I’m glad you’re okay. I’m torn that you’re dead. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
At least, those were the things I imagined he meant to tell me by this passionate kiss.
His lips broke off of mine, and as his hands tangled in my hair, he whispered, “I’m sorry I could not protect you from this place.” As heartfelt a statement as I would ever get from Lucien, I knew. As much as a man who was not a man could feel heartbreak, he must’ve felt right now.
“It was never your job to protect me,” I told him, my lips feeling a little swollen from the sudden make-out session.
“It is always a man’s job to protect the woman he loves, whether she wants him to or not.”
My heart did a little flutter in my chest at that. Felt almost silly, swooning like this, but I couldn’t help it. Got weak at the knees and everything. My life before, as much of a life it was, was nothing compared to being here, with these guys. Grimmstead had brought me here to torment Victor and the others, and now…now I knew if this place got my body, it would do just that.
Me. It had wanted to devour me from the very beginning.
Our mouths collided again, hard and fast, and as my eyes closed, I felt Lucien back me up to his desk, where a bunch of papers and pens sat, a few books, too. I pushed my tongue into his mouth, tasting him, swallowing up the desperate groan that flowed from his strong, muscled chest.
My whole body was on fire the moment his lips left mine and I watched him sweep an arm along his desk, shoving everything off it, even the lamp. It crashed to the floor, along with his papers and such, but none of it mattered to him as he hoisted me up and laid me on top, pressing his mouth to mine again. His hands hiked up my dress and tore down my panties.
It was easy to lose myself in him. It always was. Lucien was a man who was not a man, and yet he was a god among men. He was everything a woman could ever want, and then some. Strong and solid, tough and stern, a bit alpha at times, but I would never change him. I would take him as he was every single day, even if it meant I would be locked here with them for all eternity, at the whims of this mouth of hell.
When Lucien pushed himself inside of me, I let out a gasp, and as he took me on top of his desk, the wooden furniture piece scraping against the floor with each successive thrust, I couldn’t help but think one thing.
Maybe being dead wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Chapter Thirteen – Felice
A surprise waited for me in my room. And by surprise, I meant the missing man from the meeting earlier. Ian laid on my bed, his shoes kicked off, his head on my pillows as he stared up at the ceiling. Of course, the moment I walked in, he practically leaped up, acting as if he’d just gotten here.
This whole time, he’d been in my room? Why?
His blonde hair was a bit messy, the same as it always was, the kind of unkempt that made me think he took his time staring at himself in the mirror, fixing up his hair to look like he didn’t care. The sleeves on his arms were rolled up to his elbows, as they usually were. He gave me a slow dimpled smile as he sat up and swung his legs off my bed, getting to his feet.
“I was waiting for you,” he said, his blue eyes lively.
“Why—” I was about to ask him why he was in my room, but then I noticed his knuckles. Something must’ve happened, for they were covered in red cuts. Not currently bleeding, but the blood had dried. It didn’t look good. “What happened?” I moved closer to him, reaching for his injured hand.
Ian tried to pull his hand away. “I, uh. I might’ve slipped, punched my mirror.” His glibness failed to stick the landing, and I rose an eyebrow at him. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never slipped and punched your mirror, shattering it into dozens of tiny, impossibly sharp pieces? No? Just me?”
I let out a sigh. “Just you.” I pulled him into the bathroom. My goal was to clean his hand a bit, because it clearly looked as if he didn’t plan on doing it, but then I had another idea. Once his hand was clean, that was.
Let’s just say I was not the only one who needed comfort today.
He’d been distant lately, trying to drown out the presence of the children with whatever he could get his hands on. I hated seeing him regress like that, and I wanted to make it better for him, to show him he wasn’t alone.
I sat him on the toilet seat, which he made a face at. I rolled my eyes as I got a small washcloth and ran the faucet with some lukewarm water. “Shut it and let me take care of you,” I told him. “I know you’re used to letting yourself go, but I don’t want to see you like that.” Once the washcloth was damp, I knelt before him, meeting his gaze.
Honestly? It hurt. It hurt to know Ian was always so close to the edge, but I supposed he did face something the others didn’t. The others had their quirks and their madness, but Ian only had the truth, and sometimes the truth hurt worse.
“You shouldn’t be taking care of me,” Ian muttered as I started to wipe at his hand, instantly staining the white washcloth pink from his blood. “It should be the other way around, since…” He couldn’t say it, which was fine. I didn’t need to hear it again.
“I know,” I said, feeling…some type of way, really. At this point, I didn’t know what I felt, just that I was sad. Victor might’ve said there was hope for me yet, but I didn’t know if I believed him.
How could there be hope for me if I was dead?
“I feel like such an idiot.”
I would not save him from that particular feeling, because he kind of was an idiot. A somewhat annoying but still loveable idiot, but an idiot all the same.
Ian went on, “I feel like, maybe if I would’ve been there for you, I could’ve helped you. Stopped you from…” Again, he couldn’t say the word. I didn’t blame him. “You might not know the serious me that well, but believe me when I say I never wanted you to be trapped here like us. You’re…you’re better than this place. You’re better than me.”
