Authors: Lila Munro
"She can be difficult at times. You know
that, but I have every confidence you’ll find your way with her and get her
through this. Julie, do this. Don’t over think it. Don’t try to fight it. You're
to go home with Dante and Blake and find your way there. Do as Dante
asks
of you. He loves you and won’t harm you in any way, and
I trust him to know what’s best for you right now. Don't balk at this. Know
that I will love you always.
Your devoted Master, Mason."
Dante looked as shocked as Julie felt at
Drake’s declaration. She remembered the day Mason assured her she would always
have a voice.
"I
guess I could if I wanted to be one of those Doms, but I’m not. That wouldn’t
be negotiating. It’d be lording over you like an ass. Don’t get me wrong. There
will be times I’ll make decisions in your best interest and that’s that, but
most things can be discussed.
Explained."
But Mason had done something she never
fathomed possible. He’d taken her voice. And not just in this matter, but in
all things. Julie knew Dante didn’t believe in a slave having a voice in his
house.
"Son of a bitch," Dante mumbled,
running a hand over his head. "Tell me he didn’t?"
"Thanks," Julie said, trying to
control her anger. Her mind was running in circles. On the one hand she was
glad Mason had thought far enough ahead to make sure she wasn’t alone and was
taken care of until she could find her footing. On the other hand, she could
hardly believe he’d left her to the one person she feared being attached to.
She wasn’t sure if Mason’s judgment or Dante’s attitude pissed her off more. "You
sound as happy as I am with this."
"You misunderstand, Jules. He’s giving
you back," Dante snapped.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I gave you to him."
"Again, what the hell are you talking
about?"
"Eighteen years ago, the last time we…the
last time we got Cassie out of Turner’s, he called me because you wouldn’t
answer your phone," Dante explained. "He said he knew I was in love
with you and our situation was a tangled web. I told him I knew I couldn’t give
you what you needed. I told him he could. I handed you over. Now he’s given you
back."
Julie was appalled. Dante talked about her
like she was a commodity to be traded. Was that all she’d been to Mason?
A business deal?
And now he’d returned her like a defective
product?
"You gave me to him? I wasn’t yours to
give! I’ll try not to be too needy while in your care," Julie spat as she
rose from her chair. She walked to Mason’s desk, flipped the top of the small
black box that sat on the corner up, and retrieved a small silver key.
She reached around her throat and with a
shuddering gasp, unlocked her collar. After the initial shock of the dull click
sank in, she tore it from around her neck and threw it at Dante. "As soon
as you’ve deemed me
recovered
enough,
I’ll be sure to move on and not
bother
you further."
"Jules, that’s not what I meant,"
Dante said, standing and grabbing her arm.
"Let go of me," she said with her
teeth clenched.
"Everyone out!
Get out of here!
Leave me alone.
Now."
Julie tore away from Dante and went to stand
in front of the windows that overlooked the river. This had been her home.
Mason’s home.
Now it wasn’t anyone’s home as she was being
forced to go live with Dante and Blake. And just where the hell did she fit in
there? She put one arm across her chest and placed her hand over her mouth. She
could see the shadows of the men behind her leaving the room reflecting back at
her as she stared outside. Then the door shut with an almost inaudible thump.
Chapter Two
Before Dante had the chance to tell him to,
Blake hurried off to the kitchen to check on their children. That was another
source of problems right now. How did Papi and Dad explain to two unruly
sixteen year olds that Aunt Julie was a fucked up mess and would be moving in
with them? Then once she was straightened out, she’d no longer be Aunt Julie,
she’d be Mommy?
What the hell was Mason thinking? Yes, Dante
still loved her, but fuck. Mason knew eighteen years ago Dante didn’t have the
tools to deal with Julie. What made him think things would be any different
now? They knew plenty of good Masters that would have been a better match for
her. Hell, Allen would have taken her had Mason asked. He’d wanted to service
top her for years. Maybe he still would. Dante was sure she’d be happier with
him than she would be in his house.
With both hands on his head, Dante started to
pace just as the explosive noises of things being thrown began on the other
side the den door. He looked heavenward wondering if God were real. If he were,
would a quick conversion earn any answered prayers right now? After a few loud
thumps he could only assume were the result of Julie overturning furniture,
there was a brief silence followed by a long, shredding scream then what
sounded like books being tossed all over the floor.
"You don’t have to do this," Drake
said, leaning on the wall with his hands bracketing his head, a look of
disbelief all over his face.
"Yes, I do," Dante answered. Whether
he wanted to or not, and the truth was he did, he had to do this for Mason.
"No, you don’t. I understand the whole
Master thing and the code and all that shit, but damn, Dante. Dad’s asking an
awful lot of anyone under these circumstances. And I can’t believe he didn’t
consult any of you before springing this plan on everyone."
"Well, neither can I, but he did. The
only thing left to do now is deal with it," Dante said, taking a seat,
prepared to wait her out.
Sooner or later she’d tire and stop. In a way
he was thankful, this was the first sign he'd seen that she felt anything since
they’d walked into Mason’s room and the doctor told them they were too late.
As the noises from the other room grew a
decibel, Blake came rushing from the kitchen, the twins hot on his heels. "What
the hell is going on?" he asked, reaching for the door.
"She’s finally releasing a bit."
Dante stood and grabbed Blake’s arm, pulling him back. "Leave her be.
Gavril.
Lucien.
Back to the kitchen.
Now."
The twin boys Dante and Blake had gone to a
Romanian orphanage and brought home thirteen years ago never questioned their
papi’s tone. They turned nearly in tandem and went straight back the way they'd
come.
