Page 70 of Hellebore

“Why?” I shake my head as a tear slips down my cheek. “You don’t know me.”

He smirks, dark and slow. His pupils dilate. “I don’t know you? Briar, my love. I know everything about you. I know you have loved purple since your mother sewed that dress for your favorite doll when you were small. I know you burn candles because you believe they cleanse your soul. I know you take long hot showers while mumbling your list of things you want to do before sleep. I know you drink your tea scalding hot even in the height of summer and always choose honey over sugar.”

His hand rises. His fingers brush my face with possessive gentleness. He rubs his thumb across my lower lip. “I know you always forget your skincare before bed, then toss and turn until you get up and do it because you cannot sleep otherwise.”

My lips part. His thumb slides between them. I move my tongue slowly, tentative, over the pad of his finger. His breathing grows heavier, rougher, filling the quiet room as the weight of his obsession presses down on me.

“How do you know all that?” I ask, stepping back. His touch has left my skin too warm, my legs unsteady beneath me, heat burning across my cheeks.

He remains still, hands resting at his sides, eyes never leaving me. “Years of watching you, Briar. Years of listening to every conversation you had with your friends. Years of reading every secret note you hid under your desk in that drawer.”

“You were inside my bedroom?” Fear and something dangerously close to admiration twist up my spine. “At my parents’ house? And the dorm in college?”

“Your dorm, yes. At your family home, no. I was only eighteen then. I did not yet possess the skill to enter and leave without leaving any trace.” A dark smirk touches his mouth.

“So you have been following me since you were eighteen?” My mind spins. “Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

He leans against the wall, hands sliding into his pockets, that dangerous smirk deepening. “You were too perfect. Too pure for the darkness I carried. I knew you were not ready for a man like me.”

“And I am now?” I interrupt.

“Yes.” His voice drops, low and certain.

“Because my hair is black now? Because I no longer carry that innocent look you once wanted?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. The knowledge that my trauma changed me into someone he now desires more makes my stomach twist painfully.

“No, Briar.” He pushes off the wall and steps forward with slow movements. “I was always going to take you. The moment you graduated, I planned to make you mine. But they locked me away for six years. When I saw you again… it did not make me want you more. It proved you were always meant to be mine. Even after everything that tried to break you, you remained perfect. You are still my other half. My obsession. The only soul that fits the empty space inside my chest.”

His words hit right into my soul and all reason flees. The fear, the warnings screaming in my head that this man is unhinged, that he has stolen me, caged me, watched me for years, they all fracture under the weight of this unbearable yearning.

I stride toward him.

The moment he sees me moving, he surges forward. Our bodies collide with desperate force. His hands claim my waist and the back of my head, fingers threading tight through my hair as I grip the collar of his black shirt and pull him down to me. Our lips crash together.

But the crash does not stay violent.

Drystan slows instantly, as if he has waited years for this single moment and refuses to rush it. His mouth moves against mine with reverence, firm yet achingly gentle. The heat of his lips sends fire racing through my veins. I taste the faint salt of his skin, the hunger he has kept leashed for so long. His breath trembles against me, rough and unsteady, betraying the storm raging beneath his control.

I feel his body shift under my hands. The hard muscles of his chest tighten, then soften as he presses closer, molding his massive frame against mine until there is no space left between us. One of his hands slides low on my waist, fingers pressing into my lower back with possessive strength, anchoring me to him. His other hand stays buried in my hair, tilting my head exactly how he wants so he can deepen the kiss.

His tongue traces the seam of my lips, slowly asking to enter. When I part for him, he groans softly into my mouth, a low, broken sound that vibrates through my entire body. He tastes like sin and obsession, like every dark fantasy I have tried to bury. Our tongues meet, sliding together in a slow, sensual dance that makes my knees weaken. Heat pools heavy between my thighs. My nipples tighten against his chest as I arch into him, chasing more.

He pulls back just enough to speak against my lips, his voice hoarse, ragged, and dripping with what sounds like starvation.

“Briar…” he breathes, forehead resting against mine, eyes burning into me. His pupils are blown wide, the forest green almost swallowed by black. “I have dreamed of this mouth for endless years. Every night I imagined how soft you would feel, how sweet you would taste. You are my damnation and my salvation. Let me ruin you slowly. Let me worship every inch of you until the only name you remember, the only breath you draw, belongs to me.”

His words sink deep into my bones, dark and velvet-wrapped. I should be terrified. This man is dangerous. He is obsessed. He has already taken my freedom. Yet my body betrays me completely. My fingers tighten harder on his shirt as I pull him back down, craving more of his mouth, more of his heat, more of the terrifying devotion that makes me feel both prey and goddess at once.

He kisses me again, deeper this time, slower, as if he wants to memorize every second. His tongue strokes mine with devastating patience while his hand grips my hair tighter, sending delicious sparks of pain and pleasure down my spine. I can feel the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against my stomach, thick and insistent, and the realization sends another rush of wet heat between my legs.

I am losing myself in him. And for the first time, I am not sure I want to be found.

Chapter Twenty-One

DRYSTAN

She tastes better than I ever dared imagine. Sweeter. Warmer. As if every dark prayer I whispered into the void had finally been answered.

The last time I kissed her I was feral, half-mad with release after painting her skin with my cum. This time, I refuse to let the beast tear through. This time I will savor her. She deserves the slow ruin I’ve spent years planning.