Fable of Happiness Book One

by Pepper Winters

  Rain fell harder, thunder rumbling in the distance, the storm regathering above us, almost as if it sensed me burning up, knowing that if it didn’t extinguish my rage I would self-combust and annihilate everything within my path.

  Him.

  God, how could I hate someone so much and be so drawn to them at the same time? How could I vibrate with longing and loathing?

  It was sick.

  It was twisted.

  I despise it!

  It would be the greatest pleasure to throw him off the cliff after my keys. Yet if he touched me the way he had before, I would melt. I would fight. I would beg. I would come.

  Argh!

  Oblivious to my inner breakdown, he raised his face to the rainy sky and sighed. “We need to get back to Fables, but I’m done being wet.” Pointing at my Jeep—my trusty, wonderful Jeep that he should never have known existed—he commanded, “Get inside. We’ll wait it out.”

  And yeah...that was all I could handle.

  Bound hands or not, he would pay for stealing my final chance at freedom.

  “You bastard!” Throwing myself at him, I wedged my shoulder into his chest and bulldozed him to the muddy ground.

  He crashed into the dirt, flat on his back, gasping as his lungs struggled to drink air.

  I stood over him with rope-wrapped wrists.

  The temptation to run while he was incapacitated came and went.

  There would be no more running. He’d made sure of that. From now on, I had to stay. I was his, whether I liked it or not. But I wouldn’t make it easy for him. I wouldn’t let him keep barriers and shields between us.

  He felt what I did when his cock was buried inside me.

  I know he did.

  He’d felt that punch to the heart, that utter destruction of everything inside, and until he admitted it, we were both as good as dead.

  Raising my foot, I stomped directly over his demonic heart. Pressing my toes onto his rib cage, I added all my weight so he felt a fraction of the worry and wrongness that I did. I wanted to crush his heart. To stop its tattered beating until he was reborn a gentler, kinder version of himself.

  I stomped harder.

  Anger roared through me as the image of him tossing my keys into the darkness replayed over and over again.

  “God!” I twisted my foot harder into his skin, needing to hurt him. Needing him to feel as wretched and as horrified as me.

  In reflex, his hands latched around my ankle. His biceps bunched with the instinct to jerk and throw me off him. But...the second he touched me, the droplets ceased falling, the forest stopped splashing, and it was just us.

  Us in terrifying silence.

  Silence full of intimacy, sympathy, and worst of all...need.

  His hands on me.

  His fingers tightening around the paper-thin skin of my ankle.

  I swayed as the chemicals in my blood made me useless and utterly incapable of being rational.

  His hips rocked up, seeking. My belly clenched, answering.

  Madness.

  This is madness!

  We were once again infected with madness.

  The silence ended as quickly as it’d deafened us, returning to crashing rain and growling thunder. We shivered at the same time, leaving us at the mercy of lust.

  His fingers glided up my calf, electricity sizzled from his skin to mine—lightning bolts between us instead of from the sky. My knees threatened to buckle beneath the desire to fight and fornicate.

  His eyes turned heavy and hooded; his head shifting in the mud as his fingers crept higher.

  A moan crawled up my throat as he traced around my knee.

  His bare cock thickened, smeared in mud and rain, looking as if we’d both been animals of the woods for far longer than just a night.

  Our gazes locked.

  My breath caught.

  And I was wrong when I’d thought there was more between us. More was such a lackluster word. More was a pittance to the truth.

  What twined around us...what turned our heartbeats into battle songs and bodies into mindless desperation was pure necromancy. Magic that had the power to restore the dead, convene with past lives, and somehow stitch forgotten souls back together again.

  His stomach flexed as he slowly sat up, guiding my foot down his chest until my dirty toes pressed against his cock instead of his heart.

  His teeth bit into his lower lip as he rocked his hips against my sole, rubbing his hardness against me, uncaring of the filth, turned on by my hate, knowing as well as I did that our connection made no sense.

  We couldn’t explain why we embraced violence instead of understanding. Why sex was easier than words. Why a single stare shared agonizing secrets that our lips would never utter.

  Sitting in the mud, his long legs spread in front of him, he followed the contours of my calf with his fingers, slipping up and up, tracing from my knee to the back of my thigh.

  I shivered.

  I showed a weakness.

  With a soft groan, he slid higher, grabbing my ass before planting both hands on either side of my hips. His fingers bruised me. His tongue licked where his teeth had indented his bottom lip, and whatever messed-up power between us destroyed everything.

  He paused for a second.

  A single second when his black eyes turned liquid with passion and pain. A second when he had the power to make my entire womb clench for him.

  And then, he yanked me forward.

  He jerked me so hard, I fell against him.

  My bound hands landed on the top of his head for balance. I struggled in his imprisonment. I fought him, but he just held me firm. He nuzzled into my belly, all while I pulled his hair. He nipped my skin as I reared back.

  He grunted as his mouth found my core, and I screamed for the third time.

  He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t shy.

  His tongue licked me, then fucked me. Spearing so deep, he hit my clit with his teeth, and his nose buried into my flesh.

  I couldn’t stand.

