Page 59 of Hellebore

The walls start to breathe.

I blink hard. The stone seems to pulse with veins of black spreading across it like living rot. Drystan’s bloody handprints on my sweater begin to move, crawling up my arms.

“No… stop—” I whimper, trying to wipe them off, but they smear and spread.

He grabs me harder, one arm banding around my waist while the other presses a needle into my arm.

“No—!” I scream, thrashing wildly, voice tearing raw in my throat. “Please, just let me die in peace! Let me⁠—”

“Shhh…” His deep voice is right against my ear, warm and steady even as the world fractures around me. “Let go, Briar.”

Darkness swallows everything.

Chapter Seventeen

DRYSTAN

Her breathing is fast and shallow, chest rising and falling in erratic bursts. Her eyes are shut tight, lashes wet with sweat that drips down her temples and along her pale neck. The sheets beneath her are already soaked, clinging to her skin, a feverish layer.

She really thought I would do to her what I was doing to that worthless piece of shit in the basement?

After everything I’ve said? After I’ve waited six fucking years just to have her?

If you wanted to see my other side, my love… you’re seeing it now.

“Noo—please…” she whimpers, small and empty. If she’d drunk the full dose she wouldn’t have survived. But there was still enough to give her a taste of what hellebore can do when it sinks its teeth into the mind.

It could have been so much worse if she’d been awake. That’s why I drugged her. The hallucinations, the fever, the terror, they’re safer while she’s under.

She suddenly convulses. Vomit spills from her lips sliding down her chin and across her chest, staining the sheets.

I move fast, turning her onto her side so she doesn’t choke. Her body jerks again, another wave forcing its way out of her. I hold her steady, one hand on her shoulder, the other brushing damp hair from her face.

“Oh, Briar,” I murmur, low and dark, “you are going to pay for all of this. If you think being locked in this mansion was bad… wait until you wake up and see your new quarters.”

Once the vomiting stops, I head to the drawers and pull out an IV bag and tubing. I take her pale, limp arm in my hand, searching for a vein. It takes three tries, my fingers are too big, too rough for this delicate work. I never trained for saving lives. Only for taking them.

I finally slide the needle in and secure it, watching the clear fluid drip steadily into her bloodstream. It should flush most of the serum out faster.

“You’re hurting me… please…” she cries out again, weak and slurred, tears slipping from the corners of her closed eyes.

I tilt my head, studying the pain twisting her beautiful features. Her skin is flushed and slick with sweat. The sheets are drenched. The nightmares are still tearing through her mind. If she were awake right now, the hallucinations could stop her heart.

I grab a fresh cloth, soak it in cold water, and gently press it to her forehead.

“My beautiful—my love…” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “You have no idea what I would do to keep you safe. Even from yourself.”

I watch her like a hawk, unblinking, as her body continues to betray her.

She keeps vomiting even when there’s nothing left in her stomach, dry heaves that rack her frame, leaving her trembling and slick with sweat. Her forehead glistens, strands of black hair plastered to her skin. Then the real hallucinations begin. She mumbles incoherently, eyes moving rapidly beneath her lids, whispering about flowers crawling into her eyes and blood sliding down the walls.

“You did this to yourself,” I grunt roughly.

“Drystan—” she whimpers, the sound of my name on her lips sending a cold thrill through me. “Knife… your heart… no.”

Is she dreaming of stabbing me? It’s probably because of the painting. Her mind is twisting every memory into fresh nightmare fuel.

This is why I love hellebore. It drags every hidden fear, every buried darkness, into the light and makes it scream.