Promises and Pomegranates (Monsters & Muses, #1)

by Sav R. Miller

“My dress?” A muscle ticks in his jaw, making a dimple appear in his left cheek. “Incinerated. Took care of that before we left the airport.” My mouth parts, shocked. “You burned my wedding dress?” “I didn’t appreciate you marrying me in the gown you’d intended to be on Mateo’s bedroom floor tonight.” I frown. “To be fair, I wasn’t planning on sleeping with Mateo. Ever, if I could get away with it.”

“No?” he asks, warm breath ghosting over my face. “So you didn’t wear that skimpy lingerie for him? Didn’t shave your sweet little pussy just in case your new husband wanted a taste?” Licking my lips as he fists the knot holding my sheet closed, I shake my head. My breathing scatters as he shifts even closer, so close I’m not even sure we’re two separate beings any longer. Chest tight, I glance up at him through hooded lashes, trying to keep my breathing even, dipping my toe in the pool of attraction trickling between us. “Maybe I wanted the dress to be on your floor tonight.” Kal’s irises darken even further, a breath hitching in his throat. “Were you going to think of me when he fucked you?”

“As sinful as I remember,” he mutters, setting the apple on the counter behind me, then reaching out with sticky fingers to brush the pomegranate tattoo beneath my breast—the one I got because I wanted nothing more than to be his Persephone. His touch is icy, devoid of the warmth his eyes hold, yet it scorches me anyway. What is wrong with me? Just a few hours ago, this man blackmailed me into marrying him. Threatened the lives of everyone I love, just so I would become a willing pawn in some weird little game I don’t even understand yet.

“You didn’t shave for him, but I don’t recall you being bare for me,” he says, the timbre of his voice rumbling against my chest. “So who have you been fucking in my absence?” Tracing along my seam, he creates a repetitive sweeping motion, each time rubbing my clit on the descent. My throat constricts until it hurts, and I frantically suck in air, trying to keep myself from exploding. One little touch from this man, and I’m already there. “N-no one,” I answer between staccato breaths, swallowing the moan burning at the base of my esophagus. He parts me, making a tsking sound with his tongue. “For your sake, that better be true.” “It is, I swear.” There’s never been anyone else. My mouth opens to ask him the same, but nothing comes out, my mind blanking as it gets lost in the pleasure. “Good,” he murmurs, that one word flooding my gut with liquid fire, making my pussy clench wantonly. “Just because we won’t be consummating this marriage tonight doesn’t mean you can try with anyone else.” I blink, the haze of arousal around me popping. “What?” “When we arrive at our destination, I’ll have to leave for a bit to take care of things. And the plans I have for you, little one…” His eyes rove over me in a slow stroke, making me shiver. “Unfortunately for right now, no matter how badly your pussy wants me, my cock won’t be filling it.” Arching a dark eyebrow, he revamps his efforts between my thighs, parting them to make room for his entire hand. Two fingers rim my entrance, proddi...

Grinning like the predator who’s just caught his prey, he steps back so he’s standing in the bedroom, then gestures over his shoulder at the door.

I haven’t felt bad about my actions in years, due in part to the fact that I engage in a lot of charity work at free clinics in order to absolve myself. Not that it helps me sleep any better at night, but at least it keeps my mother from rolling over in her grave. Yet now, considering the way I dragged Elena into my mess and the way I’m leaving her half-satisfied, shame worms its way into my brain, cloaking me in its vile shadows.

Her leggings cover the K carved into the inside of her thigh, and my cock twitches at the memory of putting it there. How she preened as the blade drew against her sensitive flesh, back bowing, pussy cresting around another orgasm. The way her blood tasted as it dripped down her pale skin and how I lapped at its coppery essence like a man dying of thirst. And I was. Dying to drink her, to consume the young virgin the way she had me since the night she asked me to be her first. I figured that night that it would be the only one we had. I hadn’t realized at the time that our quarters would eventually be so…intimate. I’ve already broken my own unspoken rule to take things slow by driving my fingers into her tight, needy heat, helpless against the way she looked at me while I ate that fucking apple.

