Scryer by Sinden West Page B

of the Circle were incapable of feeling anything
for anyone but themselves in all of their greedy selves.
    I followed him obediently, almost like a
dog. Up the curving staircase we went, our feet silent on the carpet, step by
numerous step. I tried counting them, but the number escaped me as I tried to
remember to breathe at the same time. Finally, we ended up at the narrow,
arched doorway on the floor at the very top. The figures of two men were carved
in its door. They held swords crossed together as if guarding the occupants
within. But those occupants didn’t need guards because those inside were lethal
enough to destroy any one who they chose to inflict their lack of mercy upon.
    Felix opened the door, and then stood
aside so I could enter. I couldn’t read the look on his face; perhaps it was
pity. Whatever it was, there was no need for me to see it, and I quickly
lowered my head and stepped through the door.
    The leather armchairs formed a circle
around a Persian rug. Against a wall sat a cabinet filled with liquor, and,
further into the room, on a platform up several steps lay an enormous bed with
an elaborately carved headboard. Michael sat, framed by the leather chair as he
held a glass of amber liquid against his knee. My breathing quickened as I saw
Lake sitting in another chair and drinking the same liquor as his uncle.
Quickly, I walked to the cabinet and poured myself a drink from the first
bottle that came to hand. It shook and splashed into the glass, and then onto
the wooden cabinetry, as I failed to hold my hand steady.
    “Oh, shit,” I said.
    Lake came up and took it from my shaking
hand, twisting the top of the bottle back on and passing me the glass. I made
sure not to look him in the eye. Instead, I went and sat in one of the chairs,
gulping the drink as I tried to get my breathing back under control.
    “You look beautiful, Ivy,” Michael
observed, his voice as smooth and unflappable as ever.
    My gaze remained on my drink that was
nearly finished by my gulps. “I’m not beautiful. I’m a fucking wreck.” It took
great effort to raise my eyes to meet his. Tears formed in my eyes as I fought
to take in oxygen, hating the way my naked breasts moved with each desperate
breath. It was like I was just made for them; a living, fuckable doll.
    It would make no difference. The tears
would often form, and if there was anything within his hard heart and soul that
could feel for me, it never made one goddamn difference.
    “Oh, Ivy. You know I have to.” He raised
himself up out of his chair and crossed the carpet to crouch in front of me.
His light hand took my wrist. “I’ll make it good for you, I promise. I’m not
the monster that you think I am.”
    I drained my glass, and the liquor
burning my throat mingled with the salty tears that began to run down my cheeks
freely. Michael reached out and wiped one away before turning to his nephew who
stood watching silently.
    “She’s distressed. Perhaps you should
sit this one out,” Michael said to him coldly.
    Lake shook his head. “No. You’ve shut me
out of my right for too long.” His voice plainly said not to fuck with him and
my heart yearned for the lying Lake who acted so sweet and kind toward me.
    Michael’s lips flicked up in a cruel
smile as he observed Lake; he was none too pleased by the response. “If you
wish to make things unpleasant, that’s fine, but if she doesn’t bring forth the
information required because she’s too upset—”
    “She’s not a toy,” Lake cut in.
    Michael’s face relaxed, and he let out a
laugh that was so cold that it had me shrinking back into the chair for
protection. “You’re right. She’s not a toy. She’s a fucking machine that needs
to work for my benefit. Do I need to remind you what happens if anyone
gets in the way of that?”
    They held each other’s gaze for a moment
before Lake shifted slightly on his feet. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t be
screwed over by you, Uncle.