God, I really did hate how much Ian put himself down. For someone who normally drowned whatever room he was in with his confidence, he could certainly be self-depreciating.
“I am not better than you,” I told him. I had a sordid, dark past like the rest of them. Heck, I was pretty sure Ian wasn’t a killer. If anything, he was better than me. A conceited man who occasionally got depressed and lost control of himself, but not a killer.
I was. I was some kind of maniac when it came to fire and the destruction it caused.
Once I was done cleaning off his knuckles, I set the washcloth in the sink, moving before him again to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Why don’t you stay with me for a little bit? I need to relax anyways.”
“Well, I guess I could move my self-loathing to a later hour,” he mused with a sly smile.
“No self-loathing at all,” I said. I went to turn the water on in the tub, pushing down the drain to start filling it up.
Ian watched me, whispering, “Uh, do you plan on bathing me like a child?”
I tossed him a look, saying nothing as I went to get out of my boots and socks. Giving him my back, I said, “Care to help?”
He said nothing, slowly getting to his feet and reaching for the zipper, tugging it down almost unbearably slowly. As the dress grew looser on me and I shrugged it off, letting its dark grey lengths fall to the floor, he must’ve watched me, for he said, “You know, you’re still perfect, even if you are dead.”
There. He’d finally said it.
As I was reaching behind me to unclasp my bra, I met his expression, finding he looked horrified. The poor man. Death was his truth, and facing it was not an easy feat. It wasn’t even his death that gave him trouble right now; it was mine.
I knew the feeling. I knew it, and I was trying to not think about it.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that—”
My bra fell to the floor, and I slipped out of my panties before climbing into the tub. The water still ran, but its level rose once I sat down in it. “Are yo
u going to stumble over your words more, or do you want to join me?”
Ian stared for a while, suddenly growing mute. His blue eyes studied me, as if he wondered whether my invitation was some kind of trick. “Are you sure you want me in there? Might be a little tight. I could sit out here and watch.” He flicked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to my mirror. “Or go into the hall and see if that hideaway is still there.”
Watching me through the mirror like a creep, like he’d done in the beginning. It was such a stupid suggestion I couldn’t help but laugh.
It felt good to laugh at something so ridiculous.
“Shut up,” I told him, “and get in.”
Ian said nothing as he shed his clothes, dropping them near mine. I leaned forward, letting him crawl into the tub behind me. The water rose to nearly splash over the sides, so I turned the faucet off before I leaned back, resting myself comfortably on his chest. The tub was a wide, clawfoot, porcelain tub, something you’d see in the movies or at rich houses.
The water was warm but not too hot, and I closed my eyes when I felt Ian’s arms wrap around me, holding me to him. We sat there, in each other’s arms, for a long time. I nestled against him, feeling completely comfortable.
Something hard poked my lower back, and when I threw Ian a look, he shrugged. “What?” he asked, sounding completely innocent, as if his erection wasn’t sticking me in the back. “You can’t strip naked in front of me, invite me into your bath, and expect me not to get hard. Come on, Felice. I get hard just thinking about you.”
I chuckled again. “I guess I should be flattered?”
“Damn right.” His arms settled around me, holding me against his chest harder.
Neither of us made any moves to do more. Even though his cock twitched against my lower back, it was nice to just sit there, the water around us washing away all of our worries and anxieties, to just close our eyes and relax. Finding any time to ourselves to simply be in Grimmstead was darn near impossible.
If we were outside of these walls, I couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like. Would the guys still want to stick by me, or would they all want to go their separate ways? They’d probably seen enough of each other over the years.
I didn’t like picturing everyone leaving, but I supposed if they could be happy, then it would be worth it. They could go on, live their own lives, adjust to life in the twenty-first century. Even have families.
Me? I…I didn’t know what I’d want, if I ever got out of here, and that was a sad thing to think.
No more sad thoughts. Just the warm bath and Ian’s body. Right now, I wouldn’t allow myself anything more. No more, no less.
I sat in my childhood home, on a couch in the living room. The room wasn’t quite what I remembered, though; it was like someone had drawn a line down the middle, each side mirroring the other. There were no doors, no hallways to get out. Only windows and the fireplace on either side, two identical couches with only a coffee table between them.
One look at the room and you’d think you’d walked into a person’s nightmare, a place where you could entertain guests and they’d never leave.
I was not alone in the room, however. On the couch mirroring mine, another me sat, though she sat with her knees wide apart. We both wore the dark grey ensemble that was Grimmstead’s, and yet the fabric seemed to be too tight on her, almost like her body was bigger than mine, hiding more muscles.
Oh, yeah, and her eyes were all black, too. Very demonic. Very evil. Very disconcerting.
“So, you’re the one doing all of this to us, huh?” I asked, watching as the evil me smirked. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that other me was in fact me—it had to be Grimmstead. Whatever power controlled this place. “What exactly do I call you? Felice 2.0 doesn’t have a great ring to it.”
All the other me did was inhale a giant breath, exhaling it slowly, loudly, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “I’ve been given many names, none of which you have a right to know.” Her fingers picked at the couch cushion, her evil eyes squinting as she glared. “I will admit, though, inviting you was fun. Watching you die was even more fun.”