Feast on it, conquer it, ruin it.

She looked like she would die if I didn’t.

Mostly, it sits in the private hangar I rent while I take public transportation from one jobsite to the next. Other than short flights from the usual crew and tune-ups, this is the plane’s first actual voyage. Seems fitting, I suppose, using it as a way to transition my old life into the new.

“What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?” One golden eye pops open, sizing me up slowly before snapping shut again. “Seems like something that would put you on the map, and isn’t that what all of my father’s men typically try to avoid?” “I’m not some sort of vagabond. I do have material possessions. A house, even, as I’ve said before.” “Does anyone else know about it?”

“Elena,” I say slowly, carefully pronouncing each syllable. “Are you all right?” She remains perfectly still. “I don’t like planes.” “You don’t?” Shaking her head, she lets out a breathy laugh. “I know Riccis are supposed to be fearless. At least that’s how Papà tried to raise us, why he put us in self-defense classes when my sisters and I were kids. You should’ve seen the way his eyes lit up the first time I put those skills to use.” I think of the bruised knuckles and bloody lips she seemed to sport each time I saw her in passing over the years, how the broken flesh seemed a permanent fixture. For such a warm, intelligent girl, her apparent appetite for violence never made much sense. Though I suppose, when you grow up in a world rife with it, you’ll do anything for a modicum of attention. “Anyway,” she continues. “There’s nothing my fists can do to protect me from free-falling out of the sky, so I usually try to avoid air travel.”

“You know, statistically speaking, you’re far more likely to die in a fiery automobile accident than you are in a plane crash.”

“You killed Mateo,” she says slowly. “Had to. He posed several problems for me, and there was a good chance he was involved in the security breach at your home.” “Is that what you base your line of work on?” Her eyebrows rise. “A chance?” Inhaling deeply, I fold my hands over my lap and pin her with a dark look. “No, little one. In fact, every single decision I’ve made in my adult life has been carefully coordinated after exhaustive consideration. I don’t take risks unless I’m sure of the outcome.” “And this marriage is, what? A royal flush?” Instead of answering immediately, I lean back in my seat and reach into the sideboard to my right, riffling around until I feel the aged spine of a book I once kept on my person at all times.

I used to write down verses from the book and then tear them from my journal, leaving them on her balcony the few times a year I visited Boston. Of course, I hadn’t known it was her balcony; I’d thought it was her mother’s, and back then, I didn’t understand how evil Carmen was. It hadn’t fully registered what she’d done to me, so I was still stuck in a cycle of confusion. It wasn’t until Elena was eighteen and approached me at a cocktail fundraiser that I learned she’d been the one collecting the notes and sometimes leaving her own in return. That night, she asked me to take her. To give her the gift of choice, the same way I’d given her hope to withstand her father’s world. She said she’d recognized my handwriting and wanted to make our connection more concrete.

Then Rafael asked me to watch her, and poetry became the only way I could communicate with her. The only way I wanted to.

“’Til the villain left the paths of ease to walk in perilous paths, and drive the just man into barren climes.” I hold her electric stare when I recite the line, and she frowns. “‘The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.’” “The marriage of opposites. Good and evil. Theoretically speaking, we aren’t a sure thing,” I say, snapping the book closed and sliding it across the table in her direction. “But given the situation, we don’t have room to fail. I’m imprisoned in this union as much as you are. Therefore, for better or for worse, your sentence is a permanent one, wife.” She grunts, tapping her fingers on her knee, seemingly lost in thought. “What are the chances of you killing me too?” “Zero.” One eyebrow arches. “You sound awfully certain for someone who just killed my fiancé and whisked me away from my family. How do I know you’re not about to take me out to the middle of nowhere and murder me?”