  He held me up as I broke.

  His arms shook as he held me right where he wanted, plundering my pussy, his head bobbing between my legs, his fingernails digging cruelly into my hips.

  He ate me as if he’d been there before. As if he knew our height would match, my pussy would welcome, and that I would come for him even harder than before.

  His tongue drove me toward an edge that appeared without warning.

  It was sharp and jagged, dangerous and full of warning.

  If I fell off it—if I let him push me over the edge—what would happen at the bottom? Would I ever be able to walk again? Would I ever trust myself or believe in my inner compass of right and wrong?

  “Christ, you taste good.” His tongue dived deeper, possessing every dark part of me. His teeth nipped, and his noises of need and desire shoved me higher, higher. “You taste like earth and me and every other dirty, delicious thing.”

  The fact that we were filthy.

  That he’d come inside me and now licked me clean.

  It was disgusting. It was mind-blowing. It obliterated every boundary that ought to be maintained.

  “Come.” His tongue swiped over my clit. “You owe me another.”

  The first spindle of an orgasm sparked.

  His tongue swept back to my entrance and fucked me faster, his hips thrusting up from the mud.

  Another spool, another ripple, the final crest of something excruciating.

  No

  No.

  The crash of a horrendous wave, the rapid unfurling of bliss.

  NO!

  “Stop!” I fell backward.

  I threw myself at gravity’s mercy and tumbled out of his control.

  He grunted as my body tore from his hands and his tongue slipped from my core. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the fall, quaking with the desperate need to come.

  Mud splattered me, my teeth clacked together, and I winced as I landed ungracefully on my ass with my han
ds bound in front of me.

  I opened my eyes.

  He sat there, lips glistening, chest pumping, eyes glassy with lust.

  In his unguarded surprise, he looked hurt. Hurt that I’d left him at the most critical point. Lost that I’d chosen to stop instead of allowing him to claim more of my pleasure. He looked eager and young, and hell, it would be so easy to crawl over to him.

  To kiss him in apology.

  To shove him onto his back.

  To sit on his cock spearing so hard and hungry between his legs.

  To say yes to whatever was between us.

  But if I did that, it was all over.

  I would be admitting that I was the biggest idiot alive.

  That I believed I had feelings for this monster, this kidnapper, this would-be murderer.

  No.

  No way.

  I’m not that girl.

  Scrambling to my feet, I turned my back on him and sought solace in the only place I could. Ripping open the door of my Jeep, I crawled inside and slammed it in his face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I RAIDED HER BELONGINGS.

  How could I not?

  I hadn’t seen anything new in over a decade. I wasn’t materialistic, but even I got bored with the same fucking mansion all the time. An hour passed while I sat on the tailgate of her vehicle and systemically went through all her belongings.

  Fleece blankets that were so much softer than the woolen throws in the games room. Spare set of clothes similar to the ones she’d been wearing when she’d trespassed, and miniature solar panels with cables which I assumed were for charging all the technology tucked safely in a small backpack.

  Occasionally, she’d twist in the front passenger seat and peer at me suspiciously. Her eyes would follow where my hands went, and her nostrils would flare when I touched things personal to her. Her stare made my skin prickle. Her judgment made my heart skip a beat, but I didn’t stop.

  I didn’t stop invading her space because I was pissed.

  Fucking pissed, actually.

  If I didn’t keep my mind occupied, I might show her just how pissed. Just how annoyed and angry I was. How deeply frustrated.

  My cock was still hard, still wanting her, still ignoring me not to care. It twitched all over again as I relived what it’d felt like to feel her pussy clenching around my tongue. She’d been on the pinnacle of coming.

  I knew that.

  I’d felt the pressure building inside her.

  Yet she’d rather fall on her ass than let me give her pleasure. Frankly, that left a bad taste in my mouth. A shameful kind of whisper that said maybe she didn’t enjoy fucking me, after all. Maybe, when she’d come around my cock, it had been a lie—just like I’d accused her of.

  It reminded me of all the guests who’d used me. Who’d grunted as I fucked them and moaned as I did what they commanded. They’d all pretended to care. But when it was over, they’d snapped their fingers to summon my master and have me dragged from their sides without a backward glance.

  The similarities between her and the mistresses of my past were starting to slice me apart. In so many ways, she was utterly different. She reminded me of my Fable family. She had the spark of Elise and the bravery of Sarez, but in other ways, she was still my enemy.

  It didn’t matter what my stupid heart whispered.

  Didn’t matter how much I wanted her.

  Didn’t matter that I couldn’t get her out of my goddamn head.

  Nothing would change the fact that we were stuck with each other, and it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. We already hated each other. That hate would only fester deeper the longer we survived in each other’s company.

  The rain continued to fall but at a gentler flow than before. The soft pitter-patter on the vehicle’s roof ought to have been soothing, but it only made my temper flare hotter.

  I wanted to go home.

  I felt...itchy out here.

  Too far from the safety of my mansion; too much distance between me and the protection Fables now offered.

