by Addison Cain
Pages were missing, torn out. Gone forever.
Why?
Why remove pages from the journal? What had been written on them that Darius didn’t want her to see?
Had she torn them out? And if she had, why do it?
Letting the book thump back on the desktop, Pearl looked over the grotesque grandness of the items piled inside her cell. From the red velvet draping the walls, to the jewels scattered over desk and crevice, everything seemed staged—like an altar.
Like an offering.
What would a girl locked in a room need with jewels? She was hardly even dressed in little more than lace bound by a sash around her middle.
She was also sporting dried blood under her nails and she smelled in need of a bath.
But there was no water, no urn, only a chamber pot of sorts that was uncomfortable to use.
There wasn’t even a rat scurrying around for her to catch and eat.
Then again, according to the massive tome on the desk, she drank her meals from the mysterious Darius. In flowery language she even described the taste and how addicting it might be.
Pearl didn’t use flowery language. A great many of the entries she scanned didn’t sound like her at all.
Had he told her what to write?
More importantly, if she had been the one to tear out a page, where would she have hidden notes in this crypt?
Running her hands under the heavy mattress had led to nothing. Nooks in the wall were explored, the space behind paintings, even the trunk of scandalous clothing at the foot of the bed.
There was nothing but dust.
Dust?
Stamping her foot, Pearl felt the earth under the room’s sumptuous rug. Things could be buried in dirt.
Like bodies.
Or trapped women.
Throwing back a corner of the rug, brushing aside dried rushes, damp earth met her fingers. Clawing at it here and there did naught but pit the ground. Fueled by a growing need for answers, Pearl threw handfuls of earth aside, careless of where they fell.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for there.”
Crouched like a spider and panting as if she’d just run a race, Pearl cut a glance over her shoulder and hissed.
The mystery man himself stood like a beautiful beacon. And he was smiling at her, serene and unthreatening.
“Darius?”
A winged eyebrow arched. “Yes, Pearl?”
He obviously knew what she was up to, and seemed unconcerned. Tickled even. “Where are the missing pages?”
Walking toward a fantastical painting of an ancient warlord, the stranger pulled back a bit of torn canvas to display a nook. “Sometimes I find them here.” He then changed course, moving to a stone in the wall that came away easily when jiggled. “And often here.”
Both cavities were empty. Whatever she’d hidden away had been lost. And he had known to look for them. Nervous despite his kind expression, Pearl asked, “Why do you take them away?”
The handsome man’s smile grew charmed. “Take them? I collect and keep them for you.” He pointed to a small, obvious box on the desk. A place Pearl had ignored in her hunt.
Wiping dirtied hands on the impractical lace gown, Pearl crept forward, untrusting and cautious. It was as he claimed. Inside the jeweled box, the folded notes were haphazardly stacked.
Once she stood before them, he crossed the room. Appearing out of thin air behind her body.
His heat met her back. Lips to her ear, breath warm, he asked, “Do you want to play a game?”
Her fingers hovered over the notes. Buzzing nervously from the intimate way he brushed against her, Pearl whispered, “What kind of game?”
“For every note you choose to read, I earn a kiss from my beloved treasure.”
It was a trick. Men were never forthcoming. But there was something deeper than cautious intuition that warned she needed to see what was on those stolen pages. “One kiss for one note?”
A rich smile in his voice, the man nuzzled closer. “A kiss, my love, nothing more.”
Delving in, a random scrap of paper was chosen, pulled free, and unfolded.
Darius is the devil and you are in hell.
A hearty chuckle shook her body, the man pressed to her back extremely amused. “I do so love the look on your face when you read that one. In those first precious moments, you don’t want to believe it. You’ll turn and look me over from head to toe. Where are the horns? Where is the tail and cloven hooves? What reason might you have to think I am this character from your nightmares? Maybe it was written as a joke. Maybe, we’d argued that day… Perhaps you’d fallen gravid and grown difficult.”