“You’re of no use to me dead, little one,” I say, squeezing slightly—not enough to make much of a difference but enough that I feel a bead of precum ooze from the tip, soaking into the fabric of my boxers. “But you’re not going to sleep with me?” Horny little bitch. I watch as she flushes, nibbling on her bottom lip, and wonder if I know what I’ve gotten myself into here. “Not yet.” “Then…what’s the point? What are you waiting for?” she asks, squirming in her seat. Pressing her thighs together, she wiggles around, likely trying to ward off the need swirling between her legs. “Are you not…interested in me that way anymore?” Pink stains her cheekbones, embarrassment flushing a path down her neck, making her look innocent and fragile. It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s that I’m too interested. Once we start, I know we won’t be able to stop. “Don’t worry, my little Persephone,” I say, releasing myself and sucking in a deep breath before getting to my feet. “You’ll get fucked. Just not immediately.”

“I didn’t want to marry you,” she says, her voice soft and unlike I’ve ever heard it before. A lump forms in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. Such a familiar fucking sentiment. “So you keep saying.” “What do you expect me to do here?” she asks, pushing up out of her seat. She wobbles, off balance for a half second, before gathering herself and crossing her arms over her chest. I’m hit with the tangy, sweet pomegranate scent of her shampoo, and I’m half tempted to draw her into my arms and show her what I should expect of her as my new wife. All the ways I’d worship her tight, perfect body if given the chance. How I’d drag her to the depths of hell but convince her she’d gone to heaven, using my tongue to write wordless poetry on her sensitive, swollen flesh. All the ways I’d treat her right, if I could. If there wasn’t too much for me to lose. If I thought I could actually love her and not just use her as a pawn in my twisted games. Instead, I settle for what’s safe, because right now, that’s more important.

True, I’ve thought of very little else in the weeks since he tore through my virginity, but still. Given the absolute chaos of the last twenty-four hours, the complete upheaval of life as I once knew it, sex should be the last thing I’m worried about. I should be glad he doesn’t want that from me. It should make me feel strong, like he’s letting me keep the only bargaining chip I’ve ever had. Yet as I glance at him from my end of the black sedan we were ushered into after disembarking from the jet, that familiar ache spreads from my pussy outward, flowing through my veins like it belongs there. And all I feel is unwanted.

I wonder if he’s having second thoughts about all of this—marrying me, fucking me, stealing me from Boston. Is it possible the bad doctor didn’t quite know what he was getting himself into when he stepped in as my knight in not-so-shiny armor? Before I have a chance to ask if it’s too late for an annulment, Kal’s hand lashes out, covering mine just as salty air blasts my face; he pries my finger away, returning the window to its original closed position, labored breaths tearing from his chest. Tipping my chin up, I note the tightness around his eyes and the shrinkage of his pupils. He looks savage, like a monster come to life in dire need of his pound of flesh, and it steals the oxygen from my lungs for the briefest of seconds. Not because I’m afraid though. Because I like it.

The chaos in his eyes sucks me in like an undercurrent, pulling me deeper into his dangerous waters. For a moment, I’d rather drown in them than resurface.

“Fine. Just…don’t roll your window down.” As he wrenches himself away from me, sliding back into his seat like a piece of metal drawn to a magnet, I frown. “What, is someone worse than you going to grab me or something?” Tugging at the collar of his dress shirt, Kal gives me a stern look. One I feel straight to my core. “There are many things out there worse than me, little one. And it’s not a matter of if they come for you but when.” His voice is flat, unwavering, whatever episode he had seconds ago completely forgotten as his mask of composition morphs back into place. “I didn’t marry you so you could fuck around and get yourself killed, so when I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen. Don’t make me regret trying to protect you.” “You’ve also said you’re using me,” I point out, crossing my ankles as the driver slows to a stop. “That I’m no good to you if I’m dead. So which is it? Did you marry me to save me or to wield me like a weapon?”

“You’re not a weapon,” he says, his touch burning me from the inside out. “You’re a pawn. That ring on your finger makes you my pawn. Don’t forget that.” Resentment notches against my sternum, defiance rearing its head like an angry welt bubbling against my skin. “Or what, Kallum? What else are you planning on doing to me? Gonna lock me up in your house and throw away the key?”