  Once upon a time, Fables had been my prison. I’d dreamed of running far, far away. I didn’t remember why I wanted to run, and wasn’t brave enough to go digging, but now? Well, now it was my domain. I’d earned it. I’d exterminated the vermin, chased out the ghosts, and I knew that place better than anywhere.

  There was also another reason.

  A reason I couldn’t recall right now, but it had something to do with protecting those I’d saved. Something...

  “No way, Kas. I’ll help. We go together or—”

  I shook my head, my hands dripping with warm blood. “Leave, Wes. That wasn’t a suggestion. Tonight is our only chance.”

  “But what about Storymaker? You won’t win—”

  “I will.”

  “You won’t. You just killed my guard. He’ll do far worse to you. He’ll—”

  “He won’t lay another goddamn finger on me.”

  “Kas...please. Think of Quell. Nyx—”

  “I am thinking about them. Tonight everything changes.”

  “But—”

  “Fuck’s sake, Wes!”

  I didn’t have time for this shit. Wes was lucky. Thanks to his torture-cabin out here in the woods, he was one step closer to freedom. The others were still in there. Hurting.

  “Fucking go, Wes! Now! The others will find you.”

  I ran before he could throw other complications in my face.

  Complications like how the hell he was going to go anywhere in his condition.

  He couldn’t walk unassisted for long.

  Some bastard had gone too far in his blood play last month and not provided aftercare. The wounds on Wes’s leg were infected. He was starting to smell bad. Even if he got out of this place, he would probably die.

  I ran harder, smearing the guard’s blood on my trousers. I’d have to wash away his death before reporting to serve. I had to hide what I’d done, for just a little longer.

  Storymaker would never see me coming. Would never believe that his toy of almost nine years would break his conditioning.

  His guests.

  His empire.

  They were all about to come crashing down, bled dry by my hand, slaughtered by a broken slave.

  I choked and fell forward, snatching my hair with a groan.

  Christ.

  I could smell Wes’s sickness. I could feel the slipperiness of blood. I could hear the screams as I—

  Stop!

  Rocking, I dropped my arms to wrap around myself. My fingers found roughed areas of dried mud, followed the silvery tracks of old scars, pressed hard muscles and strong bones that hinted I was still alive.

  Still here even if I was alone.

  But...I’m not alone.

  Shit.

  Wrenching my head up, I locked eyes with her.

  She’d twisted in her seat, her lips parted, her face a picture of worry. We didn’t say a word as I calmed my breathing, sat up tall, and acted as if I hadn’t just been suffocated by shitty memories that refused to die.

  Memories that had no business tormenting me while I was awake.

  “Are...are you okay?” she whispered. “You sounded as if something skewered you.”

  Something did.

  Lots of things, actually.

  Toys and instruments. Knives and sadistic apparatus.

  Glowering at her, I ignored her concern and shoved aside a bag full of female socks, underwear, and other toiletry items that I’d been rifling through before my minor relapse.

  My hands trembled and sickness still swirled, but at least the walls in my head were back in place. Plus, I had an entire car-load of distraction to investigate.

  Tearing my attention off her, hating that she’d seen me slip, I spied a clear plastic box full of colorful packets.

  Is that—

  I fell on the box.

  It is!

  The creak of a seat sounded as Gemma turned to kneel instead of twist, watch
ing me far too closely as I popped the latches and dragged the stash toward me.

  Food.

  Packaged food.

  Holy shit, chocolate!

  Hunger hit me like a cannonball, and I dived my fingers into the treasure, pulling out Snickers bars, M&Ms, Dairy Milk, Caramello, and every other Cadbury confectionery there was.

  Choosing a plain bar of Dairy Milk, I tore at the purple wrapper and moaned the instant cocoa and sugar hit my tongue.

  Good God, how had I survived so many years without sweets?

  I looked up after my third massive bite, catching her eyes as she watched me with disdain, annoyance, and a tiny shred of curiosity. “Those are my emergency rations you’re wolfing down.”

  “And they taste fucking brilliant.”

  She sniffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, then by all means, please...help yourself.”

  I narrowed my eyes, not liking her tone. “You ate my food. Fair’s fair.”

  “Only difference is, my food has flavor.”

  “Least my food comes straight from the ground. This is probably full of preservatives.”

  “So stop eating it.”

  I took another giant bite. “Can’t.”

  Rolling her eyes, she let our little domestic fade before asking reluctantly, “I take it you haven’t had dessert in a while?” Her reluctance came from the same place my own questions did.

  Asking me things meant she’d get to know me. She’d probably start to feel pity and sympathy. Already, snippets of compassion glowed beneath her anger at my entrapment.

  Right now, she was justified in hating me.

  I was the villain.

  I liked that role. I’d earned that title.

  So why did her reluctance to know me make my heart kick? Why could I read her as well as she seemed to read me?

  Chewing slowly, I shoved those thoughts away. This girl was a trickster. A trespasser and I would not fall into whatever new trap she’d set.

  “Well?” She huffed. “How long since you’ve had sugar?”

  Finishing the chocolate, I swallowed before answering, “Not for seven years or so.”

  Her forehead furrowed. “So, you’re telling the truth that you haven’t seen anyone in over a decade?”