Fear crawled up her spine and blood ran cold no matter how warm the body at her back. Turning her head so she might glimpse the one wrapping his arms around her torso, Pearl met his glowing red eyes.
His gaze burned all the brighter, fangs slowly descending behind a positively elated smile. Teasing in the meanest voice she’d ever heard, Darius hummed, “Or, maybe it’s absolutely true.”
Mortally afraid, she stood there, a hairsbreadth from those teeth, and asked, “What does gravid mean?”
He brought a hand to her cheek, reminding her that there was a price. A kiss for a note. After all, there were rules to this game. Fingers pinched her chin, turning her attention back to the box. “I never claimed questions were a part of our fun.”
One folded page would not be enough. Snatching up another, she tore it in her haste to read what was waiting.
He raped me over and over until I bled from every hole a man might abuse on a woman. I begged him to stop, and he laughed.
“That’s two kisses now, my Pearl.”
Fat, silent drops slipped over trembling cheeks. She reached for a third.
He’s never going to let you out. Find a way to kill yourself.
A tongue traced the shell of her ear, followed by a low rumble. “But how would you do it? All your wounds heal almost instantly thanks to the strength my blood has given you.”
Shivering, Pearl wrapped her arms around her middle, the heat emanating from the man pressed to her back worthless. “I don’t want to read anymore.”
“Three kisses are owed me then, sweet treasure.” With a flourish, he spun her about, the desk cutting off any chance of retreat. Sniffing at her hair, he demanded like a spoiled prince. “I’ll claim the first one now.”
After only a few moments in his presence, the idea was repugnant no matter how handsome the stranger might be.
“We had a deal, Pearl. Honor it, and see how reasonable I can be. Why be so frightened of words on a page?”
Because unlike the book, those hidden words seemed real. Very real, as if a locked corner of her mind was pounding against a wall, trying to warn her danger was here.
Play his game or resist, what would lead to a more favorable outcome when trapped with the devil?
Standing on tiptoe, Pearl pressed a chaste kiss to sculpted, smirking lips.
It would seem chastity was of no interest to Darius. His tongue slipped into her mouth, delving to undulate inside. Razor sharp teeth nipped, drew blood that he sucked into his mouth with a satisfied groan.
Lips were abandoned for her jaw, his mouth working its way next to her neck.
It was there he sank in those fangs.
The pain was extraordinary.
Legs giving out, it was only the strength of the man that kept her upright as he drained a punctured vein.
He feasted no matter how she fought, until her vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Limp, useless, she hung like a ragdoll.
Pain seemed to fade, her body ready to release the spirit where it could leave this room and go to God.
The sweet silence of death so close, she craved it. Smiled at the coming light.
Until Darius dropped her.
Weak, twisted like a discarded marionette, she could only groan while the man licked his lips and grinned.
He wasn’t going to let her go t
o the light. No, he wanted to keep her in his darkness forever. Isn’t that what the missing page claimed?
Trying to get to her knees, to crawl under the desk as if it might offer shelter, earned a barked laugh.
“Kara sevde, there will be none of that.” He seized her ankle, and pulled her under his crouching body. “What would you gain by hiding that pretty face from me?”
“Help me.” Her plea was not for him; it was said out of sick desperation that God might listen.
“Hush, child. You are not going to die.” A rumble of demonic glee, of a thirst for more than blood, moved from sculpted lips to an unwilling ear. “But I will grant you sleep. Enjoy my mercy. But when you wake, two more kisses are owed.”
Chapter Eight
Floating in warmth, Pearl was certain this had to be what heaven might offer—weightlessness, intoxication by a sense of perfection.
Nothing could touch her here.
Nothing, until softness brushed her brow, urging lashes to part to the glow of gold.
Candles burned, flickering soft light off a cracked oil painting. It was the image of a woman tending to goats on a rolling hillside, beautiful by any stretch. The sun shone as if real, more real than the dots of light blurring in the periphery of her vision.
