He wraps the rope around my neck and pulls it tight. “Oh, innocent little Imogen. The night has only just begun.” He tugs on the loose end of my leash. “Now you will get down on the floor and crawl next to me.”
I should be angry and ashamed. But the way he looks at me, the hunger in his voice… it makes me feel as if I’ve been starvedmy whole life. As if this is sustenance. I want to pretend to hate it. But he sees right through me. I can’t hide it from any of them.
I lower myself to the floor. “Yes, my lord.”
He threads his fingers through my hair. “Come. Let us feast now.”
Throughout the centuries of the Wild Hunt, we’ve never dined with anyone other than each other. We never allowed ourselves the gift of company while we waited for our little doe. Now the time has finally come, and it will be a feast we shall never forget.
While Death was with Imogen, we hunted. And now the long marble table in the great hall is covered in succulent meats, brightly colored fruits, nuts, and edible foliage. Famine filled jugs of mead from our cellar while War made crown wreaths from wildflowers, freshly picked from our garden.
The decay is slowly starting to fade. Her presence brings light and growth. It marks the end of the winter solstice. Theend of endingsand the promise of spring. She will grow to love this place as we do. I knew from the first second I caught her scent in the woods that she was ours.
Whimpers pull our attention to the door. In walks Death with Imogen at his feet. It stirs an ache in my chest. She’s an angelic sight, glistening with sweat, her pale-blonde hair swishes around her shoulders as she crawls.
The three of us rise from our chairs to greet them. “There’s a fire in the hearth. Remove that cloak.”
He pulls her to her feet. “You heard Conquest. Disrobe and take a seat here.” He pulls out a high-back chair at the head of the table.
Her fear returns as she surveys the room. We tower over the table with hungry gazes and insatiable thirsts. Famine growls, soft and low, but it’s building in his chest. We must hold back, or we’ll tear her apart.
Imogen blows out a deep breath, unbuttons her cloak, and lets it slip to the floor. “May I have something else to wear, please?”
War stalks toward her with the flower crown. “You may wear this.” She closes her eyes as he places it on her head. He runs his palms across her chest and cups her breasts. “Our lovely little forest queen.”
My cock twitches. I want to touch and watch and ruin her until she’s panting at my feet begging for more.
Death takes a seat next to her while Famine sets a large cup of mead in front of her. I’m mesmerized by the way she sits so quietly, so still. Even as her nipples harden and turn a dark shade of red.
I set a plate of meat and fruit in front of her before returning to my seat at the other end of the long table. “Eat slowly lest you make yourself sick.”
She moans when the juicy meat hits her tongue. The four of us watch in silence, in awe, as she devours her food. The noises that come from her are animalistic, disturbing, and so arousing that I have to grip the table to stay in my seat.
By the looks of all the white knuckles, I am not alone in this torment. I want to consume and defile her in every way.
She takes a big gulp of the mead to wash it all down. It drips down her chin as she guzzles. Death yanks her chin toward him. “Let’s have a taste.” He drags the length of his tongue across her jaw, lapping up the spilled mead.
Famine palms his cock through his pants. “She’s had enough to eat. Now it’s my turn.”
The rest of us nod in agreement. But he doesn’t need our permission to take what he wants.
He slaps his thigh. “Come sit. Now.”
Her legs tremble as she walks to him. The room seems to fill with electricity. With anticipation. As soon as she reaches him, he pulls her down to his lap.
He lifts her thigh, spreading her open so we all have a view of her glistening pussy. “Have you ever played with yourself before?”
Her cheeks turn bright red. “I don’t understand.”
War chuckles. “When you’re alone in your bed, have you touched yourself?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. She lowers her gaze to the table, fixating on the plate. “I…Yes.”
Famine rubs his thumbs against her nipples. “Show us.”
She shakes her head. “No… that is private.”
Death leaps from his chair and barrels over to them. He pinches her chin. “You don’t get privacy anymore. We are your lords. Your keepers. If Famine or any of us tells you to do something, you do it.”
