I took a sip from my mug. The coffee scalded my tongue, sharp and grounding, and I welcomed the sting. The little tree still glowed in the corner, its lights blinking slowly and hypnotically. Memories surfaced in fragments—the garland biting at my throat, the knife grazing skin, gigantic hands spreading me wider.
I shifted, feeling the ache between my thighs bloom again. Sore, spent, alive. Discomfort I didn’t mind having.
This will all make good writing material, I thought, and took another sip.
“We could go somewhere more comfortable,” said The Black Mask, voice flat—more order than offer. “The bedroom’s better.” He didn’t bother making it a question.
The fire had collapsed to a thin, red vein. My skin prickled, not from cold but from awareness.
The Stag stood and extended his hand, waiting. The silence between us stretched until taking it felt like obedience. I clutched the blanket tighter. Hisgaze swept down my body, slow and unhurried, following the fabric’s shape like he could see through it.
He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. His restraint was its own kind of control.
“You good?” The Skull’s voice came from behind me—low, unbothered.
“Fine.” A lie. I was anything but. But not in a bad way. It felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake from.
He smirked, as if he could taste the lie on the air.
The floorboards moaned as we moved down the hall. The cabin’s heat pulsed through the wood—alive, or maybe that was just me. What the hell was I doing here? What was I doing withthem?
One behind. One beside. One leading. It didn’t feel like being guided. It felt like beingdeliveredto something I couldn’t name.
The bedroom waited, expectant. The quilt was turned down, the space heater humming a low, steady heartbeat. Too warm, or maybe that was adrenaline burning under my skin?
The Stag entered first. The Black Mask followed, silent, and claimed the other side of the bed. The Skull stayed close… too close.
“I think I deserve to know who you are,” I spit out before I could stop myself. My voice came outrough, something caught between defiance and surrender.
The Skull tilted his head, light catching the hard edge of his jaw. “Names?” he echoed, faint amusement in the word. “We don’t need them.”
The Stag chuckled, the sound dark as smoke. “We already know you.”
“Every shiver. Every sound you make when all your tight little holes are filled,” The Black Mask finished, voice smooth and obscene.
The air thickened, heavy and close. Truth didn’t belong here, only the slow, deliberate game of strangers pretending they didn’t already know me from the inside out.
The Black Mask sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him. “Come here,” he said, his tone like a blade dragged over sensitive skin. I moved before I realized I had. The heat of him cocooned me, and I shivered, clutching the blanket tighter.
The Stag sat to my left. The Skull stood in front of me, silent, assessing. The Stag’s hand found the hollow of my throat. It was heavy, possessive. Not squeezing. Just a reminder of the power he wielded.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I know.” The words escaped, fragile, humiliated.
The Skull didn’t move, and his stare felt severe, a dark promise. “We’ll talk,” he said.
“Later,” echoed The Black Mask, calm and final.
The Stag’s hand drifted down my arm. “You’re safe,” he said. But it sounded like a threat.
I swallowed. “Tell me something true.”
Silence. The kind that tightened around your ribs.
Then The Skull spoke. “We didn’t plan to stay.”
“We didn’t plan for it to go this far,” The Stag added.
