Grin walked ahead, his movements jerky and unpredictable, his knife twirling in his hand as if it had a mind of its own. Brick lumbered behind, his massive frame cutting an imposing figure even into the darkness. Violet stayed close tome, her steps light and deliberate, her scalpel still glinting with Bentley’s blood.
The forest was alive with sounds—the rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the soft crunch of snow beneath our boots. But there was an undercurrent of something else, something darker. The trees seemed to whisper, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The shadows shifted and twisted, and I couldn’t help but feel as though we were being watched.
Not that I cared. Let them watch. Let them see what we were capable of.
As we neared the edge of the woods, the faint glow of the circus lights came into view, their warm hues a stark contrast to the icy darkness surrounding us. The smell of sawdust and stale popcorn wafted through the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood that still clung to us.
The circus was alive, as it always was, a chaotic symphony of lights and sounds. The calliope music played faintly in the background, its haunting notes weaving through the air like a ghostly melody. The tents stood tall and proud, their stripes illuminated by the glow of the lanterns.
But even as I stepped into the familiar chaos, my mind was elsewhere.
The asylum.
It loomed in my thoughts, a monolith of torment and intrigue. I could see it in my mind’s eye, the crumbling stone, the barred windows, the secrets buried within its walls. It was a place of nightmares, a place where the boundaries between sanity and madness blurred.
And I wanted it.
“Lilith?” Violet’s voice pulled me back to the present. She was watching me, her dark eyes narrowed in curiosity. “What’s next?”
I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Next, we prepare.”
“For what?” Brick rumbled, his voice low and gruff.
I turned to them, my gaze sweeping over my little family of monsters. “For something much bigger,” I said, my voice soft but laced with excitement. “The asylum is calling, my darlings. And it’s time we answered.”
Grin let out a sharp, manic laugh, his knife glinting in the lantern light. Violet’s smile widened, and even Brick’s lips twitched in something resembling amusement.
The circus may have been our home, but the asylum… the asylum was our destiny.
40
ASHTON
The drive back to the mansion felt endless, every second dragging like an eternity. The darkness of the forest pressed against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the darkness clawing at my chest. Dove was in my arms, her body limp and broken, her breaths shallow but steady. It should have been a relief to have her here, alive, but all I could feel was the weight of how close I had come to losing her.
Her face was pale, her lips chapped, and the bruises on her wrists and arms made my stomach churn. Each mark was a testament to the nightmare she had endured, a silent accusation of how I had failed to protect her. The thought of it tore at me, the guilt sinking deeper with every passing moment.
The Gothic spires of the mansion finally came into view, shrouded in mist and illuminated faintly by the moonlight. It had never felt more like a refuge or more like a prison. I parked the motorcycle and stepped out, the cold night air biting at my skin. She whimpered softly as I lifted her into my arms, her head resting against my chest.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, my voice low and thick with emotion. “You’re safe now.”
The front doors creaked open under my weight as I pushed inside. The warmth of the house greeted us, the flickering light from the sconces casting long shadows across the walls. It smelled of cedarwood and faintly of the lingering winter chill, but none of it registered. My entire focus was on her.
I carried her up the sweeping staircase, her frail body weightless in my arms. Each step felt heavier than the last, the knot in my throat growing tighter. I pushed open the door to her room—the room that had once been her sanctuary—and set her gently on the bed.
Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t open them. The sight of her there, so still, so fragile, made something crack inside me. She deserved more than this. She deserved more than me.
I turned and headed to the en suite bathroom, flipping on the taps to fill the tub. The sound of rushing water echoed in the space as I adjusted the temperature, adding a dash of the lavender bath salts she had once offhandedly mentioned liking. It felt absurdly inadequate, but it was all I could do.
When the bath was ready, I returned to her side, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Dove,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “Let me take care of you.”
She stirred, her lips parting as if to protest, but she didn’t have the strength. I lifted her again, her head lolling against my shoulder as I carried her into the bathroom. The steam curled around us as I lowered her into the warm water, her body shivering at the sudden change in temperature.
I worked silently, my hands gentle as I ran a cloth over her skin. The water turned pink as I cleaned away the blood and grime, the sight making my stomach twist. She didn’t speak, her head resting against the edge of the tub, her eyes closed.Her trust in me—despite everything—was a weight I didn’t know how to carry.
“You’re okay,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. “You’re safe now.”
Her wounds were raw, her skin marred with cuts and bruises that told stories I didn’t want to imagine. I cleaned each one carefully, applying ointment and wrapping the deeper gashes with bandages. The silence between us was heavy, filled only by the sound of the water and my own ragged breaths.