“That, my dear, is our favorite painting. Can you not feel the wind in the bent grass as you look upon it? Seeing it now, I almost remember the scent of a field warmed by summer.”
Shifting, only just growing aware of her body, led water to slosh and splash against her skin. Blurry vision settled on a man so near her face, she could smell the soap on his skin. Following the line of his arm from neck to hands, she found his sleeves were rolled up, his forearms dripping wet and half submerged.
Pearl felt weightless and warm because she was prone, naked, in a copper tub… a stranger hovering over her.
A strong hand came to her jaw, angling her lolling head back to rest on the waiting towel. “It’s only I, your Darius.”
Certain she was drunk, Pearl sucked her bottom lip. It was smeared with flavor. Wine? Or was that bourbon? Reaching up to gather what dripped from the corner of her mouth, she looked to her fingers and found blood.
A deep, perfect red.
Her throat ached to lick it up, craving that crimson bead as she’d never wanted anything before. “I don’t…”
The man winked. “Know how you got here? We were playing a game, and I’m afraid you grew utterly drained.”
Entranced with that red dot, Pearl brought it back to her lips so it would not be wasted.
The man had other ideas.
Catching her wrist, he brought the finger to his lips and sucked it clean.
When she tried to snatch her finger from the heat of his mouth, he pricked her flesh, laughing when she squealed. Then he gave her a dazzling smile.
Two long fangs, milky white, glimmered in the low light. “There is nothing to fear. Look at your finger, Pearl. It is already mending.”
Mouth agape, she was unsure exactly which topic was most in need of immediate attention: the fact she was naked, obviously being bathed by a striking stranger. The fact there was another person like her. One who spoke warmly to her, knew her name, and seemed almost familiar. Or, the fact that her finger was healing right before her eyes.
Nudity was addressed first, both arms slipping so they might cover where her breasts bobbed in steaming water.
This earned a breathy chuckle. “Your shyness strikes me as particularly charming in this moment.”
Knowing her cheeks were a vivid pink, Pearl tried his name. “You said your name was Darius. I don’t… I don’t know you. I don’t know how I got here. Is this the hospital? Have I been ill?”
Red eyes, that’s what they were—red as blood and glowing like an ember ready to set the world to flame. “Darius, yes, and I am at your service, my Pearl. And, yes, you do know me. You know your lover very well, you just don’t remember me. You see, we meet anew each night in your chamber.”
She had to be drugged or ill. Not a word he said made sense.
Neither the painting nor the handsome man held her attention. It was the walls she looked to, the chipped hunks of stone, the lack of windows. She was in a cell, blocked in a corner by a screen that hid the remainder of the room. “Why wouldn’t I remember you?”
Her chin was caught, Pearl made to meet the eye of the stranger. “So that you might be happy, always. Time has a way of twisting our kind. You have the gift of constant newness. Your God has blessed you. He dotes on you.”
“My God?”
“Every day is fresh. Every time I touch you, it’s the first time. Every time I kiss you, you still blush. I am the perpetual bridegroom, and you are my darling treasure. There is much joy to be had in this.”
Men did not speak that way to women; they didn’t look upon them as if they were going to swallow them whole. She sunk lower in the water as if it might shield her from the weight of his gaze.
Darius tutted. “You wish for privacy so you might dry yourself and dress. That is unnecessary. I know your body inside and out. There is no cause to flinch or try to hide in the tub.” He picked up her hand and began to clean dirt from under her nails, no matter how she fought to pull it back. “I shall finish bathing you, I will dry you, I will dress you. Then, I will feed you.”
He made her sound like some doll, tutting and clucking when he found a broken nail or a hanging bit of cuticle. “Such a mess. Be still.”
Be still. The command rang inside her skull, and still she became. She couldn’t move, not even to blink or turn her eyes from his scowl.
Next he soaped her shoulder, the remaining length of her arm, Pearl stiff and unable to respond.
