I didn’t say anything.

  “Come here.” He lifted me up as if I were a doll and moved us away from the table. My back met the wall, and I used it to support myself.

  “This is in the way.” With skilled fingers, he made quick work of my dress and bra. Goosepimples traveled across my flesh as it was exposed to the cool air. Alexander looked at my heels, and then at me with a glint in his eyes. “Those can stay.”

  He kissed along my jaw, and then my neck, across my chest and down my body until he was on his knees.

  His warm breath fanned across my clit, and I suddenly realized what he was doing.

  “Alex,” I protested feebly, my throat raw and aching.

  “Did you think we were done?” He lifted my thigh with his name carved onto it and draped it over one shoulder. He kissed it lightly and then brought my pussy flush with his mouth.

  My eyes met his, searching for some sign of leniency, some hint of the man who could be gentle and caring beneath the dominating exterior. But all I found was the unwavering certainty of a man who knew exactly what he wanted—and how to get it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Persistent ringing sliced through the silence.

  I was a light sleeper, always attuned to the slightest disturbance, a habit honed over years of responsibility. I quietly slipped from the warmth of the bed to answer the call, careful not to disturb Lolita's peaceful slumber.

  After we’d come upstairs, I’d shoved her against the door and eaten her pussy again until she was nearly sobbing from coming too much, then I dragged her into the shower and fucked her against the wall.

  My dick ached and I had the permanent taste of her delectable pussy on my tongue.

  It was more muscle memory at this point since I’d brushed and flossed, but as with a favorite food, some things couldn’t easily be forgotten.

  It wasn’t enough.

  It would never be enough.

  Call me enthralled, fucking addicted. I couldn’t get enough of her. But she deserved to rest—at least for a little while. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, curling around me for comfort as her supple body trembled.

  "Diabolus," the voice on the line greeted in a cautious tone. I immediately recognized which guard was calling from Carcerem. I glanced over at my Lolita and resisted the urge to touch her cheek. “Tell me the reason for your call.”

  "I apologize for the hour, but we've brought in four tourists, one of them under the intake age."

  I felt a flicker of irritation at whatever fool had broken Stygian’s rules. "Hold them," I instructed, my voice low and controlled. "I'll be there shortly."

  After ending the call, I dressed quietly and quickly to avoid waking Lolita. My eyes found her again, lying there so innocently in our bed. Her long, brown hair was spread beneath her like a dark halo. The comforter covered her beautiful, naked body and all the love tokens I’d given her these past few nights. The faint bruise on her cheek was the only one I hadn’t left on purpose.

  The moonlight cast a serene glow on her delicate features. A profound sense of possession surged through me every time I looked at her. Even in sleep, she exuded an allure that I found utterly captivating.

  I wouldn’t ever get tired of watching her sleep. She was mine, soon to be completely. A smile played on my lips as I contemplated the extent of my claim over her. Leaning down, I couldn't resist the urge to touch her one last time before leaving. I toyed with a strand of her hair, feeling its silkiness between my fingers.

  Then, with a tenderness I found myself capable of possessing solely for her, I pressed a light kiss on her lips. She stirred slightly but remained asleep. With one final glance, I slipped out of the room, ready to deal with the night's unexpected developments.

  I grabbed what I needed from my office before heading to the garage. I wasn’t the only one up, but the recently returned staff moved with utmost discretion, respecting the sanctity of the night. With them sticking to their quarters or moving within the shadows, the house was silent around me.

  I only allowed those that had been with me for an extended period of time, and I knew I could trust, to return. I refused to have a repeat of Lolita being disrespected or made to feel unwelcome in her own home. It wouldn’t exist without her.

  I had always desired a grand estate, one that reflected my status and power. The desire and importance of having one became a priority when it was confirmed I would have my Sponsa Diaboli. From the moment I knew of Lolita’s existence, I spared no expense in remodeling and preparing for her inevitable arrival.

  This was to be her sanctuary as much as it was mine. One day, it would be the place where we raised our children.

  Entering the garage through a door off the foyer, I took a moment to survey my collection of cars. Each one was a masterpiece of engineering and luxury, but tonight, I wanted something more practical.

  I selected a sleek, black sedan—unassuming yet powerful, perfect for a late-night drive. Slipping into the driver's seat, I felt the familiar comfort and control that came with being behind the wheel of a car that responded to my every command with precision.

  As I pulled out of the garage, the silence of the night enveloped me once more. My main goal was to handle the situation at Carcerem and return to Lolita before she woke up to find my side of the bed empty again. I’d been diligently working towards freeing my mornings so that I could be there with her in the future, but to do that consistently would take time.

  Only being home to eat together and fuck her wasn’t sitting right with me. I needed time to work on this relationship. For the first time in over a decade, I was debating rearranging my entire schedule so that I could have a few days off.

  Driving through the quiet streets of the Isle, my thoughts went to the multitude of tasks awaiting my attention. There were matters that couldn’t be delegated and required my direct involvement, particularly those related to maintaining the delicate balance of our secluded society.

