Fable of Happiness Book Two

by Pepper Winters

  * * * * *

  I dreamed of softness and sensuality.

  Two things that’d been missing in my life for far longer than when I’d first found this valley. I dreamed of my lovely lavender house. I strolled through my living room and ran my fingers over the back of my tan suede couch. I smiled at the TV as some cheesy rom-com played and inhaled with the utmost gratitude the scents of a vanilla cake baking in the oven.

  Domesticated perfection.

  I’d returned to my home that sheltered and protected me.

  But it wasn’t lonely like before.

  On the mantel, photo frames of a life shared with another replaced emptiness. In the fridge, beer rested beside my choice of white wine. In the bathroom, two toothbrushes existed instead of one.

  I hugged myself in joy.

  There was another person inside my perfect little home—a man who cherished and desired me. A man who came up behind me, spun me around in his arms, and settled his mouth over mine before I could see who my dream lover was.

  I melted into his touch.

  I gave him everything because he’d done the same for me.

  He loved me to the tips of his toes.

  And I loved him to the highest cliff I could climb.

  The kiss started exquisitely sweet. A barely-there caress, a nip, a smile, a brush of promises. I moaned as he teased me, his hands worshiping as he gripped my waist and pulled me against his muscular body.

  We both shivered as his obvious arousal dug into my stomach.

  I laughed into his mouth.

  He groaned into mine.

  We didn’t need to speak to know just how much we needed each other and just how effortless it was between us. He knew what I was thinking before I did. I knew what he wanted before he could tell me. Everything between our hearts and minds was linked on a level that couldn’t be labeled.

  Marriage couldn’t explain this. Friendship couldn’t describe this.

  The only explanation could be fate.

  My hands slinked into his hair, tugging a little as desire pooled in my belly. The soft kiss was now a tease. I wanted more.

  He opened wider and took me harder, his lips firm and possessive. The first lash of his tongue hunting mine made my knees buckle. He wedged me against the couch and his hard body.

  His hands roamed as he kissed me deeper. He palmed my breasts and pinched my nipples. He dragged his fingers down and down, dousing me in flames. With one hand he kneaded my hip while the other rocked against my clit.

  I cried out, my moan swallowed by his deepening kiss.

  He was everywhere. In my mouth, my mind, my heart. I couldn’t get a clear thought. I didn’t want a clear thought. All I wanted was him. Inside me. Taking me. Granting the release rapidly coiling in my core.

  “Please...” I murmured into his mouth. “I need you.”

  He reared back, his eyes burning with endless passion. His lips were kiss-swollen, and his scruff bristled like a caveman...but something was wrong.

  Those eyes.

  Neither black nor blue, undecipherable from green or hazel.

  There were too many shadows in them. Too many horrors. Too much pain.

  It broke my heart.

  I cried for the splintered soul within.

  And then, he kissed me viciously.

  Slamming into me, he poured every shred of himself into me, feeding me every splintered piece, begging me to mend him, to stitch every tear and glue every fragment so one day he might have eyes that looked back with vibrant color instead of dead with despair.

  But as he kissed me harder, as his touch turned desperate and the connection between us flared with fire, I began to fight.

  It was too much.

  Too hard.

  I wasn’t enough.

  I would never be enough to fix this man.

  He would drown.

  And I would drown with him.

  Water babbled.

  Air vanished.

  No!

  He didn’t stop.

  Didn’t let me go.

  He just kissed me harder, deeper, killing me with his unhappiness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE GENERATOR TURNED OUT to be an easier fix than I’d thought. Which was a good thing, seeing as I hadn’t brought any tools with me. I should’ve. I would’ve if I had half a working brain and not this mush of concussion. How was I supposed to fix anything without the necessary tools?

  Idiot.