Strangers didn’t touch this way. They didn’t issue unspoken commands that a body was physically incapable of ignoring.
“You may breathe and speak, Pearl.”
Throat dry, Pearl sucked in air. “How did you…”
An impish wink, and he kissed the tips of her clean fingers. “I’m your God, remember?”
“And you said… lover.” She had never had a lover. Men had never touched her for her benefit. They certainly had never buffed her nails. “Have we… umm?”
A subtle twitch came to the corner of the man’s mouth. “Have we umm what?”
He was going to make her say it, Pearl blushing all the harder. “Known one another well?”
Moving slow enough to assure he had her total attention, the man dipped his fingers under the bubbling soap scum. His wrist followed, his forearm. “I have known you in every possible way.”
Fingers crept between her thighs, separating folds, to tease a place that made her gasp when treated to small circles of friction.
His head hovered lower, Darius observing her parted lips and dazed eyes. “You suffer such attention beautifully, and I think you always will. I dare you to tell me you do not enjoy this.”
A noise caught in her throat as he breached her, a single finger wriggling inside that place men liked to damage and use.
Only his attention brought no pain. There were gasps of surprise instead, little sounds coming from lips that spoke of trepidation, confusion, and a drugged hunger for more.
Water began to splash when his exploration grew more vigorous—what had been slow and meticulous became wild and unbearable. Head back against the lip of the tub, Pearl squeezed her eyes shut and found a rush unlike anything she’d known. Before she might stop herself, she cried out and lurched, spilling water and soaking the man’s shirt front.
He pressed a kiss to her slack lips as if she were some sleeping beauty waiting for the prince to wake her. “That is only a taste of what we have shared.”
In her wide, dazed eyes sat sluggish relief. This was no monster…
Hovering over her mouth, he smiled again. “Kiss me, my Pearl. Kiss me, and I shall be sweet.”
Kissing was not a familiar activity any more than the odd sensations of having a man touch her gently between h
er legs. All the others had shunted in ugly, hard flesh for their own pleasure. Usually they drew blood.
Certain now that she was drunk, ill, completely mad, she gave in and pressed her lips to his—because all of this had to be a dream, and rare sweet dreams should be savored.
There was an instant reward. His fingers went back to teasing that magical place even as his tongue tangled and teased hers. Moaning under him, unsure why her body moved as it did, Pearl gripped the edges of the tub as if that might anchor her in this wonderful sensation.
As she was about to crest, shatter, and be reborn, he stopped. Pulling his fingers from the fluttering hungry part of her body, his lips followed suit. A string of spittle stretching between them before it snapped. “Stand. I want to look at you all clean and shining in candlelight.”
She leveraged her weight against the tub, completely graceless as she fought feeble legs to stand. Without the comfort of the water, she felt like death warmed over.
“Ungh.” Unsteady, she swayed, and muttered, “I have been ill.”
Seated on his stool, he began to touch the tottering woman, humming approval when she leaned into his hands for support. “Fragile little kitten, you’re hungry.” He crooked his fingers, commanding her from the tub and to his lap. “Come.”
Ravenous, in fact. Swallowing, she looked to the thigh he indicated should serve as her seat, and muttered a dazed, “I’m wet. I’ll leave a mark.”
“Yes, you are. Now obey me. Come.” Flat out chuckling, he gave her hand a yank. She tripped from the tub, caught in his arms, and draped over his knee.
Breathless, she gawked over her shoulder when he set his hand to her rump and explored. As he leered and toyed between her cheeks, she felt more and more the prostitute and less the lover.
Exposed, weak, and growing cold, she sucked her lower lip between her teeth and tried to push away.
“No wriggling!”
She heard the sound of the smack before it registered how hard he’d struck her.
The flesh of her ass jiggled, stung horribly, and would bruise. But it was her pride that was far more damaged. Red faced, mortified and aching, she shook her head but had no words.