Page 89 of Hellebore

We laugh together, the sound wrapping around me like a warm blanket, and for a few precious seconds the mansion doesn’t feel quite so suffocating. I know I need to hang up, I don’t think Drystan will enjoy all the sharing that we usually do and he will probably cut the line.

“I promise I’ll call and text you every day, okay?” I whisper, not wanting to let her go.

“I love you, Briar.”

“I love you too, Lu.”

The call ends and a text appears almost immediately.

“Good girl. Her number will stay unblocked but remember I can see and hear everything you do on this phone.”

“Thank you for letting me talk to her.” I stare at the screen for a long moment, my fingers still trembling as I watch the message deliver but no reply comes.

I get dressed quickly inside the walk-in closet, glancing nervously at the corners and shelves. I have no idea if he has a camera hidden in here too. The thought makes my skin prickle with unease, even though he has already seen every inch of me, naked, exposed, and lost in pleasure. Still, the possibility of being watched right now sends a quiet shiver through me.

I step out and walk down the long hallway, then descend the stairs. I take a turn and enter the massive living room. The furniture is all deep black and rich reds, heavy and elegant in the dim light. Ornamented windows let through a few pale sun rays that manage to slip between the clouds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. From here I can see the overgrown garden and the old stone fountain standing silent outside.

I walk closer to the fireplace and take a deep breath before lifting my gaze to the painting. It is so strange… how something so bloody and violent can still feel heavy with love and obsession. In it, Drystan looks at me with pure, devastating devotion, his heart bleeding into my hands, his expression strangely peaceful, as if every drop of pain had been worth it. The sight unsettles me deep in my chest.

I come closer, rising onto my tiptoes, and reach out to touch the bottom of the canvas where the painted blood pools darkest. I still cannot believe that psycho used my actual blood for this. Who steals someone’s blood from a clinic? The thought makes my stomach twist in a complicated way.

I step back, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. Instead of going to the bedroom, I sink onto the large leather couch and pull the soft blanket over myself. The bedroom feels too intimate right now, too full of him and everything we have done. I curl up, letting the weight of the day press down on me.

I close my eyes and finally let sleep take me.

A violent crack of thunder jolts me awake. The windows rattle violently in their frames, as if the storm itself is trying to claw its way inside the mansion. The weather has been relentless for weeks, turning this place even more eerie, more alive with shadows.

I glance at the old clock above the couch. Eleven hours. I slept for eleven hours. The realization settles over me slowly, perhaps because I haven’t had a real night’s rest in days, and Drystan has been fucking me mercilessly whenever he wants.

Another thunderclap makes me flinch. I push myself up and spot the stereo across the room. I walk over, turn it on, and press play. MGMT’s “Little Dark Age” fills the space, low and hypnotic. I crank the volume until it drowns out the storm. Sleep Token and this… so this is what Drystan listens to in the dark.

It’s four in the morning, but there are no neighbors, no one to hear me. The song’s swaying rhythm pulls at something restless inside me, and I begin to move, slow and languid, hips swaying as I drift between the paintings. Dark woods, black crows, fields of hellebore. All of them watching me with silent intensity. The walls are rough dark stone reinforced with thick wooden beams. A massive rug covers most of the floor, soft beneath my bare feet.

I keep dancing, letting the music sink into my bones. Something wild and unfamiliar stirs in my chest, a darker version of myself I have never let anyone see. Not even Lucille.

I move toward the fireplace, stack some wood and kindling, and strike the lighter. Flames roar to life instantly. I press the button for the fan and the fire surges higher, tall and hungry, casting flickering gold and shadow across the room. The hearth is so large I could lie down inside it.

“Dead Throne” by Arankai begins to play, the guttural screams vibrating through my body. I walk to the bar, grab a bottle, and take a long drink, letting the burn spread through me as I dance harder, hips rolling, hair falling wild around my face.

My phone pings on the coffee table. I slide toward it, still moving.

“Behave, my love. Eat. Stop drinking.”

So he is watching. The knowledge sends a dangerous thrill straight between my legs, heat pooling fast and slick.

I set the bottle down and bend slowly over the coffee table, deliberately pulling my sweatpants and panties down my thighs. Cool air kisses my bare skin. Another ping.

I pick up the phone and smile at the screen.

“Briar. Stop whatever you are thinking about doing.”

My cheeks burn. My heart races. But instead of stopping, something inside me, something newly awakened, something that feels safe only because of him, pushes me forward. I carry the phone to the center of the massive rug, right in front of the roaring fire and that bloody painting of us. The flames cast dancing shadows over my body as I kneel, then lie back, spreading my legs wide toward the fire, toward him.

My hand slides down my stomach to my already soaked pussy. Another ping. “Briar. Stop.”

I text back with shaky fingers: “Enjoy the show, Stalker.”

I thrust one finger inside myself slowly, arching my back as I pinch my nipple through my shirt. Pleasure sparks hot and sharp. I look at the phone as it lights up again.