“The Asphodel used to be a hotel. I purchased it some years ago and renovated it into a residential property.” The Asphodel. How strangely fitting. I can’t help wondering if he senses the irony of his home being named after part of the Greek underworld.

Yet as he stares at me in silence for several beats, I’m reminded once again that none of this is normal. Least of all my reaction to being forced into a marriage at the threat of harm to my loved ones. I should’ve been more disturbed as I watched my fiancé’s life leave his body. I should’ve put up more of a fight when his murderer asked for—no, took—my hand. Should’ve scraped and kicked my way out of it, the way Papà taught me. The way I know Kal would have if the situation were reversed.

Shrugging, I press my palms into my thighs, rolling back on my heels. “I don’t know how fake marriages work. I guess I just assumed our living arrangements would be separate.”

“We’re married. Husband and wife before the good Lord himself. It’s as legitimate as yours to Mateo would have been, except maybe even more so since we know each other so intimately.”

“Would that prove to you that this marriage is real?” he asks, his thumb smoothing back and forth over my mangled flesh. “If I took you again? Was the first taste of ruin not enough for you? Do you still crave my darkness, little one?” Lust clogs my throat even as he releases me, moving backward. My hand comes up, rubbing over the now raw area, and he just chuckles to himself, adjusting the collar of his shirt. Shame scalds my cheeks, both at the fact that I’m little more than putty to this man and that he seems to know it too.

If he wants me as badly as I want him or if this is all a game to him. A means to an end, just like I was to Mateo. I know he’s said he was blackmailed into the marriage, same as me, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else going on either.

“If you run,” Kal says, somehow reading my thoughts, a cold note to his tone that contrasts deeply with the man who just had his hands all over me, “I will find you. And you will regret it.”

“You treat all your house guests like prostitutes or just the ones you need something from?”

In all honesty, I’d probably have preferred a meal that didn’t consist of beans just once growing up over a weekend vacation in the dead of winter—the only time she could ever seem to get off work—but it was important to Deidre Anderson that her only son experience some life outside of Boston. Outside the poverty my sperm donor had thrust us into that her eventual cancer would exacerbate.

“You looking to find out?” He chuckles. “Seems like an odd way to treat your wife is all. Are you trying to make her hate you?” Yes. Her hatred would be so much easier to deal with than the liquid heat blazing in her gaze every time she fucking looks at me. It’d probably also help if I wasn’t so keen to shove her against a wall every chance I seem to get. “She’ll be fine.” “Windows still painted shut in there?” he asks.

sporting a few new bruises. Ones I knew her fiancé had caused, and though at the time I vowed not to touch her again, I lost my fucking mind and showed up to demand she tell me what happened anyway. We fucked instead. Sometimes it feels we rarely have a real conversation without things getting heated, not that either of us seems to mind.

God, I want more than anything to march back upstairs, flip her over on the mattress, tie her to the bedposts, and reenact our time together at Christmas. This time, I’d stay. When she awoke in the morning, bloody and raw from my cock and fingers and knife, I’d work her over until she was pleading for another ride. Begging for me to cause her pain all over again. And then I fucking would. “Blimey,” Jonas says, rounding the desk with two dark pink drinks, strategically keeping his eyes trained above my head. “If you need a moment alone with her, just say the word and I’ll take my information and skedaddle.”

If Rafe wants a war, I’ll bring the fucking battle to his feet.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Marcelline calls from the window in the kitchen, close enough that she doesn’t have to scream. “Yes, Marcelline, I am. You won’t give me a guided tour so I’m making it up as I go along.” In truth, I’ve already scouted out the Asphodel three times since the day Kal left me in our room. I hadn’t planned on another round across the acreage, but since the internet here is spotty at best and I’m not fully interested in continuing the program I’m currently enrolled in at Boston U, I figured why not. Marcelline, despite being a permanent fixture in the renovated hotel, refuses to participate.

