Deal with the Devil

Chapter 43

Things were well underway when Elena stepped out of the Floo (open to her and Tom's followers only) into the drawing room. Conversation was clearly underway but halted as Elena arrived.

"Sweetheart, right on time." Tom sat relaxed in a large, handsome wingback chair at the heart of the group. He held out a hand toward her and she crossed, extended her neck for him to kiss her cheek, and allowed herself to be drawn onto his lap. She crossed her ankles modestly and Tom rested his tumbler of firewhiskey on her thigh. "That's my good girl."

Abraxas Malfoy, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace she'd just enter via, looked on with amusement. An older man with dark hair and silver eyes she didn't recognize sat on a small couch, another perhaps less than a decade older than herself beside him. He was handsome, head tipped curiously at her. Nott and Dolohov sat in chairs on the opposite side of those two, and there was another small couch where Abraxas had no doubt sat before. Lestrange occupied it alone now and Elena looked away from him as soon as her eyes lit upon him.

"Who's this, Tom?" said the younger unknown man.

"Ah, forgive my poor manners. Augustus, Arcturus, this is Elena Mullens." His alcohol-free hand was already playing her locks. "Elena, sweetheart, meet Augustus Rookwood and Arcturus Black."

"Mullens?" The man with quicksilver eyes was contemplative. "I've heard that name before."

Elena colored faintly, grateful for the flickering firelight. "I'm an apprentice at Bones, Bones and Trelawney," she murmured.

"Ah, you're helping with paperwork on Reg's case, yes?" At her nod, he smiled. "Good office, that. The Bones have a strong sense of justice and they'll see Reg properly acquitted."

Augustus Rookwood was still staring at her, considering. "This is the girl you mentioned, Brax?"

"This is our lord's little pet, yes," the pale man drawled.

"Hm. She's prettier than you said she was."

"Are you married, Rookwood?" Lestrange queried, that eerie smile on his face. "Tom's going to give her to one of us when he's through with her." His tongue flitted over his lips as his gaze fastened to her once more. "Isn't that right, little one?"

"Must you be so rude, Lestrange." Elena cast a grateful look Antonin's way and he saluted her with his glass.

"Dolohov won't share if it's him that gets her," the near madman whinged. "I share. I'm more than willing to allow others a taste of what's mine, as long they don't break anything."

Antonin grimaced. "It's a shame you're to wed this fall, isn't it?"

"Perhaps someone will favor my bride enough to share should they get the doll," Lestrange retorted.

Elena ground her teeth and opened her mouth, but a touch from Tom stilled her. He was enjoying himself; he savored the envy of others, wanted them to covet his possessions. She was his possession. Oddly it was her position as his that made her of worth to the men more than anything else about her.

"Who wants to wed a halfblood?" Abraxas was far less attractive when sneering, which was whenever there wasn't a woman to seduce or a man to ingratiate himself to.

"I would wed this specific halfblood," Antonin bristled. "If our lord deems me worthy of such. I'd do so gladly."

"Drink, pet." Tom brought his glass to her mouth and she sipped obediently. His voice was low as to not disturb the discussion. One of his fingers traipsed over her lip before he lowered the glass back to her thigh.

Abraxas had summoned the bottle of firewhiskey and refilled a glass that had been full when she'd arrived. Elena vaguely wondered how much the men had already partaken. "Is she that good of a fuck, that Pureblood heirs would lower themselves to bond to her for life?"