Inside my chest, my heart panged with rage. My teeth ground as I thought of what to say next. “Do you appear to everyone like this, or am I the only lucky one?”
“I don’t know if I would consider you lucky. Perhaps unlucky suits you better.” She lifted a hand off the couch, studying her fingernails. “He was right, you know. I was weak. It’s why things had been so easy for so long—but I knew if I extended my reach and brought you to me, you’d bring me back.” She flashed a smile. “I brought you here for me, not for Victor. Not for the others. The others, and your connection to them, was purely accidental.”
“Really?” I said, struggling to get over the fact that I looked like a hideous beast with black eyes and a creepy smile. “Because I don’t see it that way.”
She cocked her head, leaning forward, resting her arms on her knees. “Tell me then, Felice, how do you see it?”
I swallowed, mustering up the courage to answer. “I think you needed me because, for so long, you were with Victor. Maybe some of him rubbed off on you.” It was as good of an idea as any, since he’d said he’d been dreaming of me long before he built Grimmstead’s original walls. “Maybe his weakness is now your weakness.” Granted, I was literally pulling all of this from my butt, but still. Where Grimmstead was concerned, logic meant nothing.
As confusing as everything was, I felt like I was starting to get a handle on things. Yes, I might be dead, but that did not mean I would lay down and submit. There was nothing to lose when you were already dead. Might as well rebel against what I was going to assume was some kind of demon or something.
I mean, what else would control a Hellmouth, assuming Victor was right about that? I really wasn’t a religious sort, but this did make me wonder if there was such a thing as the devil himself.
All of the light in the room turned to black, the glass in the windows turning grey and cracked. Whereas it was day in the room before, now it was night. Even the fabric on the couch changed, the carpet on the floor. Everything. And yet, oddly enough, I could still see the other me on the couch perfectly, as if she glowed a bit.
“You think you’ve discovered the secrets of the house, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the other me spoke, slowly standing. The way she walked, more like stalked, the space between us made my skin crawl. Before I knew it, she was on her knees before me, grabbing my wrists with a strength that was not mine. Her black eyes bore into me, her teeth bared in an animalistic display. “Your fate was predestined, your death assured. Your eternity does not have to be unbearable.”
I did my best not to wince, but I could not help the relief that flooded through me the moment she loosened her hold on my wrists.
“If you give yourself to me completely, I will make your time in Grimmstead agreeable,” she went on, pulling herself off me and standing, towering over me even though I knew I wasn’t the tallest person around.
Completely. She, it, whatever, meant my body, too. She already had my blood, and she wanted more. She wanted all of it.
She wouldn’t get it.
“And if I don’t?” I asked, feeling bold.
“If you don’t, then I promise you the terror you felt when you found your festering corpse will be nothing compared to what you will feel when I am through with you.” Her words bounced around in my head, shattering the stillness of my brain. An instant headache, courtesy of whoever the heck that was, the very same moment she disappeared from view.
I woke with a gasp, finding myself in my own bed. I sat up, the sheets falling off me, and I gazed around my dark room. Outside, the moon was nothing but a sliver, its silver light low and hardly noticeable. A furry presence laid near my feet, curled into a ball as he was fast asleep; Midnight.
As much as I didn’t want that dream to bother me, it did. As much as I wanted to hope that vision of me was nothin
g more than my imagination getting the best of me, I knew it wasn’t. That thing had been real, and its hissed words and threats. Victor was right; it wanted my body, but like I decided in that dream, I would not surrender it.
Though it was far too early to get up, I got up anyway. I dressed and pulled on my boots, petting a yawning Midnight once before exiting my room.
This wasn’t me being led to the basement like I was before. This wasn’t Grimmstead calling out to me, forcing me to do its bidding. This was…this was a deep, ingrained restlessness, a fear nestling within me that I would never get out, never escape. That all resistance to the dark power residing here was futile.
I folded my arms over my chest as I walked down the hall, my feet dragging on the carpet. I headed down the stairs, moving straight to the gilded front doors. Out into the moonlight I went, breathing in the crisp night air. I took the concrete path to the gate in the front of the property, and through its iron bars, I saw the outside world. Houses lining the street around this land, forgotten by time itself.
I inched closer to the gate, wrapping my hands around the cold iron bars, wishing things were simple. That I could just yank open this gate and walk out, bring the guys with me.
Just for kicks, I tried to pull. Yeah, didn’t budge, not like I thought it would.
That cab driver had warned me, all that time ago, told me not to come here. That no one stepped foot on the property. I should’ve listened. It was a very horror movie-like thing to say, and me steadily ignoring his creepy warning was a very white girl thing to do. Ignore the obvious dangers and march right in.
At the time, I was looking for anything to get me out of the house, away from my father. Speaking of my father…did he know I was missing? The outside world didn’t appear to have changed much since I’d arrived at Grimmstead, but maybe it was controlling what I saw through the bars, too. Had he tried to call me countless times? That first night, when I’d called him, was it truly him I spoke to?
Grimmstead Academy: Defiant Rebellion Page 15