“Hobbies aren’t something that have really come up is all.” Her eyes narrow into slits. “Elena. Tell me you knew more about Kal than just the size of his dick before you married him.” I sputter, dropping my hand from my neck. “What?” “Come on. We all know about what happened at Christmas. Papà told us about your affare illecito. So very grown up and out of character for his little people pleaser.” I bristle at the condescension dripping from her words. “I am not a people pleaser.” “You so totally are. Not that any of us blame you. We all chose whatever defense mechanisms worked best against Papà. Yours happened to be the path of least resistance.”

Not husband material, I remembered one zia insisting, though I never quite understood why. How could a man with the face, body, and mind of a Greek god not be worthy of marriage? I suppose if that Greek god were the one reigning over the Underworld, the way Kal seems to reign over everyone he comes into contact with. But even Hades took a wife. Emphasis on took.

It sometimes feels like the temperature drops at night, as if his ghosts come out to play when we’re supposed to be sleeping. Maybe this is what they meant. Men in the world of the Mafia are all plagued by their demons. I can’t help wondering what exactly Kal’s might be and if I’m here to act as a buffer between them. “You know,” I say slowly, taking another bite of fruit. “I remember you mentioning wanting to hook up with Kal at the Christmas party.” She makes a face. “And? Fucking someone and marrying them are two different things, E. You’d know that if you’d been with more than one person.” Pausing, her eyes glaze over for a moment, as if she loses herself in thought, then refocus in the next second. “Is that what happened? Did he seduce you and get you addicted to his cock?”

“He hasn’t told you yet? Papà and Mamma slipped a tip to Bollente and a few other national news stations downtown, saying Kal slit Mateo’s throat and kidnapped you from your very own balcony. They’re offering a gigantic reward for any information on your whereabouts.”

I watch as she sets the phone down, dusting her eyelids with a soft gold shadow. My makeup bag sits upstairs in my packed suitcase, probably wasting away at this point—though where’s the sense in doing myself up for a man’s haphazard attention the few hours he’s actually home? Maybe Nonna was right, and my generation really does give up early on in marriage.

“You’d what, Elena?” I mutter to myself, tapping my nails on the counter. The diamond on my finger sparkles under the pendant lighting, fracturing the shadows reflecting off of it. “He didn’t give you a choice. No one ever does.”

“Leave, Elena.” His voice is a low rumble I feel inside my chest, commanding and sharp as it slices right through me. “I’m not in the mood for company.” I should probably listen and find something else to do. Anything other than indulge the desire pooling in my core. “Your wife is hardly company,” I say, pinching my thigh with two fingers in order to keep my voice from wavering. “And I’m bored.” He sets the tumbler down, raising his head without turning to look at me. “Bored?” “Yeah,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “You dropped me in this strange place and then have ignored me ever since.”

“I know the concept of entertainment might be foreign to you,” I say. “But I need something to keep my attention. And all the books upstairs are ones I can recite by heart.” “Shouldn’t you be studying?” “Well…I withdrew from my courses.” His head snaps to the side, eyebrows knitting together. “Why would you do that?” “I don’t know. It seemed…pointless. I’m not interested in teaching, and I can’t imagine trying to balance a career in education while being your prisoner.”

“You’re not my prisoner,” he murmurs, something heavy settling in the air between us, making my bones seem dense and rendering me immobile. Electricity pulses in my blood, carrying it to the rest of my body as my heart falters, skipping a beat when he moves forward. “Oh,” I breathe, my brain unable to form another word. “But if you don’t turn around and leave right now, I’ll make you feel like one.”

Keeping myself locked away from my wife, trying to keep my anger toward her father completely separate from our little arrangement.

This is only the second time we’ve kissed, yet somehow it feels as if it’s our millionth and first all at once.

If Elena is even half as divine as the fruit in the Garden of Eden, I absolutely understand Eve’s surrender. Maybe she is just bored, and maybe I’m skipping valuable steps in my plan, but fuck if I’m considering any of that when her mouth devours mine.