls down my spine, my thighs shaking and underwear dampening at being trapped between them. The more I struggle, the harder they hold me, and the more turned on I become.
A hand ghosts against my bare thigh, the skirt I’m wearing not helping, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I squeal again, jolting back, stamping on Bastian’s foot and head-butting Dorian’s chin. They grunt and release me, each tending to their injuries.
My head flies around the entrance hall into the greeting room, searching for the scorn-filled eyes of our father or a sneaky servant peeping in the wings to report back. Thankfully, there’s no one there to drag me away or report back to score points. It’s just us.
I clutch my chest, breathing deeply, warding off the panic attack threatening to drown me. Bastian has moved to stand next to his twin, tilting his head to the side to examine me with a puzzled expression. He looks so cute when he does that—not that I would ever tell him.
Where Dorian is a refined evil, exuding sinister patience that could fool anyone into thinking he’s the more reasonable one,Bastian is the unhinged feral twin, and he looks the part. They may have been identical when they were younger, but as they’ve grown, Bastian has bulked out more while Dorian stayed lean. His jet-black hair is shaved short at the sides, leaving length at the top to fall in front of his dark blue eyes. Bas got our father’s eyes. He doesn’t don a suit, settling for black jeans with a matching t-shirt, tattoos covering both of his arms and most of his body.