  At least nature had taken pity on me and the issue turned out just to be debris. The turbine was buried beneath a pile of muck. I’d been right that the storm, when Gemma climbed up the cliff and tried to drive herself away, was the reason for the unworking machine. Mulched grass, twigs, and rotting bracken had wedged around the blades, tangling into a nest that wouldn’t allow water to spin the turbine.

  After a few minutes of pulling, yanking, and struggling to hold my balance as I stooped over and worked, the first groan of the ancient propeller twisted and water coaxed it to move quicker. I cleared the rest and waited for a little while, partly to get my nausea under control and partly to check that no other debris arrived from upstream to clog it again.

  The steady whirr of power being conjured from the water, and stored in the bank of batteries that would one day likely cease working, filled me with relief. For now at least, we had power. Electricity that meant we could continue living in a mansion with privileges such as an oven, fridge, and pressurized water to flush toilets and grant showers. Cold showers, mind you. And fucking icy in winter, but the electricity quantity only stretched so far.

  Standing, I cricked the new twinges in my neck and rolled out my spine that made sure I understood it wasn’t happy about my current state of health.

  My gaze ran over my valley to the cliff beyond. I didn’t go blank again. My thoughts remained my own and I shook my head for the hundredth time that I was still alive after a fall that high. Honestly, I couldn’t believe I’d survived.

  Surely, something like that wasn’t survivable. Either it was some sick twist of fate or I was the butt of some obscene joke: permit the man who was more than happy to die but was too cowardly to do it himself an almost immortal ability to walk away from something that should’ve left him in pieces.

  Literal, actual pieces.

  Yet I’d walked away.

  Well, she’d pulled me away but that was beside the point.

  I still had full range of motion and wasn’t crippled. I still had my mind, even if it was a little scattered and sick at the moment. And sure, I had kinks where there used to be no pain, most parts of my body didn’t feel put together right, and my arm was taking its sweet time to knit together, but all in all, I’d been lucky.

  So, so fucking lucky.

  So...why do I feel so wretchedly lost?

  Taking my time to climb from the concrete box, I gritted my teeth against the vertigo that clung to me like a bad smell, and planted my foot on slippery water-rippling rocks.

  Everything inside me ordered my head to come up and check that she’d stayed. I’d fought the urge to look at the bank ever since I’d left her coughing because of what I’d done. But...I couldn’t do it.

  I couldn’t look because if I looked and she wasn’t there—

  Fuck me, I couldn’t even finish that thought without clutching at my heart and rubbing at the agony inside me. An agony that hadn’t been brought on by falling off a cliff but by falling in an entirely different matter.

  Focus.

  Get back across the river without drowning.

  Haze flickered over my eyes as I kept my attention steadfast on the rapids and squinted as the sun bounced off crystal clear water. A few fish scattered past in the current, seeking deeper pools, while the crayfish in this area favoured the shadowy inlets closer to the cave system.

  Slipping into the swimming hole, the urge to look to see if I’d lost my captive once again crushed me.

  Look!

  You need to know!

>   Get ready to run after her.

  I ducked under water instead and screamed.

  Bubbles shot from my mouth as I clutched long, tangled hair floating by my ears, and fought the urge to cause myself physical harm. I’d been down that dangerous road and didn’t like how good it’d felt. How it offered a release valve to all the shit I’d endured.

  My hand went to the splint covering my broken arm, rubbing over the marks that were entirely self-inflicted and not guest given.

  It hadn’t been my idea. I was always more focused on my family’s misery than my own, but I’d caught Quell hurting herself one afternoon. She’d smuggled a pencil into the dorm and put herself into a trance by stabbing the nib through her forearm, again and again, leaving pinpricks of silvery lead and bright blood like a morbid constellation. I’d taken the pencil off her. I’d held her as she cried. I’d understood her self-harm was a cry for help. A scream for freedom and a primitive urge to control her own pain after she’d been hurt by others for so long.

