Page 40 of Marrying Bluebeard

It shatters like cheap glass the moment I step through the door, and five pairs of eyes appear to greet me, glaring accusations as I move past them.

You brought us here.

You courted us, filled our heads with foolish dreams. But the moment the ink dried, you abandoned us here—payment for your comfort.

You think she’s the villain, but you’re wrong.

It’s you, Bertrand de Montragoux.

“Do you hear that, little bear? Someone’s coming to play with us.” Celeste’s silky voice interrupts my dark thoughts, and my limbs grow sluggish as her gaze locks with mine from where she lays in bed, a tattered bear cradled against her chest. What little of her blood remains trickling through my veins pulses, growing hot beneath my skin. Drawing me under her thrall. I know it’s happening, hate that it’s happening, but resistance will only make her angry.

And that’s the last thing I need right now.

“My darling”—the words are like ash on my tongue, bitter and dry—“you’re looking absolutely radiant tonight. I hope that means Miss Garnier is proving a worthy source.” I can’t tear my gaze away from Celeste’s, not fully, but there’s a hint of movement on the edge of my periphery that I assume is the young maid I brought up earlier.

Celeste simpers at the compliment, and she nuzzles the stuffed bear’s cheek before fluttering her fingers off to the side, allowing me to turn my head enough to see the poor girl, shoulders curved as she sits at the eternal tea party, a silver needle flashing in her hand as she meticulously stitches the flesh of her forearm together. Blood seeps from a gaping cut that runs from her elbow to her wrist, dripping onto the tabletop with the measured rhythm of a clock ticking the seconds away.

“She stole the last piece of cake,” Celeste explains in sing-song. “Bear was quite put out.”

This… this is my fault. I might as well plunge the needle through the girl’s flesh myself.

At least she looks happy.

“I’m sure they’ll work things out,” I murmur, unable to tear my gaze from that industrious needle. Each pull of the thread adds to the sickening feeling inside my gut, and all I can see is Adelaide covered in blood. Mutilating herself with a smile and a song. My hands shake as I reach into my pocket and pull out my flask. “While I’m here…”

Celeste frowns, turning once again to the stuffed bear. “He’s not here to play, is he? All he wants is our blood.”

I try to look properly chastised. “If it pleases you.”

“If it pleases me.” Celeste’s eyes narrow. She covers the bear’s ears. “You come here smelling like her, and think that will please me?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “She’s defiled you.”

Damn. I thought that last bath would be enough. I should’ve known better than to bring Adelaide in with me. Although, to be honest, I can’t truly regret it. Not with the memory of those perfect breasts floating above the suds so fresh in my mind. “My apologies. It won’t happen again.”

“Such a naughty husband,” she sighs. “What am I going to do with you?” She lifts the stuffed bear so that its embroidered mouth is flush against her ear, a grin creeping over her face as she pretends to listen. “What a clever bear,” she giggles. “Yes, that’s just what we’ll do.” She pins me with a hard look, any hint of laughter gone. “Two days without feeding. Effective immediately.”

Two days without feeding? She can’t be serious. I’m already on edge. How am I to temper the monster for another two days without her blood? “Celeste, please. Surely there’s something else I could do to make up for my transgressions.” My stomach turns as I force myself to step forward and stroke the bare ankle peeking out from the tangled bedding.

Anything.

I’ll do anything to keep Adelaide safe.

She smirks as if she knows exactly how much I hate it. Hate her. Knowing it doesn’t matter—I’ll be her slave until the end of time. Either that or let the monster free.

There’s another way. You’ve just been too cowardly to go through with it.

My heart races at the thought. I was afraid, but now I can almost accept it. Except…

Adelaide.

I’m not ready to let her go.

A snarl interrupts my musings, and my body locks in place as Celeste crawls to the foot of the bed and fists my shirt. “I know that look,” she hisses. “You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?” Anger burns in her eyes as she shrieks, “You naughty, naughty boy.”

She releases me with a shove, and I stumble backward, cold sweat slicking my skin. I shake my head, and her lip juts out in a pout as she points toward the stairs.

“Three days without blood, and if I catch even a whiff of you near my door it’ll be longer.”

Three days. I’ve never gone three days. I can’t go three days. “But, Celeste⁠—”