  My offshore business ventures were easier to offhand. Both Emilio and Bishop had already offered to step in, as had my father. My reluctance to take them up on that had become a running joke about me not knowing how to relinquish control. I might not have much of a choice soon.

  Above all these other matters were the preparations for my and Lolita’s sanctifying ceremony. The thought of further binding us together stirred a deep sense of anticipation within me. It was a night the entire community was eagerly awaiting and that various disciples had had a hand in planning for over a year.

  I took a wide bend, driving away from any civility. The roads were deserted at this hour, as expected. The women of the Isle, confined to their set routines and devoid of driving privileges, were in their homes. Any men that were out and not a part of the patrol detail would be returning from the more indulgent part of town, where desires were catered to without judgment.

  Tourists, carefully monitored and restricted to specific areas, would be safely tucked in their temporary accommodations, or joining my disciples as they indulged alongside them, adhering to the rules set upon their arrival.

  Someone had gone and fucked that up by violating the agreement that granted them access to our Isle. They’d dragged me out of bed and away from my gorgeous girl because they were too incompetent to follow simple guidelines.

  As I neared Carcerem, my resolve solidified. This was a transgression that couldn't be overlooked. I would see to it that they learned the consequences of their actions.

  I arrived twenty-two minutes and eight seconds later. The masterfully intimidating structure stood tall in the darkness, a testament to the strict control we maintained over our society. I parked my car beside my father's, noting he had arrived before me.

  Despite having relinquished his role as Carnalis Dominus, he remained an influential figure, his counsel invaluable despite him having gracefully stepped aside when I came of age, allowing me to ascend to my birthright. Now he and his personal council remained ever vigilant, ensuring the stability and prosperity of our customs and my reign.

  I approached the entrance of Carcerem and was met by two Nocturnus disciples.

  Their masked faces were a representation of our faith's embrace of darkness and mystery, conveying an air of solemn duty. They bowed their heads in respect, a gesture I acknowledged with a brief nod of my own. Their silent reverence was a reminder of the authority vested in me, the weight of which never ceased to resonate. The doors swung open at their behest, ushering me into the foyer.

  The interior of Carcerem was a blend of sinister luxury and understated menace. The lavish décor, with its intricate designs and opulent furnishings, belied the true purpose of the prison. Beneath the layers of refinement lay the underbelly of our society.

  Power was exercised without remorse, and the dictates of our faith were enforced with an iron hand. The very walls whispered secrets of those who had crossed the boundaries of our secluded world.

  The blood that stained the floors and walls served as a reminder that Stygian Isle, for all its beauty, was not a place of mercy.

  I continued through the opulent interior, my footsteps echoing against the polished stone floor. The round reception desk stood as a solid sentinel in the spacious lobby. Flanking the walls, two Luna Vestals knelt in silent servitude.

  The shifts here were long and could be tedious. These women were cycled between the men on duty for the sole purpose of being fucked. Neither woman dared to lift her head, even as they sensed my approach.

  “Acolyte Seth,” I acknowledged as I passed. His masked face tilted slightly, responding to my greeting.

  “Diabolus,” he replied, his voice muffled. “Magistri Draven awaits in the holding room.”

  I thanked him and continued on way, my strides purposeful.

  The corridor leading to the holding area was lined with dark tapestries depicting scenes of our faith's mythology, much like the art within our Chapel did. I had a few in my home, one showcasing the night everything truly began.

  I stepped into the room and found my father and two disciples surveying the newly captured group through a one-way glass window. Their backs to me, they stood in silence. I joined them and got my first look at what we were dealing with. My father briefly glanced at my hand, his lips twitching subtly in amusement.

  I’m sure he’d have questions about the blatant teeth marks later. They didn’t bother me much. Maybe because seeing them reminded me of my Lolita, and she’d managed to mark me on her own.

  Clearing my mind to focus, I studied each person in the other room.

  Three women, likely a family unit, huddled together, the matriarch's protective stance unmistakable. She stood as if to shield them from what was to come, not knowing there was nothing she could do to save herself, let alone them, from us. Beside them stood a stocky man with slightly graying hair, his expression a mix of fear and defiance.

  The most prominent figure, however, was the child. He couldn’t have been much older than five, clinging to who I presumed was his mother. I broached the first question of importance.

  "What brought them in?"

  My father, ever detail-oriented, began to unravel the night's events. "Garret, that sad excuse of a man in there, was caught attempting to breach the barrier leading to our farms. He was with his older daughter, the blonde." He nodded towards one of the women with a steely expression. "Madhu’s heelers managed to hold them until they were apprehended."

  I filed this information away, my mind swiftly piecing together the likely motives and inevitable consequences. The restricted areas were a common target for the curious and foolish. They mistakenly assumed the area of the Isle meant for agricultural purposes would be easiest to infiltrate. It was a fool’s goal.

  Sometimes, I thought it would be best if the men that tended that land be allowed to do as they wished with trespassers, but it wasn’t their responsibility.

  This Garret shithead would’ve triggered the silent alarms long before he got near the road that led to the farms. Only permitted personnel could enter our agricultural grounds.

  "What is their exact relation to each other?" I inquired.

