Page 110 of Haunted Spurs

She leans close to Carolina's ear, her eyes wide and glued to Lucien's fingers inside Melusine's mouth.

"But... aren't they brother and sister?" she whispers, scandalized.

Carolina, never taking her eyes off the X-rated scene, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugs, a cynical smirk on her lips.

"Technically, yes," Carolina whispers back, her voice dripping with pure gossip. "But... she's adopted."

Then, a deafening screech of microphone feedback shatters the air.

BZZZZZT!

We all flinch violently, breaking the spell. Emma claps her hands over her ears with a whine. Carolina's eyes go wide, pushing off the counter.

The interruption snaps Lucien and Melusine out of it.

He freezes. The darkness in his eyes falters for a fraction of a second. Slowly, he slides his thumb out of Melusine's mouth, a thin string of saliva and lubricant glistening under the kitchen's neon lights.

He takes a step back, breaking the physical contact. He wipes his fingers on his jeans, his jaw clenched in a hard line.

"Clean up this mess," he growls at her under his breath, his tone harsh and detached, but his breathing is still hopelessly heavy.

Melusine doesn't answer. She turns away sharply, her cheeks on fire, hopping down from the counter and turning her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest to hide the tremor shaking her shoulders.

"ATTENTION, LOVEBIRDS, VAMPIRES, AND RESTLESS SPIRITS!"

Aunt Tina's shrill, amplified voice blasts from the hidden speakers in the corners of the room. Her tone oozes a macabre, unspeakable satisfaction.

"I hope you've all fueled up on sugar and... syrups," she trills, maliciously emphasizing the last word.

Cade starts coughing again, while Cole slaps him hard on the back.

"Because playtime is over. The demon of Haunted Spurs demands its daily tribute. And this time... it wants you close. Very, very close."

I stiffen. Ron's thumb starts absentmindedly stroking my spine.

"Head immediately to the old estate cellar for the Next Official Trial: The Coffins of Judgment!" Tina announces with feverish enthusiasm. "Ancient legends say there is no escape in this house for those who cannot face the dark. You will be locked, two by two, inside custom-built wooden crates down in the basement. Sealed tight. In pitch black."

I watch the blood drain from Emma's face. "W-wooden crates?" she stammers, terrified.

"Exactly, my dear!" Tina answers her indirectly through the speaker. "And there's a small catch. The interior space of each coffin has been calculated to the millimeter to comfortably fit... one single person. But the rules are clear: you must enter in pairs."

My brain stops processing oxygen.

In pairs. In a space built for one.

"You will be standing up, crushed against each other," the producer continues, her voice dripping with sadism. "To earn your freedom, you must find and undo a series of knots and padlocks in the absolute dark. Time is your only enemy. Whoever comes out last will be eliminated! I'll be waiting downstairs. And remember... in the dark, no one can hear you scream."

A dull beep signals the mic cutting off.

Silence falls in the kitchen again. But this time, it's a silence thick with claustrophobic horror.

"Oh, fantastic," Carolina comments, breaking the ice. She turns to Indya with a brazen smile. "Zero personal space, pitch black, and hands fumbling around looking for padlocks. We'll survive, bestie."

Indya clicks her tongue. "At least we aren't huge."

I swallow hard, my throat bone dry. Being sealed in a wooden box, in the dark, pressed tight against Ron Willers' body. Crushed chest to chest. My legs pressed against his. His hands moving around looking for keys.

It's a logistical nightmare. And another one of my dark, twisted fantasies coming to life.