  As her tears had dried, I’d been curious and punctured my own arm with the pencil. Surprisingly, the tip went in easier than I imagined; a sharp pinch and then nothing. I was well acquainted with my blood and swallowed against the rush of sick satisfaction as I bled.

  Quell watched silently as I punctured myself again and again, slipping into the same trance she’d been in. It’d felt good. Powerful. Addictive.

  I’d wanted to stay in that power.

  With a kiss to my cheek, she’d stolen the pencil and threw it out the window. It’d landed on the roof outside with a soft clatter, just as Jareth walked in, white faced and hollowed eyed, his body showing multiple wounds from serving a sick and twisted guest.

  He’d given us a wobbly grimace.

  Quell and I had looked at each other and then to our bleeding arms and shuddered. We had no words why delivering our own pain felt so good after being at the mercy of others. We recognised that if we went down that path, it could result in not just drawing a little blood but taking an entire life.

  And that idea...of finally being totally free was far, far too enticing.

  “Promise me, never again,” I’d murmured, linking my fingers with hers as Jareth threw himself face-first on his bed with a tortured groan.

  She’d nodded and vowed, “Only if you promise me the same.”

  I’d nodded and let her go. We placed our branded arms together, relishing in what we’d done and vowing never to do it again. We had a matching tattoo. The lead from the pencil had stained us. No one else knew how such a dotted design ended up on our skin but whenever we looked at each other’s, we’d stare, we’d nod, and we’d keep our joint secret.

  I never told her but I was sickly proud that out of all our wounds and all our scars, we’d taken a sliver of power back by marking ourselves. We owned us, not them. Our blood had said so.

  Stop it!

  I shot to the surface for air, drinking down oxygen and shoving away memories. They weren’t permitted in the light of day. My mind and walls knew that. So why the fuck had I had two in such a short amount of time?

  My fingers burned as if I still held Gemma’s throat in my hands.

  My head automatically snapped to the bank before I could stop myself, my eyes unwilling to see the truth. The truth of an empty riverside, of no one there.

  Wait, what?

  I flinched and coughed as my legs forgot how to swim and I drank a mouthful of river by accident.

  She’s...she’s still here.

  I blinked.

  I couldn’t understand.

  Why?

  She was free.

  I’d let her go.

  I’d hurt her again.

  In some broken cavern in my heart, I’d fully expected her to run as far and as fast as she could. I’d almost snarled at her to get away from me before I could hurt her again.

  So...why hadn’t she gone?

  Panic suddenly flared down my limbs.

  No.

  She was lying down.

  I could barely see her, enveloped by the long grass swaying softly in the sun.

  She’s lying down...

  She wasn’t hating me, cursing me, or plotting my demise. She was...

  Dead?

  Holy shit, did I kill her?

  I bolted. I swam like a drowning otter and shot across the pool as fast as I could.

  Please, please, please...

  I couldn’t breathe.

  My head pounded.

  My body throbbed.

  I was two seconds away from hurling up our meagre breakfast. If I’d killed her now? If I stole the only thing in my life that granted a second’s worth of peace? If I hurt the one person who actually tried to help me?

  Christ, I’d do a hell of a lot more than just self-harm.

  “Shit, Gemma!” I ducked under the water and swam until my entire body burned. I grabbed the shore and hauled myself up, ignoring my staggers, my injuries, my goddamn concussion and fell to my knees beside her.

  I went to shake her, to snap her awake, but at the last second, I froze.

  If she was dead...God—

  I pulled back, hesitant to discover my worst nightmare. Staying back, I reached shaking fingers, softly, reluctantly.

  “Gemma...” I grazed her cheek, dripping wet beside her.

  Nothing.

  Gritting my teeth, I dropped my unwilling fingers to her throat. Her skin was mottled from my strangulation. I snarled as I waited for her pulse.

  Please. Fucking, please!

  There.

  Thud-thud, thud-thud.

  Not faint, not flickering. Strong and bold and the entire embodiment of the brave girl who continued to fight me head on.

