Page 69 of Hellebore

I am surrounded by lunatics.

Also what did he do with Tom’s body? The woods stretch vast and endless. Did he bury him out there among the trees? Surely this could not have been his first time. He moved too comfortably, too certain in the violence.

I don’t know what to do. My fingers twist into the blanket as confusion and something far more dangerous twist inside my chest. Even now a part of me wants him here. I want the weight of his green eyes on me, heavy and consuming. I wonder how those piercings would feel against my tongue, against my skin, cold metal and hot mouth.

No. He is a kidnapper. A stalker. He is not some prince charming.

Prince charmings are always boring anyway.

They could never fuck with the kind of violence that makes you feel like they want to break you in half and put you back together again.

I curl tighter beneath the blankets, the stone bed hard beneath me, the mansion silent and oppressive around my small cell. The shiver returns stronger than before.

I can feel the faint rays of sunlight from the small window warming the stone wall. Morning has come. I actually slept through the night, my mind spinning endless scenes of what might happen next until exhaustion finally pulled me under.

I turn over and sit up. My breath catches hard in my throat. Drystan sits motionless on the silver chair near the door, watching me. How did I not hear him enter?

He wears a plain black t-shirt, black jeans, and heavy boots. His arms rest on his thighs, body leaned back in quiet dominance. His black hair falls messy over his forest-green eyes.

Jesus Christ, he is beautiful.

“I’m giving you another chance, Briar.” His words roll out slow and deep, heavy with warning. “One more chance to behave. If you try anything again, I will lock you in here forever.”

A chill races down my spine. I swallow hard against the tight knot in my throat and nod.

“Words,” he orders.

“I won’t do anything,” I reply.

He stands and points toward the door. I rise and follow him out. As we climb the stairs, soft sunlight filters through the tall windows. No rain today.

“Upstairs,” he commands. I climb the massive staircase to the first floor with him close behind me, his presence pressing heavy against my back.

He points right. I walk down the long hallway.

“Were these paintings also done by the twins?” I ask.

“No.” That is all he offers.

We stop before two huge black wood doors carved with hellebore flowers. He opens them. My heart stutters.

The bedroom stretches vast and dark. Black walls absorb the light. Dark wood furniture fills the space, dominated by a gothic bed with four thick columns and rich purple bedding. Fabric drapes between the posts like something from an ancient nightmare. A fireplace faces the bed, its stone mantle cold and elegant. A huge black rug covers the floor. Two deep armchairs sit near the floor-to-ceiling window. Through an open door on the left I see the bathroom, all black tiles and silver fixtures.

It feels beautiful in the darkest way. A strange, dangerous peace settles over me here.

“Candles,” I murmur.

“Your favorite ones,” he replies.

Only then do I notice how perfectly this room reflects me. Purple tones everywhere. Soft blankets. The fireplace. Candles. A massive shelf packed with hundreds of books lines the wall opposite the window.

“You did all this for me?” My voice shakes.

“I did.” He leans closer. His scent wraps around me, dark and masculine. “I told you. I will give you anything you have ever wanted or needed.”

My heart sinks. No one has ever done anything like this for me. Lucille was the only one who ever tried to learn who I really was and what I loved. And Drystan⁠—

I turn to face him. He straightens to his full height. His forest eyes burn into mine with terrifying intensity.