  Our thorough vetting process made obtaining this information simple, but with my father here I could skip it for now. His finger traced a path in the air to one of the younger women, her skin pale as snow and dotted with freckles, her hair as dark as the night sky. "The younger daughter," he indicated. "Twenty-two, so not much older than our Lolita. Attractive and thus far agreeable."

  His assessment was clinical, detached. I understood the silent implications and was already deciding if she'd be molded into a Progenitor or sent to the Pleasure House. It would ultimately depend on her disposition. My gaze shifted to the blonde woman.

  Her jaw was still set in a way that screamed defiance. It grated on me. Such a quality was only admired in regard to Lolita, and even then, it had its limits.

  "Send her to the butcher's block," I declared. “She wanted to see it so badly. Give her a private showing.”

  "And the child?" my father asked, already considering the implications of a minor being involved.

  I glanced at the boy. His expression was pinched with wariness and exhaustion. "He's young enough to be indoctrinated. We'll put him with a foster until he's assessed for proper placement."

  "And the other two?" he prodded, already knowing their fate but wanting to hear it confirmed. My father was, if nothing else, as ruthless and bloodthirsty as me.

  "The mother and father will be made examples of. He can witness the ruin of his family for his idiocy."

  My father’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of approval and pride. I turned to the Nocturnals that had remained silent and were waiting for me to give the go ahead.

  “Do you understand your tasks?”

  They both bowed their heads and recited, “It will be done,” before leaving the room to go next door, joined by three more to assist them.

  I watched intently as they prepared to execute my orders, relaying my ordinance in Impío’s native tongue. Their movements were precise, each one purposeful and efficient.

  It was a dance of shadows and silence, a macabre ballet that didn’t require words. The scene inside the holding room unfolded with brutal swiftness. The child was wrenched from his mother's arms. His small frame disappeared through the doorway as a disciple carried him away from the scene.

  To his merit, he didn’t fight or resist. That was a good sign. His mother did the complete opposite. Desperate and guttural, her screams echoed off the walls, a chorus of anguish and rage as her son was taken.

  Her theatrics amused me endlessly.

  Fueled by a sudden rush of desperation, Garret attempted to fight back. His efforts were in vain, of course. A sharp jolt from an electric prod brought him to his knees, his body convulsing briefly before he slumped, subdued but conscious. That left the blonde and the dark-haired woman.

  The blonde's defiance had evaporated, replaced by the dawning realization of her imminent fate. The younger sister, her eyes wide with terror, seemed frozen in place, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. Or a man wearing the face of a demon. Same difference, really.

  She went from the room with an ease that signaled she’d most likely gone into shock. By the time the Nocturnus Disciples efficiently restrained the remaining family members, I had exited the viewing room to enter where they were.

  “Where have you taken my son?” Garret seethed.

  I ignored him as I rolled my sleeves back. He was a weak man, not worth the attention he’d gotten tonight. I ignored him and went to retrieve a curved blade from its secret panel, concealed behind an ornate picture depicting the devil and his bride at an altar of sacrificial flesh.

  That would be me and Lolita soon.

  The picture slid aside with a quiet hiss, revealing the weapon that had served as an instrument of judgment for generations. My hand wrapped around the handle embellished with symbols of Alistair and the devil’s serpent, feeling the cold, familiar metal beneath my fingers.

  “The boy belongs to me now. As does your daughter, Arielle.” Turning back to face the family, I was met with a tableau of shock, rage, and unfiltered terror.

  “W-what does that mean?” the boy’s mother stuttered.

  Garret demanded to know what I intended to do with the child. I ignored her. She wasn’t who I needed to address and should’ve never spoken in the first place. I focused on her pitiful excuse of a spouse instead. “Garret, are you hard of hearing by chance?”

  He sputtered, and I realized he had a strangely small upper lip as spit gathered on it.

  “You mother—”

  I pressed the curved edge of the blade to his tiny mouth to shut him up. “Think carefully before you finish that sentence. I understand you lack common sense, seeing as you’ve wound up here, but do you think it wise to insult the person that holds your life in their hands?”

  Garrett simmered but chose a moment of intelligence and remained silent, his face going cherry red.

  “Pull the women away,” I ordered as I lowered the blade. The Disciples moved with silent efficiency, herding them to three different corners. I pushed the decorative coffee table aside, revealing a hidden drain in the floor. Garret’s eyes widened in horror as he pieced together its purpose.

  I savored the fear that spread across the man’s face. It was a fear born of realization and finality, the understanding of what was to come. This was a small essence of my rule, a hard, unyielding truth of the Isle.

  “Put him on his knees.”

  Before Garret could protest, my disciple grabbed a fistful of his copper, graying hair and forced him down to the stone-cold ground.

  I turned and held out my hand. Understanding my silent command, the man’s wife was moved into my reach.

  “No,” she hissed like a pissed-off cat and tried to pull away. Her strength was no match for mine, and with a shove from my disciple, I had the woman where I wanted her, my chest to her back.

  She trembled, sweat soaking through her oversized nightshirt, her dark hair a mess. She’d most likely been sleeping when she was retrieved. I brought the knife up to keep her still, encircling her throat.