"A bit?"
Blake argued, trying to pull away as the
sound of shattering glass pierced the air.
"I said leave her be, Blake." Dante
closed his eyes and drew a sobering breath. "Drake, I know we’ve all been
to hell and back these past few days, but I need a favor."
"Name it." Drake glanced at the door
as a series of
son-of-a-bitches
,
fucking cocksuckers
,
Jesus H Christs
, and
Goddammit
s filled the air. With each
screamed curse another object made contact.
"Anything."
"Keep the twins a few days? We’re going
to need some time.
To adjust."
"Done.
I’ll take them right now," he said,
pushing off the wall. "I don’t think they need to hear any more of this.
I’ll send Dara and Dorian home as well."
"Blake will bring their things by later,"
Dante assured him, still holding Blake by the wrist. "You won’t have to
worry about getting them to or from school. Blake can take care of that as
well."
Drake nodded with a shadow of sadness in his
eyes Dante couldn’t determine the source of. Was it from the fact this house
was technically no longer home? Or was it sympathetic anguish for Jules’
disposition?
"I’ll call later," Drake told him
before walking away, his eyes swimming with unspent tears.
"Thank you," Dante mumbled, wishing
he hadn’t had to ask.
They’d all been through quite enough and now
he’d heaped the responsibility of his children off on someone else so he could
try to bring his dead friend’s wife back to the land of the living. She'd
definitely wandered away. He knew Jules all too well. He was by no means trying
to fool himself or anyone else. It would take so much longer than a week. In
fact, hell would nearly have to freeze before she’d come back to them but a
week alone with her would be a start. She nearly crossed that line when her
sister, Cassie, died. And he’d definitely watched her go to that dark place
after each of her miscarriages and again after the doctor told the devastated
couple to stop trying or she might die with the next one. And now she’d laid
her husband, lover, friend, and safe place to rest alongside those five tiny
stones, the markers of denial.
"Blake, you have to be strong for her.
It’s going to take us both, you know," Dante said after everyone silently
paraded out the front door. "Just remember I was yours first. This won’t
change anything between us."
"I was strong for her long before you
came along. I think I remember how," Blake clipped. "And I’m
perfectly aware it would never change things. I’ve know that for years. Don’t
worry. It’s Jules. No negotiations necessary,
Master
."
He jerked away and turned, headed for the
stairs.
"Where are you going?" Dante stood
and almost went after him, but realized he couldn’t very well be two places at
once and right now he was needed right outside this door.
"To pack her a few things."
Blake started upstairs without looking back. "I
think I remember how to do
that much
without being told."
Dante didn’t have time to analyze Blake’s
words or their meaning right now. A brat was the last thing he needed at the
moment.
A half hour later Blake returned with
a rolling leather suitcase in tow and a matching overnight bag draped over his
shoulder.
Without so much
as a sideways glance in Dante’s direction, he marched across the foyer and out
the door. When he came back in, he took up a seat next to Dante, crossed his
legs, and clasped his hands over his knee.
"Has there been any let up at all,"
he asked curtly.
"No, none at all," Dante answered,
wondering how long this might go on. There were only so many things in the damn
room. Sooner or later she’d run out of things to throw.
"You have ten minutes," Blake
informed him. "If you don’t go in there after her, I will."
"You'll do what I tell you to."
Dante tamped down his anger at Blake’s contradiction, chalking it up to sorrow.
"I will not," Blake clipped. "She
needs you and if you don’t go in there, I will and damn the consequences.
Whatever punishment you see fit to mete out later I’ll gladly take without
regret."
It was then all fell quiet on the other side
of the door. Dante sat forward and Blake uncrossed his legs and stood. Before
either could go to the door, the muffled sound of Julie reciting William Blake over
her sobs filtered through the mahogany barrier between them.
"I was angry with my friend. I told my
wrath, my wrath did end," she hoarsely mumbled. "I was angry with my
foe. I told it not, my wrath did grow."
Dante took a deep breath and moved for the
knob, knowing full well the words were directed at him and Mason. The woman
could conjure the most appropriate verses even in the midst of chaos. It
unnerved him. When he pushed the door open, the sight before him was shocking
in spite of the constant noise he’d heard for the last hour.
Not one book remained on the shelves. They
were strewn over every square inch of floor amidst various trinkets and
statues. The plants lay haphazard, some half in and half out of their pots,
their roots exposed and their leaves crumpled and wilting. The desk was cleared
of everything. It was all in a heap on the floor between Mason’s chair and the
wall.
In the middle of the mayhem, Julie sat holding
her arm and rocking, still repeating lines from Blake which Dante knew Mason
would be reciting himself if he were here. That was one of the ways Mason
soothed her. Too bad Dante didn’t know a damn thing about literature and
couldn’t offer anything more than a few stanzas of a nursery rhyme starting
with
Hey diddle diddle
.
It was while he stood there stunned, his heart
cracking at the sight of someone in so much grief, he noticed the slow trickle
of blood running down her arm and falling off her elbow in fat plops.
"Fuck," he bit out.
"You should have done something sooner,"
Blake barked, shoving Dante to the side and kneeling beside her on the floor. "Jules,
pumpkin, you’re hurt."
"I know," she said, looking up, the
look of pain Dante expected to see eerily absent.
"Jesus, honey.
Come on. Get up. We need to get a good look
at you. I think you might need stitches," Blake urged, wrapping one hand
around the wound and pulling her to her feet with the other.