Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

I smiled as I looked back up to meet her stunning stare. “You didn’t manage to undo it.”

She struggled through the need swirling between us, her eyebrows drawing together. “No, I—”

“Did you try?”

She licked her lips, chewing on honesty. “I did.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

I nodded, brushing my touch along her shoulder and neck again, searching for that perfect, assailable spot. The pressure point drawn in a diagram I found in a martial art book in the library.

The thing she hadn’t understood about me was, yes, I was a tortured soul living alone in the valley. Yes, I was more animal than man. And yes, I had many flaws and countless holes in my education.

However...

Books had been my saving grace. They’d been my only friend on those long winter nights and endless summer days. I’d read everything cover to cover, including topics that would help me defend myself if more enemies came to Fables.

My thumb found the spot, my fingers prepared to squeeze.

I bent to kiss her.

Her chin tipped up, stupidly trusting that I was as drunk on chemistry as she was. I wouldn’t lie. My head was swimming, and desire had replaced every inch of my concussion. I was rock fucking hard.

But I was looking at the bigger picture where I had a lifetime of seducing this girl. Whereas she was looking at a final, passionate goodbye.

Two people who belonged with each other yet continued to fight the inevitable.

Our lips brushed as I spoke into her mouth, “I’m glad you tried.”

“You are?” She kissed me back, her tongue flicking out to lick along my bottom lip. “Why?”

“You’ll see.”

I smashed my mouth to hers. I kissed her so damn hard.

She moaned.

I groaned.

And my fingers pinched hard around her carotid artery.

I kissed her while she kissed me back.

I kissed her while she began to thrash.

I kissed her as she gasped for air, then tumbled at my feet unconsciousness.

* * * * *

Well, what do you know?

It worked.

It worked so well, she’d been out cold for an hour before a soft mumble left her lips, and she twitched beneath the blankets I’d placed over her.

In that hour, while she’d remained in the forced sleep I’d granted, I tried to move her into the library—back to the bed she’d made for me. To swap our roles from patient to carer.

Unfortunately, my body had other ideas.

I was too weak to move her farther than the doorway. I was too light-headed to drag her across the marble or even carry her backpack to the corner where it belonged. Instead, I almost blacked out myself. I’d collapsed on my knees and seen stars, all while she’d slept like a corpse.

I didn’t know how long she would stay unconscious. The book had said some people stayed under for a few minutes to a few hours. I was on a tight timeline, so I had no choice but to abandon the idea of moving her and instead brought comfort to her. I placed a pillow beneath her head and slipped off her heavy backpack. I’d left her curled up in the middle of the kitchen and closed the door she’d tried to escape from.

And then, I used the rest of my meager balance and strength to climb up the stairs and enter Storymaker’s bedroom, where he kept the chain. Opening his drawer full of kinky apparatus, I clenched my jaw as the glint of metal winked in welcome.

My mind slipped.

I fell—

“Know what this is, Kassen?” Storymaker grinned. “Its name is Parable, and it will be your new best friend.”

I stood trembling, eyeing up the links of whatever fresh hell he planned.

Ducking to my ankle, where he’d already locked a leather cuff around me, he fastened another padlock to the shorter leash. With one snap of bondage, he increased the length by miles. My blood dripped down my legs, staining the leather and glittering red on the metal links.

“Ugh, someone get a bandage for Kas here,” Storymaker barked. “His whip marks are staining Parable.”

One of his guards strode from the library, no doubt going to fetch the kitchen maid and her box of medicine.

I could do with some medicine.

My body was burning up.

The twenty lashes I’d earned for stealing food for Elise and Nyx had come at a price. But I’d do it all over again. They were starving. He was working them too hard. I wanted to fucking kill him.

As the kitchen maid came in and stood behind me to tend to my flayed, bleeding back, Storymaker clasped his hands in front of him and muttered, “There are no locks on the doors and no bars on the windows, as you well know, Kas. You’ve been a good boy lately. You haven’t tried to run since I showed you what would happen to your precious friends if you did. But you are being a pain in my backside lately. I don’t care if you want to be fucked by all the guests. If you’re greedy enough to volunteer in all your friends' places, who am I to argue if the guests are okay with your ass over another’s? However—”

He rushed forward, shoving his face into mine.

I flinched as the kitchen maid swiped over a particularly deep gash, cringing away from Storymaker’s wrath. “I will not permit you to think you run this establishment, you little shit. You are mine. They are mine. You will do what I say when I say it, and if that means you have to wear Parable until the day you die at my feet, so fucking be it.” He grabbed the chain and slipped the links through his finger, marching farther and farther away, stopping at a pile of more chain by his desk.