Page 30 of Porcelain Grave

"I never had a place for it, love," he says, his voice rough, stripped of that usual playful arrogance. "I never let anyone in. Not once. I didn't love, and frankly, I didn't think I fucking could. The wiring just wasn't there."

He shifts, his arm tightening around me, pulling me flush against his heat. "I had flings. Meaningless, hollow shags with faces I couldn't even remember the next morning if I tried. No strings, no feelings, just a way to kill the boredom and the itch. I didn't want anyone knowing me, and I sure as hell didn't want to know them."

He pauses, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, his eyes darkening. "Then there was you. You weren't a fling, Ophelia. You were a fucking landslide. My first real obsession. My first taste of something that actually mattered. You're the first person I've ever loved, the first person I've ever actually trusted with the mess inside my head."

I feel the heat rush to my cheeks, a fierce, tingling blush that I can't hide. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. It’s so fucking raw, so honest, that it catches me off guard. I let out a small, breathless giggle, feeling a strange, giddy lightness in my stomach that I haven't felt in years.

"You're such a psycho," I whisper, though there's no bite in it.

"Your psycho," he corrects me, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I don't give him a chance to say anything else. I lean in and press my lips to his, a soft, lingering kiss that tastes of salt and obsession. For a moment, the darkness of the Menagerie, the blood on my hands, and the ghosts of my family fade into the background. There is only him—this beautiful monster who looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world that exists.

When we finally break apart, he's breathing heavily, his eyes searching mine. "Anything else you want to know, little doll? I'm feeling uncharacteristically chatty."

The warmth in my gut cools instantly. The thought of her—the one piece of the puzzle still missing—slips into my mind. "Did you find Mary?"

The change in him is instantaneous. The small, affectionate smile vanishes, replaced by a cold, hard mask. His expression drops, his eyes turning like flint.

"No," he says shortly. "Not yet."

I frown, shifting slightly. "What do you mean? You've had the resources, the money... you've had people looking."

"We searched the entire fucking stretch of water, Ophelia. Every inch. Divers, sonar, the lot," he says, his voice turning clipped and dangerous. "No body. Nothing."

I stare at him, a sudden, chilling thought crossing my mind. I swallow hard, my voice barely a whisper. "Do you think... do you think she might not have drowned? That she somehow got away?"

Rhys stiffens. He doesn't answer immediately, and the silence that follows is suffocating. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, predatory growl, devoid of any warmth.

"If she did," he murmurs, his grip on me tightening just a fraction too much, "then she's just a ghost walking in a world that doesn't want her. And if she's out there, hiding in some hole, thinking she's escaped... she's forgotten who the fuck I am. No one escapes me, Ophelia. Not the dead, and certainly not the living. If she's breathing, I'll find her. And when I do, she'll wish the water had taken her.”

I stare at him, my heart still thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. That cold, predatory edge in his voice—the way he talks about hunting down a ghost just to make her suffer—it doesn't scare me. Not anymore. Instead, I feel a familiar, heavy heat pooling between my thighs, a sharp ache that makes me want to crawl inside his skin.

"You know," I whisper, my voice sounding a bit wrecked, "when you talk like that... all dark and fucking murderous... it turns me on something chronic."

Rhys’s eyes snap back to mine, the flinty coldness melting into something far more dangerous. A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face, and he pulls me closer, his hand sliding down to grip my hip with a bruising force.

"Do they now, love?" he purrs, his voice a low vibration that I feel in my marrow. "You're a twisted little thing, aren't you? Most girls would be shaking in their boots, but you... you just want your monster to bite."

"I'm not your most girls," I retort, leaning into him, my breath hitching. "And you're not exactly a fucking saint, are you?"

"Saint? Fuck that," he chuckles, the sound dark and guttural. "I'm the devil you invited in, Ophelia. And I'm going to devour every single piece of you until there's nothing left I haven't claimed. You're mine. Every tear, every scream, every filthy little thought in that head of yours. I own the lot."

I shiver, a giddy, psychotic thrill rushing through me. I love it. I fucking love how he claims me like I'm a piece of property he's spent a lifetime craving. I pull back just an inch, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"Tell me," I murmur. "Tell me exactly how it started. When did you first see me? When did you first know you wanted me? And why the fuck did you stalk me instead of just talking to me? Not that I would've answered you—I was the town freak, remember? Never spoke a word, never looked anyone in the eye. I was a ghost before I even died."

Rhys’s expression softens, but it’s a predatory kind of softness. He looks at me as if I’m the most precious, fragile thing he’s ever wanted to break.

"It was your birthday," he says, his voice distant, like he's reliving it. "I remember the air was crisp, smelling of damp earth and dying summer. You were walking down the street, looking like you wanted to vanish into the pavement. And then... a single autumn leaf, bright red and gold, drifted down and landed right in your palm."

I freeze. The memory hits me like a physical blow. I remember that day. I remember the weight of that leaf, the way the color seemed to be the only vibrant thing in a grey, miserable world.

"You stopped," he continues, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "You just stood there, staring at that leaf with such a profound, quiet sadness that it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I saw you, and in that heartbeat, I didn't just want you. I needed you. It was like a switch flipped in my brain. I knew right then that you belonged to me, even if you didn't know I existed. "

He lets out a soft, dark laugh. "As for talking to you... why would I want to ruin the mystery? I wanted to know everything about you before you even knew my name. I wanted to see how you breathed when you thought you were alone. I followed you that day—watched you wander into that little shop, watched the way you avoided every single gaze, the way you shrunk into yourself. Then I trailed you all the way back to the Tin Heart, staying just far enough in the shadows that you couldn't see me, but close enough to smell the scent of your skin on the wind."

A chill runs down my spine, but it's not fear. It's recognition. I remember that feeling. I remember standing there with the leaf, feeling a gaze on the back of my neck that felt... different. The townspeople looked at me with judgment, disgust, or pity. But this? This was intense. It was heavy, like a physical weight pressing against me. It felt like I was being hunted, but for the first time in my life, the feeling didn't make me want to hide. It made me feel seen.