Page 31 of Masked Marionette

Adrian leans in, closing the space between them, his lips ghosting just over the guy’s ear. The guy’s smile falters, but he doesn’t pull back. And he won’t. Adrian’s too good at what he does.

Too good at sinking his claws into people and pulling them under.

Adrian’s hands slide to the guy’s waist, tugging him in closer, then he presses their mouths together. It’s a chaste kiss compared to the depravity waiting, but it’s enough. Because the guy melts and his whole body softens into compliance.

Just like I did.

My fingers twitch at my sides. If only I’d tossed the card into the garbage that night.

Adrian leads him inside, one hand at the small of his back, guiding, possessing. And the poor, unsuspecting fuck follows like a lamb to the slaughter.

Then, without warning, the new guest looks over his shoulder and those wide blue eyes find me.

Every muscle in my body coils tight as his stare cuts through the darkness to where I hide. For a single fucking moment, I swear he can see me. Really see me. Not the silhouette, not the mask, but . . . me.

Jasper.

I take an instinctive step backward into the shadows, my heart slamming against my rib cage.

What the fuck?

The guy’s eyes widen even more, full lips parting as if he’s about to say something. Adrian pulls him back, tugging the guy’s chin toward him with a soft touch that redirects all attention.

How could he have seen me?

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

I shake my head, but those blue irises haunt me. I’ve seen them before. Somewhere. They nag at my insides like a buried splinter, leaving me on the verge of remembering something important.

Adrian’s eyes flicker toward me, just for a second, and in that brief moment, our gazes lock. There’s an understanding there, a silent acknowledgment of what’s to come. He knows I’ll watch. Knows I’m nothing more than a puppet for the house’s twisted games.

Just like the rest of the souls trapped here. The masked audience that had watched me fall apart. They are the victims—the sacrifices—that came before me. The ones who the house didn’t completely consume.

Yet.

As Adrian and the new guest disappear down the hallway, a low hum vibrates through me. The walls shift, creaking, groaning, like they’re stretching, expanding, reaching for something.

I groan, palming my erection.

Fuck, I’ve been hard since the moment that door opened. My cock aches, desperate to come, but it’ll never happen. The house won’t let me. It keeps me in this state of torturous need, drawing out every moment, milking every ounce of frustration from me.

Feeding off it.

I ball my fists tight, my nails dig so deep they draw blood, but the pain barely registers. Just another vile sensation drowned out by the suffocating atmosphere of this place.

This prison.

The thing in this house departs after its new victim, and I follow, haunting the halls like a ghost. I’ll watch the new boy fall the same way I did. I’ll watch him break apart, watch him scream and beg. I’ll watch him be devoured by the house’s hunger, just like I was.

And I’ll do nothing.

Because I can’t.

I belong to the house, to the entity that possesses it.

Forever.