Master of salt & bones

“What do you play?” Amelia asks from across the table.

Everyone’s eyes land back on me, and for a split second, I hate Amelia Boyd for putting me in this position.

“Lots of things.”

“Lots of things.” My father echoes in mocking. “You see? No Mozart.”

“You’re right. I prefer Beethoven, Father. It has the structural perfection of Mozart, but more emotion.”

I catch the twitch of my father’s eye, and I’m certain, if we weren’t sitting in a room filled with elite members of society, my father would’ve already backhanded me.

“I’d love to hear you play.” Amelia lowers her head, but lifts her eyes toward me. “Will you show me to the atrium?”

A quick glance toward my mother, who is undoubtedly absorbing the insults of my father, making a case for what will be an explosive argument between them tomorrow, and my father, whose red face is the culmination of embarrassment, anger, and too many drinks, and I nod, pushing back away from Darla’s wandering hand.

I take the lead down the hallway toward the atrium, not bothering to look back at Amelia. I didn’t agree to this for her benefit, but to get the fuck out of that suffocating room.

“You’re so lucky to live in a castle. Like a prince.”

There’s no point in answering her. Whatever this is, it’s only show on her part, as well as mine. I’m certain she was coached by her father prior to arriving, just as my mother continues to coach me before every social gathering.

“You, um … you go to private school?”

With a huff, I spare her a quick glance. Christ, I thought she’d take the cue that being away from our parents meant she didn’t have to do this shit. “Private tutor. I was kicked out of school.”

“Really? For what?”

“Burning the headmaster’s couch.”

Hearing her chuckle behind me, I do my best to hide the smile, recalling Jude and I sitting in his office the following day. I took the fall, of course. My father may be a bastard, but Jude’s is a bastard with a fucking cherry on top.

“That’s great.”

“Great? I was expelled. Now I’m stuck here until I graduate.”

“Well … was it worth it?”

Trying to hide my smile is pointless, as I recall the pissed-off expression on the headmaster’s face. The prick who warned me when the year began that, just because I was a Blackthorne, it didn’t mean I was immune to the flames of hell he’d raise if I gave him shit that year. I later found out the couch in his office was something of a souvenir from his old college days, gifted to him by his frat brothers. So I stuffed some dog shit into a paper bag and lit it on fire, tossing it onto the couch.

Yeah. It was worth it.

“I guess so.” I come to a stop in front of the atrium and lean against the doorframe. “You don’t have to do this, you know? We don’t have to do this. We can just sit in here until the party’s over.”

“I want to hear you play. Unless you were lying.”

“Fine.” I have to admit, this girl is a little more interesting than I gave her credit for.

I take a seat at the piano, while she sits across from me on one of the few chairs in the room. The second my fingers hit the keys, everything around me falls away. My father. My mother. This stupid fucking di

I stop playing, and it’s then I realize, this hasn’t been a political game for her. She’s in it for something else.

“Your mother was right. You are quite good.” Before I can stop her, she leans in and presses her lips to mine.

It’s a kiss I neither want, nor asked for, and yet, I can’t stop myself from kissing her back. I blame it on the anger ru

I break the kiss, turning my face away from her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m not sorry, Lucian Blackthorne. In fact, I intend to kiss you again someday.”

The house is quiet, the last guest having left about a half hour ago. As usual, my father will be in the library, sipping his scotch, until he finally passes out and falls asleep on the couch. After tonight’s events, I suspect he’s already unconscious, but to ensure that he doesn’t catch me sneaking about and decide to take his frustrations out on me, I make my way toward the library. Sounds echo down the hall. My father mumbling something quietly over a distinctly feminine voice.

As I approach, the female voice drawls out into soft moans. For a moment, I pause, thinking it’s my mother, but then I hear her speak, the accent thick.

She cries out, and I peek through the crack in the door to find Solange naked, bent over the arm of the couch. Her wrists have been tied with rope that’s stretched across the furniture out until of my view. My father stands behind her, holding my mother’s baton in one hand, his drink in the other.

“I’m forty-two and I can do a backbend like nobody’s business,” he mocks before taking a sip of his drink.

Solange giggles, craning her neck to look back at him. “Is she more flexible than me?”

“Let’s find out.” He pushes the baton up into her, and at her first cry of lust, a ripple of disgust churns in my stomach.

Hands balled into fists, I will myself to walk away, as my father proceeds to fuck Solange with my mother’s old baton.

“The next time she decides to see if she’s still got it, it will smell like your cunt.”

Solange moans again and bites her lip. “I want you to fuck me. Fuck me like you’ve never fucked her.”

With rage pounding through my veins, I walk away.