Raul’s lips curled into a knowing grin. “Does this mean I might get to taste the sweets again?”
“We’ll see,” I said, hating how easily my resolve crumbled around him.
Raul’s chuckle was low, satisfied. “There’s a lodge just outside town. It is run by an old woman who minds her own business. Tell her I sent you—she’ll offer a fair price.” He paused, winked. “And leave the door unlocked. You never know who might come calling.”
My gaze dipped to his cock, still stirring beneath his breeches. A dead woman, that’s what I was, for even considering him again. Butwhat was I to do until the next full moon? I couldn’t risk being seen in town. People remembered too much. Said too little. Acted poorly.
So, I remained cloistered in that modest room for nearly a month. The furniture was humble yet charming—a single bed with a thick quilt, a small writing desk, and a few wooden chairs gathered around a low table. A large painting of the mountains hung on the wall, and a small hearth flickered with warmth at night. It was a fairy-tale prison, quiet and forgetful—a temporary dream.
The old woman left a tray of food at my door each morning. Each night, I waited. And when Raul came, we fucked like wolves—rough, breathless, hungry. Then he’d vanish before dawn, and I’d feel wanted, claimed.
But his visits stopped. Days passed. Then a week. My pacing grew frantic, and when the full moon finally rose, I fled without paying the old woman. Let her demand her coin from Raul—he had enough. And after his sudden disappearance, at least I wouldn’t return home drenched in the scent of another man’s seed.
Not that it made a difference.
When I arrived in the moon-drenched yard of Balthazar’s estate, my heart thundered like hooves in my throat. I clutched the jar of poison to my chest, approached the door, and eased it open.
I hadn’t even drawn breath when a thunderous roar split the air from within.
“Where have you been, you bitch?” Balthazar’s voice lashed out like a whip.
Chapter 19
Alina
Fear slithered through my veins like a cold-blooded serpent as I stood frozen in the foyer. The portraits of long-dead aristocrats glared down at me, their oil-painted eyes thick with judgment, as if they too condemned my absence.
Balthazar’s footsteps thundered down the corridor, his face twisted in rage. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put and watch the prisoners?” he bellowed, voice sharp enough to flay flesh.
I forced steel into my spine and shouted back, “I did! But I got tired of playing your guard dog. So, I went to Raul to get something to help us finish this! We’re wasting time torturing them. They’re never going to break. We need tokillthem. You should be thanking me!”
I raised the jar, praying it wouldn’t break or leak. Its lethal contents pulsed with menace.
But Balthazar didn’t calm down. Hetransformed.
With a howl of fury, his body distorted before my eyes—expanding, seething,rotting. Maggots writhed beneath his pale, hanging flesh, the air around him growing thick with decay. His eyes flared a hellish red as he roared, the paintings on the wall rattling from their nails and crashing to the floor like judgment passed.
“I could have done it alone!” he thundered, shaking the entire estate.
“Of course you could,” I shot back, heart hammering against my ribs. “But look at this.” I thrust the jar forward. “This poison could kill us all if we’re not careful.”
Without waiting for permission, I slipped around his putrid form, fighting the gag rising in my throat. I reached for my overcoat hanging limply on the rack, dug into the pocket, and retrieved a pair of pristine opera gloves.
As I pulled them on, I dared another glance at him. “At least let me show you what it does,” I said with urgency. “You can murder meafterward.”
And with that, I hurried past him, careful not to let even a thread of fabric brush his maggot-riddled skin.
A bloodcurdling shriek erupted from Balthazar’s grotesque maw, echoing through the corridor like a demon’s war cry. It rattled the iron sconces and sent a jolt of fear down my spine. I staggered forward in a blur of reckless terror, nearly tumbling down the dungeon stairs in my frantic descent.
The air grew thick with mildew and dread as I reached the cells. My breath hitched as I peered through the narrow viewing port. Malik lay sprawled on the stone floor, still, unmoving, his face frozen in an expression of pure, silent horror. His eyes stared into nothing.
Was he dead?
I hesitated. My fingers tightened around the poison jar.
No. This would be no fun if he were already comatose. Maybe dragging Layla in here—forcing her into his line of sight—would jolt him back into this nightmare.
Setting the jar down carefully, I spun on my heel and shoved past Balthazar’s reeking form. I didn’t stop until I reached Layla’s cell. Unlocking the door with a clatter of iron, I seized her by the ankles and dragged her limp, broken body along the cold stone. The sound of her skin scraping the floor was music to my ears.
