Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Based old sketches, this house was once a grand estate, before the fire that ravaged it years ago. But the library is the most important room, the one kept up to par, as per the contract. And it’s the only one I care about.
Beautiful old wooden beams overhead keep the roof from collapsing on our heads, and arched windows reflect the scene within. I wonder how bright it is during the day. If you can see particles of dust a thousand years old disturbed when ghosts rummage through the old tomes, searching for a way out of this nightmare for their girls.
I harden at the thought, and for a moment, I understand Lucinda’s hatred. The Willows aren’t the only ones cursed to repeat this ancient, insane tradition.
A candle flickers.
I wonder if the dead Willow Girls of generations past stand witness to tonight’s harvesting.
It’s with this thought in mind that I let my gaze come to rest on the spectacle before me.
Four girls.
Four beauties, because the Willow’s only breed beauties.
Three dolls, perfect with their golden hair and enormous blue eyes. One…well…I cock my head to the side at the sight of her. This one is bound, her arms stretched behind her. A gag covers her mouth.
And on the belly of her shift, there’s a streak of red.
Pig’s blood.
I decide to save her for last.
I move to the first, let my gaze slide over her. She drops hers to the floor, where it should have been all along. I sweep her from head to toe and back. The sheath doesn’t offer much cover, but that’s the point. They are to be laid out for my perusal. For me to take my pick.
Because I am fortunate enough to be born a Scafoni and they unfortunate enough to be born a Willow.
This one is pretty enough. Perfect, actually. But I move on to her sister.
Another doll-like girl.
She doesn’t drop her gaze to her feet but keeps it just beyond me. It’s high time the Willows were reminded of their place.
This one has something different in her eyes. She’s coquettish, almost. And she’s making eyes at my brother. From the look of her, I’m surprised she’s not the one with the blood marking on her sheath.
With her, I’ll be bored. And she won’t survive a single month, much less three years.
Sadly, there are no trade-ins. Once the choice is made, it is made, and if the girl dies before her time is completed, well, our loss, I guess.
It’s unfair, really.
I step to my left, to the next block, the next girl.
Just like her sisters.
I’m too anxious to reach the last one to spend any time on this one because perfection like this, it doesn’t interest me. I need more than physical beauty.
Where is the fun in breaking a girl when she doesn’t have a spine to break? Where is the game in walking a meek little lamb to the slaughter?
I’d prefer a cat, wild and feral, with sharp teeth and a sharper tongue.
With this thought in mind, I step to the last Willow Girl.
She isn’t a doll. Not like her sisters, at least. Beautiful, still, but this one, there’s something about her, a darkness to her. Rebellion burning inside her.
Or maybe it’s just arrogance.
It makes one corner of my mouth curve upward.
This one is no lamb. I see it in the icy midnight eyes that greet me, and I realize why she’s bound and gagged. She’d lunge at me if she could, and the thought makes my dick hard.
I walk a circle around her and confirm that her wrists are bound in leather restraints at her lower back. Not only that, but she’s shackled to the block. I guess they weren’t taking any chances.
When I face her again, she doesn’t shy away, this girl, but holds my gaze. And right now, I want nothing more than to punish her for it.
She’s different than the others. I decide to call them the dolls. This one, her dark hair is so black it’s almost blue. It falls straight and heavy down her back, long enough to wind around my hand, thick enough to withstand my fist.
I step to her, and even standing on the block, she has to turn her head up to keep my gaze, but she does.
“Switch on the lights,” I command.
I want to see the bounty. Fuck tradition.
The room is drenched in bright light on my order, and Ethan is quick to step toward me.
“Not her. Take any other one but her.” It’s irritating, the sound of his voice. Like a fucking fly that keeps buzzing at my ear.
I don’t acknowledge him or his comment. He needs to learn his place sometime.
My eyes are locked on the girl. She stands watching, defiant.
Petite, almost. Maybe 5’4” off the block, I’d guess. A good foot shorter than me. She’s naked beneath the sheath, as instructed. I look down at the dark pink points of her nipples, cold beneath my inspection, pressing against the centuries-old cloth.