  I collapsed, giving in to the swirling pain inside my skull.

  Thank God.

  Just asleep.

  She’s just asleep.

  Why she hadn’t woken and why she lay so disturbingly still didn’t matter. If she was half as exhausted as I was from the past month of existing together, I could understand her body had finally reached its limit.

  I was very familiar with that limit.

  I’d reached it multiple times over the years when trying to prepare for winter all by myself. I’d reached it while living at Fables and having to serve for fourteen hours straight. Sleep wasn’t a luxury when you were worked to the bone and terrified to your core. Sleep was a necessity that could only be ignored for so long before it snatched you anyway.

  Slowly, my panic receded and I lay on my back, soaking in the sun, grateful for the heat and comfort. Funny, that I’d lay on this embankment a thousand times over the past eleven years, yet this was the first time I’d felt...safe.

  Some days, I’d spend all day here, just watching the clouds scatter and letting dozy oblivion keep all my memories locked away. Sometimes, I even found true peace. I could breathe better out here. I could relax instead of staying on my guard inside that prison turned home. Yet, no matter how many birds came to investigate my prone form or wildlife slinked out of the grasses to sniff me after I’d been still for hours on end, I’d never felt so content.

  The only difference between this autumn afternoon and all the rest, was her.

  Gemma Ashford who slept so silently and still beside me. Whose mind was currently unattainable and her body so bare and blisteringly beautiful. The girl who somehow managed to give me slivers of happiness inside my eternal hell.

  I sighed.

  My body relaxed.

  My cock remained hard, my belly tight with desire. It would’ve been a physical impossibility to lie beside her nakedness and not want her. But in the companionable silence between us, the peace she gave me was infinitely more precious. A peace that was so damn rare. A peace that I’d never tasted before.

  It was different to sleeping beside my family in the dormitory.

  Different to sleeping on my own.

  Sleeping beside her was like being gifted her trust even while I knew I could never earn it.
The pressure in my chest increased with something I couldn’t name, followed by black fear that she’d wake and figure out she was still unbound and leave.

  As much as my thoughts had softened and I was suffering new emotions I would never confess to her, I was still far too selfish to let her go.

  With a groan, I sat up, grabbed the length of chain by her ankle and clipped it to the padlock around my waist. Relief came swift, thanks to the evidence of our joint imprisonment, and sleep came for me too.

  Quick and heavy and too hard to ignore.

  I closed my eyes as she sighed beside me, nuzzling her cheek into the grass.

  * * * * *

  Time skipped or I must’ve dozed longer than I thought because when I opened my eyes again, the sun had skated farther across the sky and the clouds that’d danced above us had now vanished, leaving behind a perfect blueness. An endless saturation of soothing horizon.

  I stayed lying down, blessedly free of the headaches and the wooziness of my concussion. Slowly, I turned to my side, resting my face on my arm as I watched her sleep.

  Her lips were slightly parted, her eyelashes feathering on her cheeks, and dried hair splayed out and blending with the golden grass. She looked so innocent, but at the same time, all I could remember was the way she’d scratched me, attacked me, and fought me back as we’d come together in the storm. I’d imprisoned her to use for sex. Yet somehow, on that hilltop with thunder booming, it hadn’t been sex that’d undone me. It’d been her. The way her legs wrapped around me as I sank inside her. The welcome on her tongue as she kissed me back.

  No one—not a single person in my sorry excuse of a life had granted me such acceptance. An embrace that went above just physical gratification and helped erase all the shit that’d been done to me.

  I would always be grateful for that, even if she did infuriate me for making my life a thousand times harder.

  Her vow that I would never touch her again, never feel that welcome again, suddenly burned through me. My temper sparked as my gaze slid from her lax face to her firm breasts. I got why she never wanted to fuck me again, but it didn’t mean I would permit it. She couldn’t give connection to a desperate man and then revoke it when he’d done something wrong.